Castle The Series - Marc and Marcy - 00001000
The life of Marc who became Marcy, prior to her incursion to Castle in 6 parts
MARCY 1 SPECTRA OF SEXUALITY AND IDENTITY
MARCY 2 TWO GIRLS DRESSING TOGETHER
MARCY 3 THE LINGERIE TRADE FAIR
MARCY 4 DRESS CODES FOR GIRLS AND BOYS
MARCY 5 TEMPORARILY BACK IN THE CLOSET
MARCY 6 ALMOST FINDING A BOYFRIEND
That is the end of Marcy's life on Earth and the beginning of Beth's Life on Castle, but much else remains to be posted first if sense is to be made of Beth's Life. If it's not what folk wish to read I'll stop after Marcy 6 which is a natural break point.
Marc has a difficult life. His father and brother’s are men’s men and he is anything but.
Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.
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Marc was not a boy. He had known it from as far back as he was aware, and since as far as he was aware he wasn’t a girl either and he knew of no other options he did not know what he could be. Aware he had a boy’s body and his father and elder brothers considered he was a boy, he had been reluctant to admit his thoughts to any, least of all his parents, and he’d had no intention of mentioning it to any else till he was old enough to be able to tell any who was bothered to go and fuck spiders. His dad was a man’s man who had played rugby to county level and was obsessed by sport. He was a highly successful, and thus wealthy, salesman who operated in the male dominated world of heavy engineering. Marc knew if he said anything his dad would have lost his temper, hit him and finally insisted he had therapy.
His mum, who was an accountant, would have hugged him and said, “Where ever it takes you, Love, I’ll be here for you.” Which though he knew it was true wouldn’t have helped. His two brothers would have poured scorn and homophobic vitriol on his head at every opportunity, which wouldn’t have made any difference because they did any way. So he kept his thoughts to himself. Despite his mother’s best attempts to protect him, his dad, and brothers too with their father’s approval, never missed an opportunity to belittle him because he preferred to read rather than play football and referred to him as that ‘nancy boy’ or that ‘bloody sissy’ because most of his friends were girls, and at school his friendship group comprised a dozen girls, two very effeminate boys who were openly gay and himself.
The last year had been easier because his second brother had moved on to the secondary school to join his oldest brother whilst he remained at primary school. He was dreading next year because he would be at the same school as his brothers. He was unaware that his mother had put his name down for a different and much smaller secondary school than the one his brothers attended. The voluntary aided Roman Catholic high school his mother had chosen for him had a lesser academic reputation but a far better pastoral reputation than his brothers’ Local Authority controlled high school.
Their father had never attended any of the boys’ parents’ evenings and left the boys’ education to their mother, and she had no intention of telling her husband where Marc was going to school next year till the places had been allocated and it was too late to change things. If possible she had no intention of telling him till just before the new academic year and after she’d bought Marc’s school uniform. She intended to allow her husband to believe, without actually lying, that it was the Local Education Authority’s decision knowing full well he would bluster and rage, make threats of writing to his MP(1) and giving the schools a piece of his mind and then do nothing.
That his father and brothers would eventually discover just how different he was Marc was aware, and living on the edge of exposure made him a permanent bundle of raw nerve endings, as a result he bit his nails. He didn’t just bite his nails he chewed the ends of his fingers too. It hurt, and they were raw and bled, but the pain somehow comforted him. He tried to stop, but it wasn’t long before he knew he couldn’t stop, for he needed the comfort of the pain.
He had never had a crush on any one, girl or boy, but he knew as he grew older he would one day desire an intimate friend and probably that friend would be male. He was aware there were spectra of sexuality and identity and had done some research into the issues, but he hadn’t understood most of what he had come across. As a result he hadn’t decided where, if any where, he was on those spectra, but he did know he was as girly as the girls he was friends with, and their acceptance of him as one of themselves made him happy to be so, even if he had to keep it to himself outside school for the foreseeable future. He had turned eleven on Easter Sunday, and his brother Gerry had sneeringly asked him the day before, “What do you think you’ll get for your birthday, Marc? A new pair of rugby boots?”
His eldest brother, Colin, had said, “I bet he’s hoping for a nice pretty dress, then when he plays with the girls he won’t look out of place.” His brothers had left him to his thoughts roaring with laughter as they left. Marc felt nervous, but had a sense of relief too that his secret was perhaps soon to unravel and be public knowledge. Anyway he thought, what’s wrong with wearing pretty clothes? They don’t have to, but they don’t have to be mean to someone who does.
His brothers and father were not to expose him, nor realise how different from their expectations he was, for in early July, much to the three boys’ surprise, their parents separated. Marc’s brothers decided they wished to stay with their dad in the south who as part of the separation settlement had bought out their mum’s share of the family home. Their mother moved to a village in Cumbria near the Scottish border not far from whence she had originated, and Marc went with her. His mum said it wasn’t worth him going to a new primary school for what was left of the term, so he had eight weeks before he went to a new secondary school.
In the summer Marc admitted, “Mum, I am sure I am girly.”
He had expected platitudes and a difficult time, but his mother had said, “So am I, Love. It’s one of the reasons why when I left your dad I moved back home: to put some distance between the two of you. You need my support and love, and your brothers need his, but what ever you are, never forget I’m your mum and I love you.” He went to bed that night with his head a maze of conflicting thoughts, but when he awoke he realised not only was he girly he didn’t care who knew. His mum loved him and was ok with it, and he was starting a new school in three weeks and he would start as he meant to go on, as himself. If he evolved into something else as he grew up, so did everyone else and the school could accept that too, or expel him, but either way he wasn’t going to even try to be someone he wasn’t just to suit arbitrary social conventions.
It was a surprise when two days later his mum passed him copies of TeenGirl and Seventeen, weekly magazines, across the breakfast table and said, “I’ve ordered them with the papers and my Woman’s Weekly, Love. If you’d prefer different ones just let me know.” That night, he read them in bed and his mum’s Woman’s Weekly too, which he found much more interesting.
The following morning at breakfast he said, “Mum, TeenGirl and Seventeen are nice but very childish. I liked your Woman’s Weekly much more, cos I learnt things from it. Could we buy another grown up magazine instead of them? One you would like to read too.”
“Marc, you are amazing, Love! Why don’t we chose a different magazine each week till we find one we like, and do the same with a monthly as well? We could work our way through magazines for the entire spectra of age and every thing else as well. I enjoy reading the Saga magazine from time to time which is aimed at pensioners of both sexes. I have two or three hours work to do this morning, but we could go to the news agent’s after lunch if you like?” Marc’s mum prepared accounts for small businesses, she called it doing their books, and worked from home via the internet, fax and the postal service.
They did as she’d suggested, and both giggling chose a saucy weekly magazine and an upmarket glossy monthly. Mr. Dean the news agent, who had changed accountants and given Marc’s mum his business as soon as he realised she had returned to the area to live, folk in rural Cumbria tended to deal with folk whose families they knew if they could, asked if they wished a regular order, and Marc’s mum replied, “No, thank you, Frank. We are going to work our way through the weeklies to decide what we like. Then we might order on a regular basis, on the other hand we may just enjoy the change, but we’d like a glossy monthly too.”
Marc’s deep red hair was long and cut like a girl’s, and he was dressed as usual in clothes that gave him an appearance on the feminine side of androgynous, which impression his arched eyebrows and long eyelashes reinforced. Mr. Dean knew Julia’s child associated with the village girls including his niece, so had assumed Marc was a girl. Having seen him and his mum with their heads together giggling as they looked at the magazines, he said, “My missus always wanted a lass, she reckoned they would have a lot of fun when she became a teenager, but we had three lads. I see what she meant now. I was saddened to hear of your mother’s death last year, Julia, so you see you look after your mum, Miss Harman. If you like, ladies, I can keep a record of the magazines you’ve had and have different ones delivered for you. I assume you’ll want the papers, the regular Woman’s Weekly, another weekly and a monthly? If you like, I could get my missus to sort out an amusing weekly and an upmarket monthly for you? She’d like that.”
Marc’s mum said, “Thank you, Frank. Mum never really recovered from Dad’s death, and I know she just wanted to be at peace with him. As to the magazines, that would be kind of Dora. Thank her for me, Frank.” After they left the shop, she said, “And I hope that’s fine with you, Miss Harman?” Which caused them both to break out in giggles again.
“I do love you, Mum.”
“I love you too, Marc.” She kissed his cheek, and said, “I know what Dora meant, it’s nice having a teenager to share things with. This wind is blowing your hair all over the place, Love. You look a mess. Tell you what let’s call at the chemist and see if we can find a couple of hair slides.(2) On me. What do you think?”
“Ok. Thanks, Mum.”
In the pharmacy they found some not too girly, as in not pink, slides, and Marc selected four he liked and was happy to use, but his mum added another two that though not pink were more feminine in style. Looking at Marc’s face she said, “I know you won’t wear them now, but as you become easier with your life you will, and there’s nothing like being ready is there?”
“Ok. Thanks, Mum.”
Before the beginning of term, Marc’s mum said to him, “Marc, I have no idea what is going on in your head, and I suspect you don’t really understand either. I’ve done a bit of research, and from my limited understanding you could be effeminately gay, but I suspect not. I think you may be a trans girl. Either way is fine with me as is anything else. You’re my child and I love you, but I’m sure you shall need more help than I can provide, and I think medical assistance is better early than late. Our new GP,(3) whom I have never met, is Doctor Elspeth Phelan, but if you prefer I could have you transferred on to the list of one of the male partners. What do you think?”
Marc was surprised but not upset. “You’re probably right, Mum, but I think I’d rather talk to a lady doctor than a man.”
“You sure, Love?”
“Yes. I think so. You have always been ok with it, and Dad wasn’t. I’m not assuming all women will be ok and all men won’t, but I’d prefer to see a lady doctor.”
“Ok. I’ll book you an appointment.”
Doctor Phelan was in her late twenties, or possibly early thirties, and asked Marc if he would prefer his mum there or not. Marc panicked at the idea of his mum leaving him alone with the doctor and clutching for his mum’s hand whispered, “I want my mum.” Doctor Phelan asked a lot of questions, listened to Marc’s answers carefully and took notes as his tale unfolded. Most of her questions Marc replied to, but he looked helpless at a few and turned to his mum for help who supplied the answers where possible.
Doctor Phelan eventually said, “It is my belief you probably are a trans girl, but I have little experience in cases like yours, Marc, nor do any of the partners in this practice. I could find out who in the area has most experience, and you could be transferred to their practice. However, they would still be a general practitioner and unlikely to know much more than I. I wish to refer you to a consultant, which will mean a trip to a major city, probably London, but ultimately all GPs would do that. With your permission I’ll refer you and send a copy of my notes, and you can consider whether you wish to retain me as your GP.”
Marc looked at his mum, and she divining his needs and wishes said, “I can tell Marc wishes to stay with you, as do I, and he would like to be referred to a specialist. Marc?”
Marc nodded and said, “Please. How long shall I have to wait? And what will he do?”
“Probably three months, and the consultant I have in mind is Mrs. Yeomans. She’s based in London, and she’ll probably bore you silly and ask all the same questions I asked you and a lot more too and request regular blood tests to determine your proximity to puberty, but you can have the blood taken here and I’ll have the Cumberland Infirmary pathology department email the results to her as well as myself, so you don’t have to travel to see her for every test. I suggest once you know the date of your appointment you have a blood test a fortnight before so she has up to date information when you meet her.
“Ultimately if, and I repeat if, she deems it appropriate she’ll recommend I prescribe puberty blockers at the appropriate time. There is a piece of legislation being argued over at the moment which if it passes, and I hope it does, will mean you could, again if deemed appropriate, take female hormones from sixteen rather than eighteen, but if you eventually wish any surgery there is no intention to permit that before you become eighteen. Would you like to attend a support group? It could I’m sure help you to stop self harming.”
“What do you mean self harming? I don’t cut up.”(4)
Gently Doctor Phelan asked, “So what do you call what you do to your fingers?”
Miserably Marc replied, “Yes. You’re right, but I’m not ready to discuss it, or even meet people who would notice.”
“Ok, but I’ll give the details to your mum and any time you feel you could go give it a try. They meet every week but some folk only attend twice a year. There is no pressure or obligation to go back or even to stay to the end of the meeting.”
“Will you be there?”
“Yes, but though I started the group the rule is I can only speak when asked to.”
In the car, Marc’s mum asked, “How are you feeling regarding all that, Marc?”
“Excited and terrified all at the same time. She was nice, Mum, and laid it on the line. I trust her, but most of all I’m pleased my life is beginning to sort itself out. I don’t want to go to those meetings, well not now. I just hope school is ok.”
“Yes. Let’s hope things go well at school, and if they don’t we’ll find another school ok? I don’t wish you to be unhappy, and I wish to know how things are going.”
Notes on Word Usage
1 MP, Member of Parliament.
2 Hair slides, barrettes.
3 GP, a general practitioner, a family doctor.
4 Cut up, vernacular for cutting oneself, usually on the arms with a razor blade.
Ch 2. Macy goes to a new school and makes a friend.
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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.
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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
.
Marcy as Marc is now known has found acceptance at school and especially with her best friend Pol and her parents who treat her like a girl.
Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.
The following day Pol and Marcy went to school reluctantly. Both usually attentive and good pupils who enjoyed school, they were reprimanded a number of times for lack of attention. All day their minds had been on the fair and Pol’s mum’s promise to assist with make up that evening. Pol’s mum worked in the make up and hairdressing department of the local regional television station. Glad when school was over, they hurried back to Pol’s. As was their practice, they did their homework as soon as they arrived back.
“Marce, you any idea where Lourenço Marques(1) is?”
“Never heard of it. Why?”
“It’s question seventeen.”
“Sounds like South America to me, Brazil probably. I’m only on question thirteen.”
“Ok. That sounds good. It’ll take ages to turn the computer on, so I’ll go with Brazil.” If their homeworks were not to their usual standard they were prepared to live with the consequences. They had things on their minds.
They helped Pol’s mum prepare moussaka and made dolmades for dinner, both of them enjoyed cooking. When her husband arrived home, Mrs. Munro said, “Marcy, there’s a couple of bottles of Retsina chilling in the fridge. They’ve got corks, not screw tops. I’ve left a cork screw by the fridge. Open one please. Pauline, fetch four white wine flutes from the small china cabinet please and put them on the table.”
Marcy had never tasted Retsina before. Pol explained, “It tastes like pine trees smell, a bit like loo cleaner, but drinkable. It’s nice,” which made them all laugh.
The Munros always dressed for dinner, and Marcy thought Pol’s dad who was a tall, big man always looked magnificent in his kilt. Professor Munro suggested to Marcy, “Those school clothes are hardly appropriate for a family friend dining here are they, Lassie? Go with Pol and change. Surprise us with something pretty that you feel good in.” The girls returned both wearing one of what Pol referred to as her big frocks.(2) Mrs. Munro smiled in approval, and her husband said, “That’s much better.” Marcy always dressed for dinner thereafter and loved the sense of freedom it gave her.
Pol was right concerning the Retsina, and Marcy enjoyed the unfamiliar meal. The frock and the wine made her feel very much a part of the family, and when Pol’s dad asked, “Are you enjoying yourself, Lassie?
Marcy replied, “Yes, thank you. I’ve had something similar made with minced(7) beef wrapped in cabbage leaves a few times, but I’ve never tasted vine leaves before. I do like them, and the wine is like nothing I’ve ever tasted before, but the resin taste is good with the lamb and the dryness of the wine goes well with mince which is a little fatty.”
Pol’s dad, who, as a result of that remark, considered Marcy to have a rather better appreciation of food and drink than most for someone of any age, said, “Aye, you’re right, Lassie,(2a) I suspect they use all the fatty bits up in mince to make sure they sell it. I like it, but I can only take it twice a year.”
They had baklava, bought from a local delicatessen, for dessert, though encouraged by Pol’s mum they all drowned it in double cream, “I have no idea whether the Greeks or the Turks eat it with cream or not,” she had said. “And I don’t care.”
“I like it with cream, Love,” Pol’s dad said as he finished his meal, before going back to his study.
“I know Dad loves me and Mum, but I think you’re the first person I ever met whom he likes, Marce. What do you think, Mum?”
Her mum thought for a second or two and smiling said, “You could be right, Pauline, but with your dad it’s hard to tell.”
The girls had organised their clothes, jewellery, handbags(3) and purses(4) for the following morning and were discussing scent. Neither used scent often, nor much of it, but though both were advocates of Chanel their tastes differed. Marcy only ever wore the Chanel No 5 her mum had given her for Christmas at her request, but Pol thought it old fashioned. “Mum wears it, Marce!”
“Yeah, mine does too. So what? I like it.” Pol kept a variety of scents on her dressing table, and had decided to wear Coco Mademoiselle which Marce liked, but not enough to wish to wear it.
When Pol’s mum came in to the bedroom she said, “Make up! I’m not leaving it to you two to make a spectacle of yourselves, if I’m going to be pointed out as your mum, and Denise is a perfectionist.” Mrs. Munro went to her bedroom and pulled back a massive case on wheels which had handles on each end. She cleared the top of one of Pol’s chests of drawers and indicated to Pol to lift one end whilst she lifted the other. As they lifted it onto the cleared chest it seemed to Marcy to be bulky rather than heavy, and as Pol’s mum opened it six cantilever drawers on each side rose up and separated.
The case contained more make up, of every possible colour, hue, shade and type, than Marcy thought could be found in an online store, though Pol’s mum had described it as her mobile emergency touch up kit. The following couple of hours were enjoyable for all of them. Pol tried things on her mum which her mum had never considered for herself before, but the light green eye shadow with a trace of golden glitter with her hazel eyes did look attractive, and she decided she would go for it tomorrow. Pol, who had had her mum’s help before, went for her usual blue which enhanced her deep blue eyes and a pale red lipstick, which Marcy and her mum agreed made her look sexy without looking like a tramp.
For Marcy, Pol’s mum produced a box of false nail kits, “Marcy, the only way we can do anything with your nails is using these.” She put a little cream on Marcy’s raw and bitten finger ends which soothed them, and making sure there was no cream on Marcy’s nails to hinder the glue found a set to fit what remained of her mangled finger nails. She then proceeded to glue, file and paint them. Whilst they were drying she painted Pol’s nails before returning to Marcy’s make up. She tried a number of styles on Marcy, all of which looked good to Marcy, but none looked good enough to her. “Ok is not acceptable, Marcy.”
They were considering what next to try when Pol said, “Mum, I’ve got an idea.”
Mrs. Munro having temporarily run out of ideas said cautiously, “Ok. What are you thinking of, Pauline?”
“Toned down Goth, Mum. Deep red, not black, lipstick with pale, not white, blusher, a bit of mascara and a hint of dark green eye shadow which will match Marcy’s eyes and go with her hair and outfit. Nail polish to match the lippy,(8) and she’ll look brilliant.”
Pol’s mum nodded and said, “I can see it. It may just work, we’ll give it a try, Pauline.” After twenty-five minutes, and several adjustments to tone down the contrasts, along with a darker nail polish, Pol and her mum had Marcy’s make up completed to their satisfaction, and Marcy was allowed to look in a mirror.
She looked stunning and, holding the tears back to prevent making a mess of the wonderful mascara, said, “I’ve never imagined looking that pretty. Thank you.”
Pol’s mum said, “The mascara is waterproof, so you can cry if you want. It’s a tough business being a woman, Marcy, as you’ll both learn when you get up at five tomorrow to put your face paint on. I’ll see you then.” She left the pair to wash and go to bed ready for a very early start the following day.
Pol and Marcy awoke excited at half past four long before the alarm clock went off. The first thing Marcy did was gaze in wonder, yet again, at her wonderful nails. They were chatting in bed of shoes when Mrs. Munro, still in her dressing gown and slippers, came in with a tray which barely had room on it for three cups of tea, a plate of buttered toast and the saucers which were atop the plates.
On seeing Marcy sitting up with the embroidered teddy bear visible on her nightie she said, “There’s a similar nightie with embroidered kittens on too. I bought the two together.” Mrs. Munro sat on Marcy’s bed, and the three of them drank tea and ate toast chatting of the fair. Mrs. Munro took the tray away saying, “I’ll leave you to get washed and dressed whilst I do the same and cook breakfast for your dad, Pauline. It doesn’t matter at what time he gets up, Pauline’s dad always eats a cooked breakfast, Marcy. Bacon, fried eggs and mushrooms this morning. Would you like some? Your mum will be here in quarter of an hour. I’ve explained to her about Pauline’s dad. I’ll be back to help with make up in a bit.”
Marcy shuddered at the idea of eating fried anything never mind eggs at that time in the morning and replied, “No, thank you. I’d like another cup of tea before we leave though, if that’s ok?”
“I suspect we’ll all want one,” she replied.
They had finished dressing and were making a start on Pauline’s make up when both their mums came back to help. Dressed and made up, they went downstairs to be told by Pol’s dad, “Lovely, the four of you. Unfortunately none of my colleagues with wives and daughters are here to eat their hearts out, but never mind. I shall be ready when you are.”
As he left Mrs. Munro’s eyebrows lifted and she said, “You are going to have to sleep over more often, Marcy. That’s the first time since I met your dad nearly twenty years ago I have ever heard him give any leeway regarding time to any one.”
The last comment was directed at Pol who said, “I love Dad, Mum, but why do you if he’s so difficult?”
“Because, despite his problems, he’s a good man, but I suppose mostly because he loves me, which considering how much cleverer than I he is I have never understood.” Marcy a bit embarrassed by what had just been said went to collect her bag(5) and was followed by Pol. Her mum and Pol’s just smiled.
The trip to Thulstone was boring, and Marcy and Pauline slept most of the way, their mums chatted and Pol’s dad, never much of a conversationalist, drove and silently counted things.
Their blue tickets, most were red, allowed them access to the area behind the catwalk itself, and Pol’s dad, who’d been waved through with the others, wasn’t bothered at all by the numerous scantily dressed young models wandering amongst the catwalk crew in nothing more than their underwear, and some of them not even in that, before the shew started, and he merely remarked, “They must be paid a lot for getting so cold,” before saying, “I’ll be back at four when it’s over. I’m going to the library before that solid looking young man checking tickets throws me out. And before you ask, I’m meeting Leo Winmarleigh in the library and he’s taking me for a pie and a pint at the Duke of Wellington for lunch, so I shall be fed and watered.”
Pol’s mum had been worried her husband wouldn’t think to eat, but Leo was a fellow academic, though at Edinburgh, and he’d introduced her husband to her at a faculty party which John had been obliged to attend when both men were at Manchester. Leo, like most of the mathematicians she’d met over the years through her husband, was a little eccentric but pretty normal compared with John, and John would be happy in his company. So relieved of worry concerning him she kissed him goodbye and said, “Enjoy your day, Love.”
After a quick make up and hair repair, at one of what seemed to be the hundreds of mirrors available for just that purpose, and a cup of tea with a buttered scone(9) still hot out of the oven, they still had twenty minutes to go before the shew started, and they all needed a loo which created their first problem. Their mums were philosophical, and Pol’s mum said, “There’s a queue a mile long for the disabled loo, and it can’t be the gents’(10) dressed like that, Marcy, so it has to be the ladies’,(11) but for God’s sake sit down, and use loo paper, ok? You got a packet of tissues in your bag just in case?”
Marcy, not meeting Mrs. Munro’s eyes said, “Yes, and I understand.” Just before the shew started, the mums told their offspring to disappear till lunch as they would no doubt be impossible to keep up with.
The catwalk shew lasted till lunch, and it was in Pol’s words, “Abso-bloody-lutely a-bloody-mazing! Did you see what some of those undies cost, Marce‽ And that was just what the shops pay for buying in quantity!”
“I know, but didn’t those plus size models look fabulous and the older models too! I reckon the one wearing the jonquil,(12) silk corset must have been at least fifty.”
Pol laughed and said, “Fifty-six. It says so in the catalogue. I can’t even imagine getting to be that old never mind looking that good when I get there.”
They met with their mums for lunch, and the subsequent visit to the ladies’ required no comment. They spent the afternoon looking at the trade stalls, collecting glossy literature and taking more photos. Her mum and Marcy had been introduced to Denise, Mrs. Munro’s friend who had given her the tickets, as Julia Harman and her daughter Marcy, a school friend of Pauline’s. Denise looked hard at Marcy and said, “Love the look. It’s the genuine article isn’t it? You can always tell vintage silk. Real quality. NU2U?”
“Weork street market. Two ninety-nine I think. The man had loads on the pre-loved rail, but most of it was rubbish, though Pol got a blouse that’s pretty.”
“It’s lovely. Don’t ever let anyone try to dictate fashion to you on the basis of price or label. Of far more importance is taste and that outfit looks fantastic on you. The petticoats give the frock just the right amount of volume for your figure. The frock suits your hair and complexion perfectly. Your shoes are perfect. The shape of the toes draws the eye away from the height of the heels and that they have no platform gives the impression that you and not your shoes are providing the height, and I love the combination of the silk and the steel buckles. You put it together perfectly, the bag, the jewellery and the make up too. The No 5 is perfect, and unlike most of those of your age you obviously appreciate that less is more. I take it you know the spray it with an atomiser into the air and walk through it trick. That tiny gold wristwatch is perfect for someone as petite as you, so tell me as one petite girl to another is that really all you in the frock?”
Marcy laught and said, “The frock was the size it was, so I did need a little help to fill it. I’m hoping it won’t be too long before I don’t.”
“Good girl! It’s what we all do you know. If we ain’t got what it takes we get help. You’d be amazed at the sales of breast forms for girls who need a bit more on occasion, and the trans market is huge. The whole cosmetics industry, which is worth billions, is just girls buying a bit of help.” Denise had jokingly asked the slim pair, “So how long do you think it will be before I have the pair of you on the catwalk then?”
It was a tired but happy pair of youngsters who slept their way back in the people carrier.
The following day Marcy, with Pol looking over her shoulder, went on eBay looking at breast forms. “Wow, Marce! I could do with some of that myself. They look so real. Just think what we could wear with girls(13) like that!”
Paidin and Sean O’Reilly were cousins and enthusiastic anglers. Sean described his dad as a complete fishing nutter. Often the pair went fishing with Sean’s dad and a group of boys, and just after Christmas his dad had suggested that if they could get a large enough group together to hire a minibus at an affordable price each they could go fishing at Wildgeese reservoir for rainbows and probably make a few quid each on the day. He explained, the hatchery next to the reservoir had just taken over the management of the water and were running it differently. It was to be a members only fishing water, but all members would legally be shareholders in the hatchery which meant they would be catching their own fish and so not subject to a lot of the usual regulations.
Membership was to be two hundred pounds a year, but for anyone who was prepared to put in two long days maintaining paths, scrub strimming and the like the membership fee would be waived. That way the hatchery would not have to pay the expensive landscaping and maintenance contractors. Whilst members were maintaining the site they could camp with their families on the extensive land surrounding the reservoir banks. Fishing would cost a hundred pounds a day, and Mr. O’Reilly explained there was no limit on the catch since the hatchery stocked their own water, though the minimum and maximum sizes that could be taken were initially to be larger and smaller respectively than was normal even for completely enclosed waters such as Wildgeese.
Paidin, who was a friend of Marcy and Pol, had suggested they went on the trip over the Easter weekend. They’d be camping and spending two days maintaining the place and the third fishing. Pol refused point blank, but Marcy was intrigued and she and Llyr shared the one hundred pound rod fee. Marcy was hooked! She was good at fishing and though Llyr never bothered again Marcy went with the boys at every opportunity. It wasn’t long before she was poaching for coneys on the fells with the cousins and their friends and when they took up the recently introduced sport of competitive knife throwing at targets she joined the club with them too.
Just after Easter Marcy and her mum went to London to see Mrs. Yeomans the consultant. Marcy decided to take the photo’s and to dress in the outfit she’d worn to Thulstone. The consultation took over two hours and was to Marcy and her mum’s surprise a very brief physical examination followed by a lengthy and intensive grilling.
However, Mrs. Yeomans concluded with, “Well, Marcy, without doubt you are behaving and thinking as a girl at the moment. That can, however, change, but I doubt it will in your case, for your female personality and friendships with girls are well integrated with and unaffected by your enjoyment of the activities you pursue with your male friends. The blood tests indicate puberty isn’t even on your horizon, so nothing is lost by leaving things as they are for the moment. I shall keep a close eye on the blood results, which I now want monthly, and if you like you can send me pictures of happy times, whether in a frock or your school clothes. I’d appreciate some photos of you fishing and rabbiting with the boys too, for they would be helpful to other girls in your situation who are bothered by their interests in what they perceive to be non-female activities.
“We are all different, but what is important is to enjoy being whom we are. I was born a female in a female body, and my interest from early girlhood in steam engines doesn’t alter or threaten that. It’s just part of me and it’s how I met my husband. That’s us on the footplate in that picture there. It was taken on our honeymoon. As soon as anything changes regarding the blood tests I’ll wish to see you, but other than that I’ll see you in six months. Your choice of clothes and underwear and the breast forms too is entirely appropriate for a girl of your age, as is your unusual interest in fishing, and you look lovely. Are you following the progress of the hormone prescription bill in the media?”
“Yes. I know it’s just become one step nearer to becoming law, but sixteen still seems a long way away.”
“I know, but it will arrive faster than you think. One day you’ll look back and wonder where the time all went. The reception people will make your next routine appointment and give you all the contact details where you can send pictures and anything else you like to me. You are doing very well. You look lovely in all the photos, and your dress sense, make up and jewellery are immaculate. I wish I were as confident as you in heels. I wouldn’t even risk trying on a pair like those you’re wearing never mind walking in them.”
Outside Marcy’s mum asked, “Happy?”
“Very, specially by what Mrs. Yeomans said regarding fishing, cos(14) I was a bit worried telling her in case she said that meant I couldn’t really be a girl. I would have thought a woman being interested in steam engines was a bit weird before today, but she was right we are all different. I thought that was really cool of her going on a steam train enthusiasts course on her honeymoon.”
Notes on Word Usage
1 Lourenço Marques, renamed Maputo in 1976 is the capital of Moçambique, a country on the west coast of Africa. Like Brazil it’s official language is Portuguese.
2 Frock, a dress as opposed to a skirt and blouse combination.
2a Lassie, girl. Often used as a form of address as here by Scots. Lass is more commonly used in the same way by the northern English.
3 Handbag in UK, purse in US. In US a wallet goes in your purse.
4 Purse in in UK, wallet in US. In UK a purse goes in your handbag.
5 Bag also used by women in UK for their handbag.
6 Telt, told. Widely used in northern England. Similarly selt, sold,
7 Minced, ground, as in meat.
8 Lippy, used thusly slang for lipstick.
9 Scone, a small unsweetened or lightly sweetened biscuit-like cake made from flour, fat, and milk and sometimes having added dried fruit or grated cheese.
10 Gents’, in US men’s restroom.
11 Ladies’, in US women’s restroom.
12 Jonquil, a pale yellow. It is the colour of the centre of the jonquil, a Mediterranean daffodil like flower.
13 Girls, used thusly by girls to indicate breasts.
14 Cos, because.
Ch 4 Macy’s mother and her headmistress discuss trans issues.
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Marcy has started to dress as a girl in public, but was worried her interest in fishing would affect her gender consultant’s belief she is a girl. However, her consultant proved supportive and to Marcy’s surprise said she is interested in steam trains, and she and her husband went on a steam train enthusiasts course on their honeymoon.
Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.
Year seven was over. Marcy had some evening clothes of her own now and had managed to persuade Pol to try evening gowns rather than staying with big frocks, which Pol’s mum had thanked her for. Marcy had bought a pair of B cup and C cup breast forms, and although Pol borrowed Marcy’s Cs occasionally she decided that a B was adequate and told Marcy, “You’re becoming a hussy, Gal, but I can see why. I’ll maybe get some Cs and become a boy magnet too.” Pol’s wardrobes were bulging with their clothes, so they took some of hers to Marcy’s house and filled her wardrobes too. Pol and Marcy were spending a lot of time together during their holidays.
The persona Marcy now completely dominated her alter ego Marc of whom virtually nothing remained, and neither Pol nor any of their peers, all aware of Marcy’s trans status, questioned her right to be who and what she was.
Unknown to any other than Marcy’s mum, Mrs. Bleacher the girls’ headteacher had talked with her to consider the future. The head knew Marcy well, having taught her, and Pol too, once a week in the history top set for a year, and considered her to be a likeable, quiet, studious little girl who fitted in with and was thought highly of by her peers, both girls and boys. That many of the boys as well as the girls were openly protective of Marcy had given the year group a collective identity far stronger than any of the staff had ever seen in a year group before. The only problem it had raised had been just before Christmas with a science supply teacher who had made the lesson unpleasant for Marcy because of her behavioural and appearance mismatches with her name: Marc and the gender marker: male, on the register.
The next time the class had that teacher they had walked out on her and studied in the library. The head had long since decided since, other than that one incident for which Marcy could not be held responsible, Marcy created no problems for the pupils, their parents and the staff it would be best for all to accept the situation quietly rather than to risk causing any unnecessary waves which may subsequently cause Marcy, the pupils and the school problems, in that order of importance. She’d made it clear to Marcy’s mum that since Marcy only ever used one of the lavatories in the medical unit and when she had games and gym she changed and showered in the medical unit too she considered no possible issues could arise from bigots outside the school.
She’d added with a smile, though the school had a uniform policy it didn’t specify that either sex was restricted to any part of it, so should Marcy ever choose to wear a skirt to lessons or a gymslip for games that was perfectly in accord with the rules, and although most believed boys had to wear ties because of the way the dress code was written ties were optional for both sexes.
“Mrs. Harman, I rewrote the dress code a number of years ago, when I took the headship here, in order to bring it more in line with today because it hadn’t been looked at for over thirty years. I deliberately wrote it as a set of guidelines suggesting what would be acceptable rather than as a set of prescriptive rules and left out mention of gender specific uniform because it seemed obvious to me eventually we too should have to deal with issues such as those Marcy has to deal with, and I wished to have the ability to do so quietly and without the fuss that could be so damaging to a lovely girl like Marcy. The code is considerably less tightly defined than it was, which means it can take account of fashion, and it gives me complete authority concerning what is acceptable and what is not, especially concerning jewellery and make up which used to be completely forbidden. It now states jewellery and make up have to be tasteful, and jewellery has to be safe in the school environment.”
She’d smiled and added, “The new code gives us far less headaches than the old one did. Two years ago micro skirts were fashionable, and some of the more extreme girls wore them so short you could see their underwear even when they were standing up, which upset some of the older staff. My view was it’s in the nature of teenagers to rebel, so let’s just go with it, and eventually hem lines will drop. With no reaction from the staff to rebel against micros didn’t last the winter out because the girls were too cold. First they wore warm black tights with the micros, then longer skirts, and ultimately most opted for trousers till the warmer weather arrived, but the micros had had their day and didn’t return. It’s my belief opposition would have made the micros last longer, and look what the fashion is now: A-line skirts belted under the bosom that reach to the floor.
“It’s only year sevens, who are still learning to use cosmetics, who are ever a problem now, and even that is disappearing since our integrated personal development programme has included use of cosmetics for the year seven girls in the half term before Christmas. A lot of the pupils of all ages regard Marcy as the authority on current trends and what’s cool. Marcy has never been anywhere near in breach of the dress code, she always looks lovely and has always been a proponent of the less is more school of thought regards both jewellery and make up, for which I am grateful. You are to be congratulated on your success there.”
“You need to congratulate Pauline Munro’s mum for that. Lydia is a professional make up artist for Western TV North, and keeps both of them under her eye. What else does the personal development programme encompass, Mrs. Bleacher?”
“All the things that you would expect. Relationships, feminine hygiene, sex education and health, child care, financial responsibility and a lot more. Some of which are only taught in depth to upper school, but all are at least touched on in all years. I also wish to eventually include issues of identity and sexuality, but it is difficult because there is a lot of prejudice to contend with, and I’d rather make progress slowly by including such matters gradually into the sex education and relationships topics in the upper school and gradually working them down a year at a time. A working party of staff is already preparing schemes of work. That way by the time the syllabus becomes reorganised and it is a separate topic we’ll have been covering the subject matter for some years. Most of personal development is taught in mixed groups, but some is taught to single sex groups.
“There is perhaps something I need to explain. At the beginning of the year when the year sevens were separated to teach the girls menstrual issues and feminine hygiene and the boys issues relating to male puberty the topic was nearly over when we realised Marcy had joined the girls with Pauline. I took the decision to leave well alone since Mrs. O’Donnell the school nurse, who teaches the topic, informed me the girls considered Marcy to be a rôle model especially concerning matters of fashion and cosmetics which was why she had been so surprised when just before half term on passing the register on to the teacher of the next topic, which for the girls was use of cosmetics, she discovered Marcy was a boy named Marc.
“A little discreet investigation revealed that the error, if it can be called that, occurred at the beginning of the year, when Mrs. O’Donnell had created the year seven register based on the year six information provided by our feeder primary schools. Of course there was no information on pupils coming in from outside our area like Marcy, so she completed the new year seven register using information the pupils in front of her provided. It seems Pauline Munro had responded for Marc saying, ‘Marcy Harman, Miss.’
“Because many girls feel unable to answer or ask questions, she only ever asks scatter question for any to answer, and if no one will answer she provides the answer. She didn’t question that Marcy was completely silent in class, for over half the girls were the same. She told me it was clear that Marcy like all the others was paying close attention. For the entire seven weeks of the topic neither Marcy’s behaviour nor that of the class gave Mrs. O’Donnell any reason to think she had anything other than a class of girls. Interestingly, as far as the staff can determine, the boys haven’t even commented on Marcy going with the girls. Some seem to believe Marcy is a tomboy struggling to break back into her real gender. Mrs. O’Donnell also told me it was her opinion that to have placed Marcy with the boys would have been a serious error of judgement, and though it was her opinion that Marcy didn’t need them she recommended Marcy attended the use of cosmetics lessons with the other girls.
“I endorsed that, and we consider all has serendipitously worked out for the best. I consider the issue to be irrelevant now since Marcy is accepted by all as a girl and she is clearly happy being with Pauline who is a most effective friend, I hesitate to use the word advocate for she needs none, of hers. There are other topics where the children are separated higher up the school, but I am gradually eliminating those in favour of mixed groups, albeit slowly. For those that do remain it is my intention for Marcy to remain with the girls even for the pregnancy and nursing topic in year nine, which is also taught by Mrs. O’Donnell who recommended that to me.
“With my approval, as a result of the unfortunate incident with the supply teacher before Christmas, regarding which I wrote to you, Mr. Jameson her form tutor has had the main school computer register altered from Marc James Harmon to Marcy Jane Harmon and she is designated as female on all school records except my records computer, which is a stand alone PC never connected to the school’s system, or the internet, where she is recorded as a trans girl and all your communications end up. Only my self and the six senior pastoral staff, the heads of houses, have access to it. I should also add we no longer use that supply teacher. I have little tolerance for the intolerant.”
Marcy’s mum smiled and said, “I did know Marcy’s name had been altered on the register, for Marcy asked me if Jane was ok with me. She likes Mr. Jameson, and told me he had asked her whether she wanted just one name or if not what she would like John replaced by. Jane was her grandmother’s name, my mum’s. I wasn’t aware Marcy was noted as female on the register, for which you have my gratitude. Marcy did tell me of the feminine hygiene lessons, but not that it was an all girls’ class. I presumed it was boys as well as girls being taught because it made sense to me in this day and age. She said it was interesting and it gave her a girl’s perspective on things she would never experience. I know Pol and she talk concerning Pol’s periods and Marcy’s gender reassignment plans and her visits to the medical people. Marcy has bought tampons for Pol when we’ve been shopping, and I saw them on the internet not long ago researching menstrual cups.
“Lydia and I have discussed it and agreed the girls, who are more like sisters than friends, are best left to deal with the matter as seems best to them, for both are sensible and intelligent enough to ask us for help or advice if they need it. They have done so a couple of times, and don’t seem bothered which of us they ask. I appreciate your concern, but as long as it is not a problem to the school it’s certainly not to me, and I’m sure Lydia Munro would say the same. I sometimes think John Munro thinks he has twin daughters, for that’s how he treats them. I’m pleased that for the first time Marcy has a supportive adult male in her life. A major reason why I divorced was my ex-husband’s treatment of her which caused her to chew her fingers. I’m still trying to persuade her to get help for that, but she’s not ready yet, and it would be a mistake to push her.”
“Marcy and Pauline are lucky to have such supportive parents. Other than for girls like Marcy, who will always have to be considered on a case by case basis, I suspect year seven feminine hygiene will always have to be girls only because it needs to be taught right at the beginning of the year and most boys are not mature enough then to hear it. Their behaviour would inhibit the girls from seeking answers some badly need which would render it pointless to try teaching the topic. You’d be shocked by the number of very frightened year seven girls who have become young women before they arrive here and have no idea what is happening to them. Many have no one they can talk to, not even their mothers. Some won’t even talk to their friends because they think it’s only happening to them. It’s tragic, and you wouldn’t think it possible in this day and age where every child has an internet connected mobile phone, but that’s how it is, and all we can do is our best, which includes posters on the pastoral noticeboards providing details of helpful websites.”
Mrs. Bleacher further explained there had always been a few girls who chose to play football with the boys and a few boys who chose to play net ball with the girls, usually because they ultimately wished to play basketball, but not always. It was only in the upper school they were separated for safety reasons because the boys were beginning to be so much stronger than the girls then. Marcy’s mum, grateful for the head’s understanding, explained far more than she had originally intended concerning Marcy’s gender dysphoria and transition, the future of which was in part in the hands of her medical advisors. The two women agreed to keep each other informed of any and all developments and parted on the best of terms both convinced the other would do their best for Marcy, the pupils and the school.
The governors, nowhere near as enlightened nor as compassionate as the head, cynically considered their pragmatic agreement with Mrs. Bleacher may ultimately be presented publicly as enlightenment which would be much to the school’s advantage. Though it was a pragmatic rather than an enlightened solution it was one for which all most nearly concerned were thankful.
Ch 5 Macy deals with her father and brothers by a strategic step back into the closet.
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Marcy’s mum met with her headmistress to discover the dress code is not gender specific. If Marcy wishes to wear a skirt to school the head said it’s within the code and she deliberately wrote the code that way. She expressed approval of Marcy’s ‘light touch’ with make up and jewellery.
Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.
Marcy’s dad, Lewis, was bringing her brothers to spend time over a weekend with Marcy and their mother. They would be staying at a local bed and breakfast hotel. Marcy was not looking forward to the visit and was expecting to receive nothing but abuse from her dad and brothers since she was now a girl and accepted as one, looking and behaving very differently from what her dad and brothers had known before her parents’ separation and subsequent divorce. She explained to Pol how she felt and told her, “I’m happy now, and I don’t care if I never see them again, but I’m not going to pretend to be someone I’m not, even if I knew how.”
Pol thought and said, “You can’t avoid them without hurting your mum, Marce, and I know you wouldn’t want to do that. So let’s think it through. Kay?(1) I know you can’t be what they think of as a proper boy which was why they gave you grief, right? So we need to change what they think don’t we?”
“Yeah, but it’s impossible. I can’t change anything because I’m not a proper boy. Fact is I’ve never been a boy, even Mrs. Yeomans(2) agrees with that now.”
“Ok, ok. There’s no need to stress. We all know you’re a girl, but they don’t know that do they? And they’re not going to talk to any one who can wise them up, are they? Your brothers are thirteen and fourteen right?”
“Yes. There are twelve months between Colin and Gerry and eleven between Gerry and me, so Colin is fourteen and a half and Gerry thirteen and a half.”
“Right. So it’s unlikely either have a steady girlfriend. Some girls at that age do, but usually their boyfriends are a bit older. So if they think you have a girlfriend they’re not going to give you a hard time by saying you’re not a proper boy are they?”
“Agreed. Even if they both have a girlfriend it’s unlikely they would have a go at me if I did too, but how am I going to get a girlfriend in the next ten days? Especially with me being how I am, because all the girls in the village as well as the ones at school know I’m trans and fancy boys. So all the girls at the other school will know too. It’s never been a secret has it? Even the boys who barely know me all know now.”
“Don’t be dim, Marce, there’s me! If you ditch the boobs, the make up and the jewellery for the weekend, wear your hair loose with trainers, jeans and a tee shirt, all we have to do is hold hands and I kiss you a couple of times when they’re watching and it’s sorted. Go to Maxime’s to have your nails taken off, you said last week you wanted them redoing, and have them redone after the weekend. If you remove the polish off your toenails you can have them redone at Maxime’s too. You don’t have to worry bout your hair, cos(3) loads of boys have styled hair. Kay?”
Marcy was not happy with Pol’s plan, but when Pol had the bit between her teeth there was no stopping her. When Pol told Marcy’s mum what she was going to do Julia laught and admitted, “I’m looking forward to seeing Colin and Gerry, but had been worried on Marcy’s behalf. You’re a good friend to Marcy, Pol, thank you. Don’t worry, I’ll play my part.
Marcy wasn’t in when her father and brothers arrived. After their mother had hugged and kissed the boys, she told her sons and ex-husband, “Marc will be back in a bit. He’s at Pol’s. They’re helping her mum prepare her new rose garden, but Pol’s joining us for lunch.” Julia noticed the boys smirking at each other at their assumption Mac was still a sissy playing with girls and pulled them up sharply by adding, “Don’t even think about being rude to her, boys. Pol’s dad is a university professor and she’s clever enough to rung rings round you both. So clever I still don’t understand why she goes out with Marc. Still he must have something to recommend him. They’ve been together for going on twelve months.”
Colin asked incredulously, “Marc has a girlfriend‽”
“Ever since he went to secondary school. They became friends on their first day and have been spending a lot of time together ever since. Do either of you have a girlfriend, Colin? Gerry?” The boys reluctantly admitted that neither had a girlfriend, and their mum said, “Plenty of time yet, you’re only young.” Julia was ashamed that she was enjoying her sons’ discomfort, but determined to protect Marcy from them naytheless added, “Marc always did get on with girls, perhaps that helps now. A lot of his friends are girls, or maybe they’re Pol’s friends, but either way he gets on with them. He’s glad he moved up here because he enjoys going up on the fells with the boys after coneys, and they say he’s a genius at salmon fishing, which they sell to the hotels for twenty pounds if it’s a decent sized fish.”
“What are coneys, Mum?” asked Colin.
“It’s what northerners call rabbits. We only call the baby ones rabbits.”
“Oh.”
“At the moment, Marc and some of the boys are being taught how to fly fish for local trout by one of their dads because it’s the only legal way way to catch them, and they’re worth a lot of money from the local hotels. Sean’s dad works on the overhead power lines for the electricity board, so he sees a lot of the countryside from a helicopter and knows where all the best fishing spots are. Marc spends a lot of time online watching fishing and fish keeping videos, and sells live fish of all sorts to people with large aquaria. Up to now he’s bought them small and grown them on, but, he’s started breeding and raising fish in the garage. If you ask him he’ll shew you the tanks. He even has oxygen cylinders and an ice maker in the garage next to the tanks so fish can be transported safely with out stressing them, but I have to sign for the tranquillisers the vet provides. It’s a lucrative hobby.”
She laught and added, “I’m not sure if all that the boys do is completely legal, but there’s not a lot I can do about it if they go poaching is there? And he’s bought his tackle and the equipment with his earnings. He paid over a thousand pounds for what he described as the best reel money can buy which came from Japan. He wouldn’t tell me how much he paid for the rod that’s drying in the hall.” What she didn’t tell them was for Marcy it wasn’t a hobby, it was a future. That expensive fishing tackle and the equipment in the garage made the money Marcy was investing, via her own financial adviser, with a view to self-financing the surgery she wished if the National Health Service were dilatory, and she’d already made enough to pay for breast implants. She was making money, and her money was making even more money.
Julia didn’t smile at the irony of it when Lewis said, “Well I’m glad to hear he’s finally making a bit of a man of himself, Julia, but if he isn’t bothered enough to be here for me I’m not bothered either. I’ll collect the boys at eight and see him then.
Not long after that Marcy came home with Pol. They entered the room holding hands and Julia asked, “Put the kettle on would you, Pol, please?”
“Sure, Mrs. Harman. It’s ok, Marc, I’ll do it. You stay and talk to your brothers.” Talk was stilted and painful for Marcy, for she had nothing to say to her brothers and wasn’t interested in anything they had to say. After turning the kettle on, Pol came back and asked, “Who’s Gerry and who’s Colin?” The boys introduced themselves, and Pol asked, “Milk and sugar? Both of you?” The boys agreed and as she left for the kitchen she ran her fingers through Marcy’s hair and said, “You need to get that trimmed and restyled, Marc. It’s starting to look straggly, and straggly hair is definitely not cool. I’ll book us appointments at the same time with Françoise and get mine sorted too. Mum said I was starting to look like a mop.”
As Marcy shrugged her shoulders in resignation, Pol tossed her hair, which she was wearing loose rather than in her usual ponytail, and said, “Mum’s picking me up at three, Mrs. Harman, she wants me to help with the supermarket shopping. If it’s ok, she’d like Marc to come too. We’re eating Italian tonight, and Dad would prefer it if Marc chose the wine, you know how he is. Dad’s invited him to dine with us, but said I was to say he’d understand if you said no.” Pol left, and they could hear the sound of teacups rattling in the kitchen.
Marc’s brothers couldn’t reconcile their contemptibly soft brother with his girlish mannerisms, long styled hair which his girlfriend, who obviously spent a lot of time with him, considered to be cool, his feminine facial features and ridiculously long eye lashes which made him look like a young woman on the front cover of a women’s magazine and what their mum had said regarding his activities with his mates, some of which, though unbelievably profitable, she clearly considered of dubious legality. The idea of Marc breaking the law seemed unthinkable. They’d noticed the expensive Shimano fishing rod sections in the umbrella stand in the hall, and the Shimano spinning reel on top of the creel next to it, but the pink flower patterned wellies(4) had puzzled them. They knew anglers didn’t wear wellies like that, and they were convinced Marc wouldn’t dare wear them in the company of men and boys. That they were their brother’s they didn’t wish to believe, obviously having a girlfriend meant he wasn’t gay, but even he wasn’t that soft, surely?
“Marc, you’d better go shopping with Pol, and seeing as her dad has invited you for dinner you eat there. It’s ok if you sleep over if you’re asked. Just ask Lydia to let me know, ok? That will give me a bit more time with your brothers, and I’ll explain to your dad. Just put your tackle away before you go will you, please, and take Pol’s wellies to the garage too.”
“Ok, Mum.”
“Sean’s mum rang earlier wanting to know if you’re still ok for the fishing trip on Thursday. His dad needs to know by Monday morning from all of you so he knows how big a minibus to hire, and Paidin has an option on a set of Swedish steel throwing knives he’d like your opinion on. He’ll catch up with you if you go on the trip on Thursday.”
“Yes, I want to go. Could you ring Mr. O’Reilly to let him know?”
“No problem, Love.”
Just then Pol returned with the tea tray. “You’ve almost run out of sugar, Mrs. Aitch. Do you want me to get you some? Is there anything else you want?”
“Please, Pol, just sugar, and Marc can go shopping and dine with you. I’ve said if it’s ok with your mum Marc can sleep over, but don’t pester her. If it’s inconvenient I’ll pick him up at nine-thirty.”
Pol helped Marcy to put the tackle away in the garage and hugged her because she needed it. Marcy had been badly shaken by forgetting to hide her wellies and her mum’s last second reference to Pol’s wellies had been too close a call for comfort. Pol smiled as she saw the brothers in the corner of her eye following them looking at the fish tanks. She waited a moment till sure the brothers were watching them and hugged Marcy again before kissing her lips. The brothers turned and left in embarrassment. “See, Marce, that wasn’t difficult was it?” she whispered. “I told you all we had to do was change what they think. Another kiss or two and we’ve done it.”
Lunch was difficult for Marcy. She took little part in the conversation and Pol fielded most of the brothers’ questions. Marcy wasn’t hungry because the constant anxiety made her feel ill. She was terrified her brothers would wish to see her room, for it was the bedroom of a girl, and Pol’s reassurances that she would say the girly stuff was hers didn’t reassure her at all because there was nothing in the room that wasn’t girly, even the wallpaper. She was also sure her brothers would know their mum would never allow two twelve year olds of opposite sexes to share a room, and would draw appropriate conclusions: the room was shared by two girls. She’d shut all the doors upstairs except the combined bathroom and loo hoping the boys would be reluctant to open a shut door in case it was their mother’s room. Fortunately the matter was never raised and she was grateful they had a downstairs loo too. Her brothers never got the opportunity to sneak a look in to her room because they never went upstairs.
That Marc, a boy, slept over at the house of a girl was something the brothers had never imagined, never mind heard of, and much they learnt from Pol they found hard to accept. They were baffled by their mum’s reference to throwing knives. That couldn’t be legal surely? And why would someone want Marc’s opinion of them anyway? That Marc was not just popular amongst his peers but an influential trendsetter often consulted by boys as well as girls of all ages at school on matters of fashion and what was cool was not in accord with the character of the brother they thought they knew. They were stunned by the sophistication of his life, which their mother not only sanctioned but was a part of, and envied him his pretty and intelligent girlfriend.
The girlfriend who on hearing a car pull up had got off his knee, on which she’d been sitting for twenty minutes with her arm around him, and said, “Mum’s here. Come on, You,” as she dragged Marc by the hand out of the easy chair they had been sharing. As he stood Pol casually kissed his cheek and said as they left the room, “I won’t forget the sugar, Mrs. Aitch.”
When Lewis returned to collect the boys he was furious Julia had allowed Marc to avoid him, and Colin and Gerry were embarrassed by him. “You never had the time of day for him when we were married, Lewis, so you are being completely unreasonable to expect him to be in the least bit bothered about you now.”
“I’m his bloody father damn it!”
“Yes you are, and it’s taken you over twelve years to find that out. Twelve years, during most of which you not only made his life hell, but you encouraged his brothers to do the same. I never told you before, but the biggest single reason why I left you wasn’t your serial infidelities with the bimbos you met through work, but the way you treated Marc. Well, he’s found his own way now, and to put it bluntly neither you nor his brothers are involved, and I for one am not sorry. His girl friend’s dad is more a father to him than ever you were, and that’s why he’s not here. Professor Munro asked for his help in a relatively trivial matter which I considered to be more important than that he be pointlessly here and subject to your grudging acknowledgement of his existence and scathing condemnations of the way he chooses to live. If you ever want to be a part of his life you’ll have to do so on his terms because like me he’s walked out on you. Now before this gets even more unpleasant I suggest you take Colin and Gerry away, and they are welcome back tomorrow. You are not. Good evening.”
Their mother’s explanation as to why she had left their father caused Colin and Gerry a great deal of anguish, for they had missed her. Their dad’s girlfriend was an over ripe, unintelligent nineteen year old who was extremely jealous of their relationship with their dad. She resented the time he spent with them, couldn’t see why he went to football matches with them when they were old enough to go on their own and he could be taking advantage of the time alone with her, and more to the point taking advantage of her. She had told them she and their dad had marriage plans, and she wanted a family. She’d make it clear her vision of a family did not include them, and they were old enough to know their dad would sacrifice them to keep the gold digger he slept with. She never lost an opportunity to humiliate them, and they now realised, to their shame, that was just how they had treated their brother. The younger brother who lived with the mum they missed and now had a more grown up life than theirs, a life they envied.
It was clear to them their brother was not enjoying their company and didn’t care if he never saw them or their Dad again. They knew their mum loved them, but she’d subtly made it clear living with her was not a possibility. Their past behaviour had caught up with them.
At ten the following morning, Mrs. Munro dropped Marc off. Colin and Gerry, watching through the bay window, saw Pol get out of the back of the car with him, hug and kiss him before getting in the front seat. Marc waved as the car left.
“Was it a good evening, Marc?”
“Yes thank you. I put the sugar in the kitchen, Mum, we bought two bags and a box of lumps.” As instructed by Pol, he added, “Pol said she’d kill me if I forgot to get the lumps, and I got a bottle of that decent hair conditioner too.” Marcy was becoming tired of the charade which made her a little reckless, so with a wide eyed look at her mum she said, “As usual we dressed for dinner, and I persuaded Pol to wear that little black number I made her buy from Sophisticated Ladies(5) in stead of one of her usual big frocks. She looked gorgeous, really sexy. Her dad said she was finally growing up a bit, and her mum said it was really elegant with the way I’d done her hair, so I didn’t get the grief I’d expected from her, cos it is a little more décolleté than anything else Pol’s got, but then she was distracted by Pol’s bright red lipstick, said it made her look tarty. I thought it looked great.
“The Sicilian goat dish Pol’s mum cooked was superb. Can you believe it, she bought the goat meat at Sainsbury’s? I got a couple of bottles of really cheap Chianti at Morrisons that I’d never seen before, but I thought I’d better play safe and told Mrs. Munro she’d better get some decent Valpolicella Classico too rather than risk upsetting Professor Munro. It turned out the cheap stuff was like paint stripper, but he said it was ok with the goat which he reckoned needed something like it to cut through the fatty meat. He said to buy some more and he’d keep it for drinking with similar dishes. I said I’d give him some trout from Thursday’s trip. Pol’s mum is looking up trout recipes and her dad is deciding what he wants to drink with it. He’ll probably choose a German semi-dry white or a Portuguese semi-dry rosé, and he’ll want it not too cold. I know he hasn’t got anything like that, so I’ll probably have to go shopping again some time. Mrs. Munro has invited us and Justin for dinner when she cooks the trout.”
Colin asked, “What’s décolleté?”
His mum replied, “Revealing. A décolleté garment is one that’s cut rather low across the bosom and exposes more than is usual. I’ve a number of such gowns.” A bright red Colin just nodded because he’d no intention of being drawn into a discussion regarding his mother’s exposure of her breasts.
Gerry asked, “What do you mean you dressed for dinner?”
“Formal clothes. You know, women wear evening gowns and men dinner jackets,” Marcy replied disingenuously.”
“Oh. I see. You’ve got a dinner jacket?”
“I always dress formally for dinner at Pol’s, and yes, just like Mum, I have my own formal wear.”
Gerry looked at his mum and asked, “You wear an evening gown, Mum?”
“Of course. All women and girls in our circle do up here. Men look gorgeous in dinner jackets, although of course this close to the border a lot of men, like Pol’s dad, are Scottish and wear the kilts with a Prince Charlie dinner jacket and they are even nicer to look at. When we go out we like to enjoy it and who wants to wear clothes they wear to go shopping in for an event that should be special. Your brother chose my favourite evening gown for me which is so décolleté in style we had to shop for a balconette bra to go with it because I needed the support, but it looks fabulous and gets me noticed. Pol says he has exquisite taste in women’s clothes, and she always takes him along to help her choose clothes, doesn’t she, Love.”
Marcy shrugged, “Yes. We can spend all day shopping for clothes, and you can write off half a day in a lingerie shop like La Senza, but it’s nice spending time with her, though doubtless it’ll be a full day at Victoria’s Secret in Gateshead with her mum and Mum going too. Pol likes feeding the fish, but has no intention of getting wet and cold fishing or coneying on the fells, so if I want to spend time with her I go shopping, and she enjoys me shopping with her too. And Justin definitely notices mum wearing that gown.”
Gerry completely out of his depth talking of shopping, women’s clothes, lingerie, kilts and formal dining decided to allow the topic to lapse, especially after his mum referred to Marc helping her buy a bra to give her support and get her noticed. He didn’t wish to hear concerning her relationships with men, and definitely didn’t wish to know who Justin was. Having to listen to his father and his girl friend making love was bad enough because he knew Colin could hear too. It was something they didn’t discuss. The idea of his mum with a man was mortifying.
The boys’ mum had had a few dates with men she thought she could be interested in, but had not taken them any further once she decided they would not accept Marcy as she was. She was still looking, but any man she entered into a relationship with had to not just accept her daughter but be supportive of her. She was currently seeing Justin one of Pol’s dad’s colleagues who was a physicist, and things were looking hopeful. Justin got on well with Marcy, had supportive views concerning not just trans issues but all identity issues, but had not yet been told that Marcy was a trans girl, though Marcy and her mum suspected he was aware of it.
Colin asked, “Where are you going fishing, Marc?”
“Wildgeese reservoir. It’s a huge artificial lake, over in the North East stocked with rainbows from their own commercial hatchery, costs a hundred quid a day for members, but that includes a packed lunch with a flask of tea or coffee as well as the rod fee, or you can pay a bit more and eat in the restaurante. We always have the packed lunch. It’s a decent meal and we get more time fishing that way. The whole day will probably cost a hundred and twenty each, but it’s the only place I know of where there’s no limit on your catch, probably because they raise their own. The hatchery is huge and ships fingerlings all over the world. We’ll sell the fish to the hotels for more than that. It’s a free day out, we have a lot of fun as long as it’s not pouring down and we made fifty quid apiece last time we went.
“Brown trout from the rivers are worth more than rainbows, but they’re rarer, smaller and harder to catch round here and there’s a catch limit, so Sean’s dad takes us north east every six weeks or so. It’s well worth the two hundred quid a year membership, but if you give them the equivalent of two full twelve hour days help looking after the place, path clearing, scrub cutting, fence repairing, litter picking, strimming and the like they waive the membership fee, and it’s a lot of fun anyway. We spent a long weekend camping over Easter helping out and fished on the Monday. There must have been sixty anglers and their families from all over the country helping and camping. The weather was great and the barbecues and dances at night were excellent.
“They’re holding a huge dinner dance, more like a ball really, in the new clubhouse this Christmas for members and their families, and I’ve ordered tickets for six of us. Did you speak to Sean’s dad, Mum?”
“No. He was on call and had to go to work, a major substation overhead connection Penrith way went out due to a lightening strike. It was on the news. They sent a helicopter for him and the others, and said they’d no idea how long it would take, but I spoke to Sean’s mum, and no I don’t want any fish. We’ll never eat what’s in the freezer, so I’m trying to give some away. The trouble is all your friends’ mums have freezers full too. Ask some of the girls to ask their mums if they want any will you? Start with Lydia.”
“Ok, Mum.”
Gerry asked, “You said the dances were excellent, Marc. You dance?”
“Yeah. We all do, all the boys too I mean as well as the girls. It’s not just disco dancing here. We do ballroom dancing too, and a lot of us are members of the local Scottish country dancing society as well as the school dancing club. It’s a lot of fun and a great way for girls and boys to mix, especially over the winter when it’s too dark to do much outside except over the weekends. Loads of kids go out with girls or boys they met as dancing partners.”
Colin, who like Gerry had never stood up on a dance floor, asked, “What was that about throwing knives? What do you do with them?”
“Throw them at targets. It’s a sport like darts or archery. It’s getting popular round here. It started at a club in Dumfries, but we have a club at school now with almost as many girls throwing as boys. There’s an inter school league and a knockout championship. Pol tried, but gave it up, cos she’s no good at it.”
Gerry asked, “Why does Pol’s dad ask you to choose his wine, Marc?”
“It’s a long story, but in spite of her being an amazing cook Pol’s mum never remembers what she’s bought before. Pol’s dad is really clever, but he’s autistic and has Asperger’s. He’s uncomfortable being with people he doesn’t know, doesn’t mix socially and spends most of his time in his study. We’re all working on him to go to the Wildgeese dance this Christmas, cos Pol’s mum would love him to go with her even if he only dances with her, Mum and Pol. He enjoys a bottle of wine with a decent dinner. I think dinner is his only interest apart from his work, so he likes to do it properly which is why we always dress for dinner at Pol’s.
“Shopping is difficult for him, but he reckons I’m not a bad judge of what goes with what. That’s because a long time ago I told him Retsina went with the lamb we were eating. I’d never even heard of Retsina before which is Greek and tastes of resin. Pol says it’s drinkable loo cleaner. Any way he knows if he tells me what he wants I’ll get it if they’ve got it, and if not he trusts me to get a reasonable substitute. Ages ago I made a few mistakes but not many and none in the last six months because if I’m not sure I get some thing else that I’m sure of too. I’ve learnt quite a lot regarding wine now. It’s really interesting, and he’s willing to let me take a chance on something new. He says at the worst it can be cooked with.”
Colin asked, as if he were scoring a point over his younger brother, “Why doesn’t Pol do it if she’s so clever?”
Their mum laught and replied, “You have to know Pol to understand. She’s perfectly capable of doing it, but prefers Marc to do it so she can be seen by any of their friends who are shopping too holding hands with him. She’s a lovely girl, but she is a little possessive concerning your brother.”
The nightmare that was the weekend eventually passed, and Marcy was relieved it was over without having had to meet her father and she and Pol could revert to their normal girl-girl relationship. Her mum still laught when Marcy’s remark, “I always dress formally for dinner at Pol’s, and yes just like Mum I have my own formal wear,” crossed her mind.
Pol’s mum had laughingly telt them they were a high flying pair of con artists and that Julia was almost as bad.
“I didn’t notice you batting an eyelid, Mum, when I got out of the car and kissed Marce. You could have blown us in then if you’d wanted to, couldn’t you?”
Lydia sobered instantly and said, “No I didn’t and yes I could, but I didn’t want to, for no one should be given a hard time for things beyond their control, and I regret the necessity that you had to do it to protect Marcy, but that doesn’t mean I had to like it, does it?”
“No it doesn’t, but any way, Mum, it was scary, but kind of fun in a way too. Maybe I’ll consider acting as a career. What do you think, Marce?”
“Scary, yes. Fun, no. Mum was happy to see my brothers, but I can’t say I was, all they ever do is talk sport, and I was glad I didn’t have to talk to my dad. My bothers and I never had anything in common and we have even less now.”
Notes on Word Usage
1 Kay, slang for ok.
2 Mrs. Yeomans, Marcy’s gender dysphoria consultant.
3 Cos, slang for because.
4 Wellies, Wellington boots. Wellies are tall, waterproof boots made of rubber.
5 Sophisticated Ladies, an up market, rather expensive ladies’ clothing store.
Ch 6 Macy’s friends find her a boyfriend and then she finds herself on Castle.
.
Marcy’s father and brothers came north for a visit and Marcy terrified of what would happen when they found out she is a girl is told by Pol to dress and look like a boy again and Pol masquerades as Marc’s girlfriend. Marcy’s mum goes along with it and despite the stress Marcy survives the ordeal.
Where necessary or possibly helpful to some, there are notes at the end on word usage.
Most of Marcy’s friends were girls. She enjoyed talking fashion and girly things with them, and had not had any difficulty persuading the school librarian, who insisted she was a librarienne which was her title on her office door name plate, into taking ‘Vogue’ and a couple of other quality magazines with an emphasis on fashion and style. Marcy was envied for having gone to Thulstone with Pol. Weeks later they’d still been talking of the event and sharing the glossy literature and photos with their friends. They’d put together a display in the library of photos and literature of the event which some of the staff considered to be provocative, but the head had said, “Young women modelling underwear? There’s stuff far more explicit than that in the national dailies and on the TV at all times of the day. We’re educators. Which means we’re here to help children to grow up, not just to learn. We’re not here to hold them back in a state of permanent childhood, even were it to be possible.”
Like most of their friends Marcy and Pol had chosen needlework, cookery and childcare as their year nine options. They enjoyed making clothes and were looking forward to learning more advanced techniques. Both were reasonably clever, and were successful at academic subjects, but didn’t really enjoy them. Marcy had always chosen to play badminton and similar games at school, rather than the rougher sporting activities, but they didn’t have to make their final choices for next year till the first week of term though she and Pol had decided on dance as one of their choices, which they thought was going to be exciting because it was one of the few mixed sex sports options in the upper school, and a lot of boys chose it because of that.
What her mum had telt(1) her brothers was a carefully edited and reconstructed part of a larger truth. That truth being that a small number of Marcy’s friends were boys, who admitted they admired her for her sheer nerve in being herself, and it was a surprise, even to herself, to find she enjoyed tramping the fells and poaching with them. She was considered to be reasonably skilled at setting snares for coneys and a genius at working out the best places to catch salmon and then catching them. Sean’s dad, a fanatic angler who fished all over the world, had a great deal of respect for her ability to ‘read the water’, by which he meant predict where the big fish were.
Julia and Lydia enjoyed shopping with Marcy and Pol when they went looking for clothes, and both mums had been with the girls when Marcy had bought some of the evening gowns she had referred to as ‘my own formal wear’. As a result both mums were dressing more fashionably and considered the ‘Wow factor’ of their lingerie had significantly gone up as a result of shopping with the girls.
Pol’s mum had said to the girls and Julia, “That new lingerie has taken years of me.”
Julia had agreed, but added, “Mine too, but it’s taken even more off Justin!”
“Yes. John too! I’m sure that was what persuaded him to go to the dance at Wildgeese.”
The Christmas ball at Wildgeese had been a huge success for the Munros, Marcy, her mum and Justin. The four ladies of the party had amongst them kept Pol’s dad on the dance floor for most of the evening after dinner and he’d afterwards admitted he’d enjoyed himself. Pol and Marcy had had no shortage of partners and had not sat a single dance out. The girls had both had a sip of Justin’s gin and tonic and John’s Laphroaig and declared both were disgusting. They’d enjoyed the sherry their mums were drinking though not enough to want one of their own. Pol decided that she preferred lime juice with soda, or Marcy’s favourite, Grenadine with freshly squeezed orange juice.
They’d stayed till the dance finished at half past two and taken a taxi back to their nearby hotel where they’d booked three rooms. The girls shared a room and that was the first time as far as any other was aware that Marcy’s mum and Justin had shared a bed. Marcy’s mum had told her a fortnight before the dance, “I wish to share a room with Justin after the dance, Love. I’ve told him, but added I wished to talk to you regarding the matter before we book the rooms. How do you feel concerning the matter, Marcy?”
“It’s none of my concern, Mum, and I don’t think I’m entitled to have a view. I always knew you would find someone to love who loves you, and if you’re going to sleep with a man I can’t think of a nicer man than Justin. I hope it all works out for you.”
Half way through year eight(2) Marcy’s mum and Justin were an item. Thirty-nine year old Justin and Julia spent occasional nights together at both of their homes and Marcy was hoping they would marry soon, so she could call Justin, Dad. He’d solemnly promised her that when the time came regardless of the state of her finances money was not going to be a sticking point for her medical procedures. He teased her mercilessly concerning the mismatch of her knife throwing, fishing and coneying with her girly behaviour and clothes, and like John Munro was more than happy to treat her and Pol as his daughters. Marcy and Pol thought he was wonderful.
Justin had proposed in April and Marcy had never seen her mum as happy as when she told her, “I’ve said yes, so we need to plan it all and sort out brides maids’ dresses for you and Pol. We want to get married just before the new university year, September probably.” Lydia hesitated before continuing, “Justin and I would like a family. He’s always envied his sisters for having children, and I enjoyed being pregnant and nursing the three of you, despite your dad’s lack of enthusiasm, so I’d like to have another two with a man who wants them as much as I. How do you feel regarding having much younger siblings, Love?”
“Brilliant! May I tell Pol? Or is it to be kept private for a while?”
“Tell whom you want. Justin has already told John I said yes and that we want more children. I’m going into town later to call in at Bride be Beautiful for their catalogue of bridal wear options. Would you like to come too? We can pick Pol up too if you like.”
“Please. Pol will enjoy that too. I’ll let her know.”
Towards the end of her second year at school, despite her poaching, all called her Marcy or Marce and knew she was trans. It was a long time since Marcy had considered she was possibly gay, she now knew beyond doubt she was a girl and understood a lot regarding trans issues. Pol had never said anything to any of Marcy’s other life in which she dressed as a girl, though the others from school who went to the ball at Wildgeese knew and had mentioned it. Some of them had danced with her and Pol too. Her friends knew but didn’t press her and eventually Marcy had gained the confidence to shew them the pictures and videos of herself at Thulstone and elsewhere dressed in frocks(3) or skirts. Pol’s video footage of her in evening gowns, especially dancing at the Wildgeese Christmas ball, really impressed their friends and with their encouragement Marcy had gone on a school trip wearing a frock and now had the confidence to go pretty much anywhere dressed however she wanted.
Marcy’s mum had told her the contents of the conversation with Mrs. Bleacher nearly a year ago, and as a result she was intending to wear a long skirt at school next year, and, though certain none would be bothered or say anything unpleasant, was wondering how much nerve it would take to wear a gymslip like some of the other girls and play netball. It was after Stella had asked her, “What you and Pol wearing to the cinema, Marce? Jeans or poshed up(4) in frocks? Cos I don’t want to look out of place wearing jeans if you’re getting dressed up,” that she decided to discuss the whole issue with the other girls.
Stella said, “A long skirt. That’s cool, but with your pins you should wear a really short mini, or even hotpants, cos they’re making a comeback. Show em off, Gal! The only thing I don’t understand is why do you want to play netball? You won’t enjoy it because you’re not tall enough. I hated it because it made me bounce and it hurt. If you don’t want to wear shorts and prefer girly sports stuff go for it, but come and play table tennis with the rest of us non-sporty types. At least you’ll enjoy it, and you’ll never get rained on. I hated the rain.”
The rest of the girls agreed with Stella, and Gemma, who at over six feet tall and of very slight build was the best netball player in their year added, “Marce, if you’re tall and don’t have boobs like Stella playing netball is great, but it’s just a game. Only games teachers take games seriously. I know I’ll never bother with it again once I leave school. The only reason I bother with it now is it gets me out of a few lessons. Other than that it’s pointless. Go for the easy life, Girl. Play ping pong.” The girls laught, and Marcy made her mind up, ping pong and a gymslip, life was looking better.
Instead of a gymslip, Marcy bought a couple of sets of white, pleated micro-skirts with matching, frilly ruffled knickers and polo shirts by Janet Reger off the internet because she’d seen players wearing them when a tennis tournament had been on TV and she’d thought they looked pretty. She took them to school on Friday to shew her friends. “What do you think?” she’d asked at break. “Ok for table tennis?”
Gemma was more than impressed. “Wow, Marce! Sen-bloody-sational! They’ll be taking the boys away in ambulances. Just like what I’ve seen top players wearing at Wimbledon on the box.(5) Want some. How much? And where did you get them?”
“Seventeen-ninety-nine a set on eBay. I wasted a bit of time searching, but in the end ‘Women’s tennis clothes frilly’ was what did it. I should have put that in first. It’s an online sports shop based somewhere down south, and they had loads of them in all sizes, colours and a few different designs too. I bought them on Tuesday after dinner, and Mum said they were delivered after I left for school yesterday. Each design is named after a tennis tournament. You got it right, these are called the Wimbledon set.”
“I’m going to get some too, Marce,” Stella said. “I’ve grown out of my kit and will need new for next year. My shorts are so tight over my bum I’m wearing M&S(6) granny knicks(7) with them in case they split. Mum’ll be really cool at that price. It’s way cheaper than a gymslip kit from the school uniform suppliers.”
“Better leave it till the end of the holidays, Stella,” Marcy smiled, “And get the matching sports bras too. You nearly fell out of yours the other day and you might get even bigger before September.”
Gemma laught and said, “Ha! That’s all you know, Marce. She did fall out of it in the gym this morning, and her girls were making a run for it.”
Stella laught and said, “Miss Jackson’s eyes nearly fell out too. She went on and on forever about what if there’d been any boys looking through the windows. She only shut up when I told her I’ve got four brothers, so my boobs being seen by boys was no big deal. She called me a hussy with no sense of shame. If that had been true I’d have risked showing everything by wearing my usual thong stead a(8) granny knicks.”
“Yeah, and then she gave you a detention for cheek when you told her you’d got nothing to be ashamed of,” Gemma added.
Stella shrugged, “She only teaches lower school so next year will be better. I hate that woman. I’m sure she picks on me cos my boobs are bigger than hers.”
“Wish mine were, Stella. Still, with the new law at least I’ll get the hormones when I’m sixteen, and not have to wait till I’m eighteen like I shall for the surgery. I won’t be sorry to be able to stop padding my bras and frocks or using breast forms to make them look ok.” Marcy sounded unhappy.
None of the girls were bothered talking to Marcy concerning anything that affected girls, for in their eyes she was as much a girl as they. Marcy had readily discussed with them the surgeries that lay on her path to womanhood, and they were aware her breasts and hips would arrive as a result of the same hormones as theirs, but considered it unfair she had to wait another two and a half years for them to be delivered artificially. However, only Pol was easy comforting Marcy when she became distressed as a result of that legally enforced wait. She was also the only one who would tease Marcy regarding her understandable obsession with looking like and becoming a girl and then a woman.
Stella drew a breath and changed the subject. “Even though like a lot of us you only wear trousers at school, you always look good, Marcy. I’d sell my soul for your hair and lashes, even if you are a ginger. I wish I could look as good as you. That outfit you wore to Mayalhurst(9) was ultra cool, the accessories were perfect with the frock, and those breast forms look so real. Must be pretty cool to be able to select your rack(10) to suit what you want to wear, but you know what bugs me?”
“What?”
“You always manage to find gorgeous stuff dirt cheap, and boys nearly screw their necks off turning to look when you go past. I thought I’d scored when that tall, dark, gorgeous hunk was chatting me up at the cinema, but all the two faced git wanted was your mobile number! Sometimes I hate you. How do you do it?”
Pol laught and replied for Marcy, “It’s the way she moves her hips when she walks and it makes her boobs bounce too. She spent two days trying different combinations of shoes, boobs, bra hook position and shoulder strap adjustments on her bras to get everything moving together when she walks so it hypnotises boys, specially when she’s wearing heels. But even my mum says Marce knows what she looks fabulous in. She never walks past a shop, especially charity shops, without looking at the stuff that’s just come in and has eBay and NU2U programmed to find stuff and email her when it does. Justin shewed her how to do it. I know for a fact that frock she wore to Ocean Life(11) was four-ninety-nine from Quidproquo(12) and the rest of the outfit she picked up one Saturday from four charity shops for next to nothing.
“The shoes and bag were fifty pence for the lot, and when we got home she found a pound coin in the bag! That skirt she had sprayed on to wear to the cinema was two quid from Oxfam, and the see through blouse was free when she bought some shoes in the nature reserve’s shop because the woman said they had it for over a year and Marce was the only person who’d ever looked at it. The only real money I’ve seen her spend in ages was on that wickedly sexy lace-up bustiere she wore under the blouse which cost her thirty quid!”
Marcy amended, “Actually it was on offer at twenty quid with matching knicks from Victoria’s Secret, but Pol’s forgetting the forty quid breast forms that went into it.”
“Yeah! And the night before we went to Mayalhurst you spent all evening deciding whether to wear a B or a C with it. And here’s me having to put up with an A and boosting it to a B with my forms.(13) Life’s tough at the top!”
Pol’s remark had cheered Marcy back to her usual good humour, so Stella asked, “So what size did you decide on in the the end, Marce, cos you looked great?”
Pol replied so quickly Marcy had no chance to answer, “After boring me to death for hours, I said go for the C, so naturally she decided on the B. She had all her clothes laid out before we went to bed. Then when we woke up and were dressed she said, ‘The hell with it,’ and swapped them for a D and a push up bra. That’s why she had such a good time chatting to those boys with the eyes on stalks in the coffee shop. Her boobs were bigger than her bum!”
“Well I’d never worn them in public before, and they’re no good in the drawer are they,” Marcy replied in reasonable tones. “But I’ve decided I’ll keep them for special occasions.”
“When? Like when there are any boys this side of the horizon?” Pol retorted.
Laughing the girls shook their heads in wonder, and Gemma said, “Seventy quid tops to break the necks on an entire army of boys in a coffee shop. Less than five quid a neck I reckon. Money well spent!”
Amidst the laughter, Stella added, “Now I really hate you, Gal. Those shoes. And they paid you fifty pence to wear em! It’s not decent.”
They were still laughing when Gemma said, “Come on. Time to go. Geography.”
Pol in the company of a dozen other girls, asked a few days before the end of their second year at school, “What are you going to do to get a boyfriend, Marce? It’s much easier for the rest of us I know, but you’re going to have to find one aren’t you? Cos you’ve been chatting boys up for ages. If you’re not careful one who doesn’t know you like the boys at school and in the village do will make you let him go too far. When he finds out you may get seriously hurt. You need to be careful unless there’s a load of us with you, Girl.”
Marcy took her time replying but eventually said, “I know, and I’ve thought and thought for ever concerning it. There’re some really scary stories on the internet, trans girls getting killed and worse. Justin and Mum are really worried for me, and they won’t let me go anywhere on my own on a bus. It’s really sweet of Justin to take me in the car, but I wish it weren’t necessary, cos when I’m out he should be with Mum. I know they don’t mind, but it’s not as if they get a lot of time together alone and they are engaged. I’d love to have a steady boyfriend, Pol, then I wouldn’t want to flirt with other boys, but it’s not easy. I don’t know any one who would want me as a girlfriend who’s any where near my age, and I’d like a bit of choice. I know I’m probably never going to get the amount of choice you are, probably not even after surgery, but I’d like some.”
Right then and there, the girls decided they were on a mission, a manhunt to find Marcy a boyfriend. They reasoned since every one at school knew she was trans and there were loads of boys at school who liked Marcy, and some seemed to like her a lot, she must be able to find a boy interested in her whom she already knew. They thought it was only a matter of a boy having the confidence to accept that the other pupils would be as understanding of him as they were of Marce. The girls had a plan and decided it would be a good idea to talk to some of the more mature boys.
They were surprised when Austin, a year eleven boy, who fished with Marcy said, “I’d no idea Marce was thinking about a boyfriend, Pol. You should have told me before, cos Davy Molyneux in year ten really fancies her seriously, but he’s a bit nerdy and has never had a girlfriend, so he’s scared of what people will say if he goes out with anyone. He’s bloody clever, builds computers for a hobby, and a decent bloke, but I suspect he’s scared of being blown out by Marcy, cos she’s so totally good looking and the coolest kid in the school, and he probably thinks she’s so completely out of his class she’d never even look at him.
“He lives near Sean in your year and is friends with his older brother, and I think Marce being so good at fishing and coneying intimidates him. I am sure he’s not bothered Marcy’s trans, cos it’s obvious from what he says and the way he looks at her that in his head Marce is totally a girl, but he’s got a lot of confidence issues that have nothing to do with Marce or any other girl and everything to do with nothing he ever does being good enough for his parents. There’s no one at school would give him a hard time if he went out with Marce, and there’d be more than a few lads rotten with jealousy wishing they’d had the balls to ask her first. She’s crazy for thinking no one is interested in her, she’ll have loads of choice if she’s interested, but Davy would treat her right.”
The other boys agreed and the girls were going to bring Davy and Marcy together on a four couple date to the travelling fun fair which had just arrived for its annual appearance on the town’s big car park. Pol thought Davy was nice, he was tall and good looking and she wouldn’t have minded being fancied by him, but she’d got her eye on Austin who had just broken up with Lucy for cheating on him, and thought a private chat with him regarding Marcy and Davy might prove beneficial to all four of them. Marcy had no idea that Davy fancied her, and Pol was planning on telling her that evening after school regarding Davy and the date she and Austin had organised that afternoon in between lessons. Austin was taking Pol and to her joy had already kissed her to seal the deal.
For Marcy that evening on Earth didn’t happen, and that was how things stood when she awoke on Castle freezing calt(14) in the middle of the night wearing her school trousers and a fitted blouse over a lingerie set containing breast forms.
As soon as she had awakened sufficiently to appreciate something of the situation she was in Marcy had removed her bra and breast forms in the dark and stuffed them in her trouser pockets. She’d not liekt(15) the taste of the leaf she’d been given, unknown to her the slight bitterth(16) was due to the calming herbs rather than the leaf itself, but she’d not drunk more than a mouthful. Prior to her endless seeming walk to the infirmary, she been given a heavy fur coat and hat and telt(17) they were hers permanently. She’d been aflait(18) and decided the less that was known of her till she found out a lot more of the situation she was in the better.
She removed her lacy knickers in the facility and they joined her bra and breast forms, now in her captious coat pockets. Tired from the caltth,(19) the mouthful of leaf she’d drunk was taking effect and she was vaguely aware of being helped to undress and hearing some one say in a surprised tone of voice, “She’s a boy!” The bath water was warm and she remembered naught else till she awoke. Her first act had been to check her coat pockets but none had removed her underwear.
That is the end of Marcy's life on Earth and the beginning of Beth's Life on Castle, but much else remains to be posted first if sense is to be made of Beth's Life.
Notes on Word Usage
1 Telt, told.
2 Year eight, 12-13 year olds.
3 Frock, dress as opposed to a skirt and blouse combination.
4 Poshed up in frocks, dressed up in dresses.
5 The box, vernacular for a television.
6 M&S, Marks and Spencer, a UK high street retail giant known especially for selling women’s and girl’s clothes including granny knickers of which they have a huge turnover.
7 Granny knicks, granny knickers or panties, usually white, plain and large knickers considered to be unattractive by the young and only suitable for elderly women: grannies.
8 Stead a, slang for in stead of.
9 Mayalhurst Hall, a fictitious theme park popular for school outings in the north-west of England.
10 Rack, an imported American term signifying bosom or breasts. In English English as spoken by children in the north there is no pornographic or sleazy connotation.
11 Ocean Life, a fictitious aquarium based entertainment centre popular with families.
12 Quidproquo, a fictitious local cheap store that sells near enough everything, but which carries large amounts of women’s and girls clothes.
13 Forms, breast forms.
The following terms are ‘uest’(20) because Marcy is now on Castle and they are the words uest there.
14 Calt, cold adjective
15 Telt, told
16 Liekt, liked
17 Bitterth, bitterness
18 Aflait, afraid or frightened
19 Caltth, coldness or cold noun
20 Uest, used