Dieithryn Chapter 3

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

Saturday (day 2)

There’s something about waking to a virtual sunrise. I’d trained Alexa to do it at my flat, but it was nothing like this. Jeeves had interpreted my instructions a little loosely so I woke up not just to gradually increasing light levels, but to sunrise colours. Six-thirty brought the strains of Katie Melua’s Nine Million Bicycles into the room.

I asked Jeeves to open all the curtains and headed for the bathroom. It was still a little dim outside so the lights continued to follow me as I went.

“Would you like the music to move with you as well, Gillian?” Jeeves asked.

“Yes please, and increase the volume while I’m in the shower if you wouldn't mind.”

“Of course.”

It occurred to me that my smart watch was still sitting on the bedside cabinet, connected to its charging cable.

“Jeeves? I was under the impression I needed my smart watch for you to know where I am in the house.”

“Why would you think that, Ma’am? I have access to the house’s security cameras.”

Why indeed would I think that? For a brief moment I felt self conscious undressing in the bathroom, but then decided it was unlikely that a piece of computer code, no matter how sophisticated, would have any interest in my anatomy.

Power showers are the best. I came out tingling all over, except where my breasts remained attached to my chest. I’d probably have to give myself a night off from them soon, but for now they remained properly stuck on. I chose a deep burgundy dress with lace sleeves. Maybe a bit posh for everyday wear but I didn't have much that wasn't. Besides, it brought out the inner me, and she deserved a little pampering.

Breakfast consisted of mixed nuts, Greek yoghurt and some mandarin segments from a tin. Not a lot of any of it, but enough. Also the inevitable coffee. Flat white this time, and just the right kick to get the day started.

I was ready by quarter past seven.

“Jeeves, would you put a call through to Gwen please?”

“Calling Gwen. Would you like me to put her number in your favourites?”

“Yes please, and put it on speed dial two.” One was reserved for Miles Jeffrey.

“Done. Calling now.”

She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hi Gwen, I’m ready when you are. I’m leaving the door open, so just come in.” The latter piece of information was unnecessary as Jeeves looked after keeping the doors locked.

“Okay, I’ll be with you in ten minutes.” She hung up.

I climbed the stairs and stuck my head into the second guest room – the one I’d designated as my office. There was room for a small desk. I estimated how big and added it to my mental shopping list.

“Hellooo,” Gwen called from downstairs.

“On my way,” I called back. Everything I wanted was downstairs so I put action to my words.

“Wow, you look amazing,” she said as I appeared. “You make me feel quite under-dressed.”

She actually looked pretty amazing in skin tight jeans and a cream sweatshirt. I told her so.

“So make me feel better and do the same,” she said.

I shook my head. “Part of my aunt’s agreement was that I should spend a year in skirts and dresses.”

“You’re going to regret that come winter,” she said. “Besides, who’s going to know?”

“Me. I’ll know. Besides besides, I could never get away with jeans like those. I’d have a bulge showing that would make it obvious what I had going on between my legs.”

“I suppose so. It’s funny. I’m really having difficulty thinking of you as anything but a woman. I mean how is it your boobs look so much better than mine?”

I looked down at my chest enhancements. “High quality silicon gel and some really strong glue. Plus they don’t look anywhere near so good when I take my clothes off.

“Anyway, the car’s through here. We should get going if we want to dodge the crowds.”

So we did. The nearest proper supermarket was a Tesco Superstore in Bridgend which wasn't too much of a trek, but traffic was already building when we hit the outskirts. I could see why she liked to go early.

We shopped until the place started to get busy then hauled our spoils out to the mini, which swallowed them without difficulty.

We both had things in need of going in the fridge or freezer so I drove us straight home. I suggested Gwen might like to come back once she’d put her things away and I’d give her the promised tour of my new home. She readily agreed, so twenty minutes later, each of us with a mug of coffee courtesy of the magical machine in my kitchen, we were outside and wandering around the courtyard. The weather looked like it was going to turn at any moment so we agreed to look about the outside first.

The stable block looked pretty much fit for purpose except that the tack room was empty. Nothing a few thousand quid couldn't fix and not exactly unexpected.

“I might have a proposition for you if you’ve nothing in mind for this place,” Gwen said.

“What were you thinking?”

“Patrick and I always had thoughts about fixing this place up so we could keep a couple of horses, but there was never the time or the money, and the longer we left it the more the place fell apart.

“Eventually we had to admit it was just a pipe dream and we’d be better off selling the place while it still had some value. Your aunt offered us a very fair deal on it, so we sold it to her.

“Only now, with her cash, we can afford a couple of horses, except now we’ve nowhere to put them.”

“Whereas I have a perfectly good stable with nothing to put in it.”

“That’s not likely to be a problem for long. I’m pretty sure you’ll have people knocking on your door soon enough asking if you’d be prepared to rent the stable to them.

“We couldn’t afford to pay you, not at the rates you’re likely to be offered for a place like this.”

“Except I know nothing about caring for horses, even if I have posh stables.”

“That’s not a worry. The owners would do all the looking after.”

“But I’d need to give them free access. I’m not sure how I’d feel about having strangers coming onto my property at all hours.”

“What about a couple of friends and neighbours?”

“I’m listening.”

“I don't think I told you, my mum owns a stable and riding school. She likes to say I could ride before I could walk, and I spent all my time before I met Pat looking after horses.

“Mum has three horses she’s thinking of auctioning off, complete with tack. She’s offered us first refusal on them, but only if we take all three and if we have somewhere to keep them.”

“I thought you said you were only looking for two.”

“The deal is for three. If we took just two, Mum would still have the hassle of auctioning off the last and that would be as much work as doing all three. They’re good horses. Not Grand National contenders but just right for a bit of hacking. You could have the third, either we continue to own it and you can use it as often as you like, or you buy it off us for a stupidly low price.”

“Like I said, I don't know anything about horses.”

“And like I said, I do. I’ll do all the work looking after them, Patrick and I will feed them, cover vets bills and all that, and I’ll teach you how to ride. It’s not money in the bank, but I don’t know, I thought you might be interested.

“We’d only come in via the back gate,” she pointed over to the side of the house furthest from my bedroom and the lounge, “so you’d barely know we were here. And if you had the stable full you wouldn't have a constant stream of people asking you to rent it to them.”

“When do you need to know by?”

“Next weekend. That’s when Mum will have to book them in for the auction if she has to.”

“Give me a couple of days to think about it.”

“Okay. If it’ll help you make up your mind, I could take you over to Mum’s stable and introduce you to the horses.”

“Sure, why not.”

“I’ll give her a call and see if we can pop over tomorrow.”

I could see I wasn't going to get out of this, but I needed the time to come to terms with it first.

“How much do you think I could rent the stables out for?”

“With access to the pasture out back as well?” She mentioned a figure which made me choke on my coffee.

Then she waited till I had taken another sip before adding, “That’s for each stall.”

It would be enough to provide me with a reasonable income, assuming I wanted to go that way which I wasn't sure I did.

The dovecote had been converted into a three bedroom flat. Nothing special, but a nice enough airBnB, again should I choose to let it out. Of course that assumed that anyone would want to spend time in this little piece of nowhere. The pasture behind the property seemed large to my eyes, but then again, my neighbour farmed sheep and a few cattle so the acreage they needed was significantly bigger.

I gave the space a speculative look over.

“Do you think I'd have any problems putting up a few warehouses here?” I asked Gwen.

“It’s not as if we can really object, is it?” She turned to look at the acres of sheet metal prefabs extending beyond their house. “I mean this is good grazing land, so it would be a shame to use it for buildings. What did you have in mind? Maybe we can suggest something better.”

“Oh, nothing worth sharing yet. But I’ll run any ideas I have by you and Patrick first. As and when – and if – I have them.”

We went back inside and chatted for a while over a second coffee.

“You should offer to host the coffee morning,” she said. “Coffee this good is bound to buy you some friends.”

“I'm not sure I want to buy friendship. Besides, the machine only makes one cup at a time and it takes its own sweet time over that.”

“I suppose, but you should definitely invite a few to visit. Your friends once you make them.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing.” I smiled over the rim of my mug.

We chatted for a while longer then she excused herself. Things to do, she said, which probably meant making lunch for her husband. Mind you I had things to do as well. I’d left my computer behind as part of my deal with Aunt Daisy, not that I missed it much. It was an ageing desktop that just about kept up with the Internet. I didn’t do anywhere near as much with it as I did my machine at work, and even that was a little slow and outdated.

Since I could afford it, I decided to go top of the line, which meant getting some advice and the nearest place I could find for that was a Curry's outlet back in Bridgend. Another ten minutes drive – closer to fifteen once I’d fought my way through the mid-morning traffic – and a lengthy bit of sales patois later, I was about two thousand quid poorer but in possession of a top of the line i7 laptop and a colour laser printer.

In my younger days Curry’s had a poor reputation for aggressive up-selling, but the young man who latched onto me listened carefully and did his best. Perhaps a little too hung up on AI optimised computers, but prepared to let it go when it became evident I wasn't interested. I probably bought more of a machine than I needed in the end, but that was more my choice than his pushing. He pretty much earned his commission from my sales with the help he offered. Also, I’m not sure if he recognised my true nature, but he made no comment about it.

Next stop was an office supplies place for a flat pack desk. Again, I took advantage of my presently flush bank account to buy something made from hardwood rather than chipboard.

One of Mum's old maxims, that. Better to have a few things of quality than a lot of cheap rubbish. The way things were going, I already had a lot of quality stuff, so it made sense not to resort to the cheap and nasty.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up building my new computer desk and setting it up with computer and printer, then picking up my brief research from the previous night and arranging it into a plan of action for Monday.

Gwen phoned around seven just as I was beginning to put tea together.

“Mum’s invited us for lunch,” she said. “Patrick's offered to drive us over. You can meet the horses and quiz Mum on what would be involved in keeping them.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“We’ll call for you at twelve if that’s okay.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any jeans? Riding in a skirt is kind of a drag and I don’t know if Mum has any side saddles.”

“I’ll see if I can come up with something.”

“See you tomorrow, and thanks for earlier; it was fun. I’ll have to invite you round here sometime soon.”

“I’d like that.”

I called Dylan and Moira to see if I could drop by in the morning to pick up the paperwork they had on the sea wall development.

“We were hoping to see you for lunch,” Moira said.

“I was planning on it but Gwen and Patrick invited me out. They’re picking me up about twelve.”

“Well, it’s a bit more than you’d want to carry if you're walking. We could bring it to you if you like. We don’t open till lunchtime during the week.”

“That sounds great. I'll make sure the coffee machine’s warmed up and ready. Unless you prefer tea of course.”

“Oh, coffee, definitely. Would ten o’clock work for you?”

“That would be perfect. I’ll leave the gate open for you.”

So, another early night so I could get up in time to straighten the place up. I’d never been houseproud before, but now I had a house to be proud of. Besides, it mattered now. I mean it’s not as if women are that judgemental – not all of them anyway – but I didn't feel like I could get away with being a slob around them.

It was easier to fall asleep at an early hour, and felt wonderful getting up with the dawn chorus. My bedroom had windows that opened onto both the short road between my house and Gwen and Pat’s, and my courtyard at the back. The one side held strains of industrial business, but looking down onto the courtyard with the dovecote and stables and the local wildlife yammering out their various territory claims was a halfway decent way to wake up.

I had a thought.

“Jeeves, can you wake me up with a recording of the dawn chorus?”

“I can.”

“It’ll have to be a different recording each day. I don’t like the same thing repeated.”

“Still not a problem. If you like, I can use the microphones on the external security cameras to capture local recordings fresh each day.”

“I think you’ll find there’s quite a bit of noise from the farm next door at that time.”

“I can either discount those cameras or remove the industrial noise. If you’d care to try it, it’ll either be good enough or it won’t.”

“Okay, sure, let’s try it starting tomorrow.”

“The dawn chorus currently starts around five in the morning. Would you like it live or recorded for a later time?”

“I’m guessing the second. Five seems a little early, but I’ll let you know.”

“As you wish.”

“Remind me if I go to bed without setting the parameters of the alarm.”

“Of course.”

Sunday (day 3)

I opened my wardrobe. My one concession to bifurcation was a pair of palazzo trousers with so much additional material in the legs they still looked like a skirt. They were lightweight enough for the weather and went beautifully with a ribbed, short sleeve top. The day was promising a whole lot more sunshine than I'd been led to believe was possible in this part of the world.

Following a light breakfast, I hoovered – or should that be dysoned? – polished and cleared up till nine-thirty, then opened the gate as I'd promised and sat down with a little Vivaldi playing in the background.

Dylan and Moira arrived within five minutes of the appointed hour and made all sorts of complimentary comments. Unnecessary perhaps, but it still felt good having a home others were a tiny bit jealous of.

Dylan lugged a sizeable box of files up to my newly christened office and challenged me to enjoy the contents. I made them coffees and we chatted agreeably for an hour before they had to head off to set up for the Sunday lunch rush.

“Come for lunch on Tuesday after the ladies meeting,” Moira said. “Whatever you fancy from the menu on the house while you talk to this lump about what you can do for us.”

“You’re on. Thanks for dropping by.”

That gave me an hour to do ten minutes tidying up before Gwen and Patrick came calling. Gwen approved my choice of clothing and even Patrick didn't seem too out of sorts. I didn't much care for the ride his Land Rover provided, but I wasn't about to get critical about something he evidently loved.

Gwen’s mum, Megan, was a pistol. I don’t know where that term came from, but she was definitely a force to be reckoned with. She fed us amazingly well then took us out to the yard and showed us around. Last stop of the tour was inevitably the part of the stable where the three horses in question were kept. She picked a silver grey mare from the three and took me through all the tricks of putting on the saddle and harness.

“Do you see the way she’s tensed up there,” Megan said. “Around her abdomen. They used to think it was the horse taking a breath to swell out their chest so you can’t get the saddle strap tight. Their chest doesn't expand much with an intake of breath though, but the tensing of abdominal muscles will do the same thing. It just means she’s worried about how uncomfortable the saddle’s going to be.

“So we make it comfortably tight and let her get used to it, then when she relaxes a bit we tighten it another notch. Never too tight because then she’ll tense up again and you’ll both have a bad day. Just gently one bit at a time. Shift to a different bit of tack then come back to it.”

I learnt so much in such a short period of time, most of all I learned how much of a personality a horse can have. She sensed my nervousness, but she was considerate enough to be patient with me. I wouldn't have believed it possible to make friends with an animal quite so quickly.

Megan joined us on a short ride around the countryside during which time I gained confidence and Greystar learned to trust me. It was a magical afternoon made just a little more surreal as I dismounted to find three comically hopeful expressions looking at me.

“Alright,” I said, “but I get Greystar.”

“You want to own her or just borrow her from us?” Gwen asked.

“I’m thinking I’d like to own her, but give me a day or two to decide.”

“No later than Wednesday,” Megan said. “I’ll need to sort the paperwork out by then. Why don’t I come round on Wednesday? I can look your stable over and give you some pointers, then we can fill out the forms one way or another. I’ll bring the horses to you on Friday if that works.”

“Wow. That’s quick.”

“I need the space. New blood coming in.”

“Sure, why not. Wednesday to sort the paperwork out, Friday for the new neighbours moving in.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke? Neigh- bours?”

“It wasn't meant as one.”

“Good. I can't stand puns.”

The journey home was a lot more cheerful with even Patrick making positive comments. It lasted right up until we arrived.

“Oh no,” Gwen said.

I looked past her out the windscreen where a messy message had been daubed onto the side of my house.

“You know, it’s hard to take offence when you don’t know what it means,” I said.

It read, ‘Ffric saesneg, dos I grafu’ which I could barely begin to guess at pronouncing.

“Ffric is more or less what it sounds like,” Patrick said grimly, “only the spelling is different. Saesneg is pretty much the same as Sassenach to the Scotts. The rest is a rather crude idiomatic way of suggesting you might like to go away.”

“Ah, well,” I sighed. “I thought it all seemed a little easy.”

The security feed showed a couple of black clad individuals wearing balaclavas running into shot from up the pathway leading down to the coast. One held the pot while the other splashed whitewash on my pristine – well formerly – stonework. They seemed oblivious to the presence of the cameras. Body language and shape suggested young, male and reasonably fit, which described a fair proportion of the village, though not anyone to whom I’d been formally introduced.

Patrick asked for a copy of the footage which was easy enough to produce, though I couldn't for the life of me figure out why he'd want it. A rather uncharitable part of my nature suggested it was so he could have something to gloat over later, but that didn't seem likely, especially when, half an hour after he and Gwen left, I heard a petrol power washer start up. He worked at it for about an hour and did a pretty good job of removing the graffiti. It was still there in my mind though.

This was an example of the challenges Daisy had warned me I had coming. Part of me had expected something of the sort, but not a part of me that had anything to do with feeling, because it still stung. It felt like I'd been winning people round, though to be honest, it was quite possible there could be some truth in that without accounting for everyone.

Also from the context of the message it was likely they objected to my English roots as much as my unconventional lifestyle.

My phone rang, startling me out of my reverie.

“Gill, it’s Gwen. Patrick and I were wondering if you like to come over for a bite to eat. We don’t want you believing that everybody thinks like the toads who vandalised your house.”

“Even Patrick?”

“Whose idea do you think it was to get the pressure washer out?”

Well… I didn't tell her. It seemed I was winning some people around at least.

“Thank you. What time?*

“Sevenish? After what Mum fed us I was thinking a salad maybe?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you later.”

I changed into a light summer dress and pottered about the house for a while until sevenish came around. More ish than seven, but I found myself really wanting company.

Patrick handed over a glass of white wine as he waved me into the house.

“I don‘t have any sparkling water I’m afraid.”

I smiled. “It’s alright, I could do with something a little stronger anyway. Thanks for… you know.”

“Least I could do. Anyway, come in.”

“You appear to have changed your mind about me.”

He shrugged. “I’m still not sure I get the, er, you know,” he gestured at me with his beer, “but I can’t deny you’ve been kinder than I’d have expected.”

“For a saesneg or a freak?’

“For either. That’s not how I see you, Gill. Well, maybe a bit at first, but the proof of the pudding’s in the eating, isn't it?”

“What you two doing out there,” Gwen called. “Should I be jealous?’

The rest of the evening went a lot better. I allowed my frayed feelings to be knit back together by new and genuine friendship.

Monday (day 4)

I probably drank a little more than was sensible which meant I didn't appreciate the dawn chorus as much as I might, despite it being delayed a couple of hours at my slightly inebriated request the previous night. I had Jeeves switch to something gentler and went to stand under a shower for half an hour.

Which meant standing in front of a mirror for a further half hour with a hairdryer attempting to recreate some of the style Mandy had put in there Thursday afternoon.

My chest itched, so I spent a few minutes with a bottle of solvent ungluing my boobs from my chest, then another few minutes in the shower cleaning the space where they’d been attached and a further few minutes cleaning the breast forms themselves. Not exactly efficient, but I got there.

I wasn't expecting to socialise so decided to give my skin a break from the boobs, which also meant I could forgo the bra for the day – variously referred to in my parents’ household as the ‘over the shoulder boulder holder’ by my dad and the ‘medieval torture device’ by my mum. I sympathised with my mum after the previous few days, except it felt weird now not feeling the straps and the weight of my prostheses. It definitely looked weird having no chest to speak of, so I hid it under a white, oversized, fluffy sweater. The rest of the day’s ensemble consisted of thick white tights and a short, pink skater skirt. Overall result delightfully cute but still feeling a little off.

It could have been going boobless, so I tried putting on the bra and letting the breast forms just sit in the cups. That just felt more off, so I went back to plan A and tried to think things through.

I asked Jeeves to pull the curtains back only to find a grey overcast and a whole lot of drizzly rain. That felt more normal than the previous two days’ sunshine, but I’ve tended to be affected by abrupt changes in the weather. I did feel a little thick headed, but that wasn't all I had going on.

I headed downstairs to an uninteresting breakfast of dried toast and a cup of coffee to offset the anticlimax of what ‘d eaten. If the recent changes in my life hadn’t happened I’d most likely have had something slightly more tasty to eat and less tasty to drink since my old coffee machine wasn't a patch on the new one.

And that was all of it. The weekend was too short a time to adapt to all this change. If not for Aunt Daisy’s legacy, I’d be in my boring little flat instead of this luxurious modernised farmhouse, I’d be wearing boring chinos and polo shirt instead of the cute outfit I had on and I’d be looking forward to a day at my cube farm desk preparing for eight hours’ boring logistical organisation for a bunch of companies I didn't know or care about. What I had to do today wasn't any more interesting, except that it affected the lives of people in my new community, so that gave me an incentive I’d lacked before now.

Plus, biggest of all, that weight I’d struggled with all my life was gone. I'd actually started adjusting to its absence over the last two days, but with the reminder of what my Monday should have been, I recalled briefly what it had felt like to struggle along under the weight of all the wrongness in my life. And that brought me a renewed euphoria from its absence.

I grabbed my coffee and my half eaten toast, then after a moment’s thought, a plate – after all I didn't want to get crumbs everywhere; I’d only have to clean them up later – and headed upstairs to my office.

By habit I turned the computer on first, then did a double take at how quickly it powered up. I wasn't going to need it for a few hours, but I would want a new online identity. I quickly set myself up with a new Gmail account using my preferred Christian name and did the same for social media. I’d never bothered with it before, but it felt right to start putting the new me online.

Not part of the deal with my aunt, but providing occasional evidence to Miles that I was keeping my end of the bargain seemed right. I selfied and posted with a caption saying, ‘The new me in my new office,’ and sent an invite to Miles.

I then spent a couple of hours going through the box Dylan had brought round, making notes on what had been arranged and who had done it.

Nine o'clock arrived and I started phoning people. I’ve found it to be a good time to catch busy folks because they tend to be still organising themselves and distracted enough that they’d pick up the phone. They’d inevitably try to make excuses but if you refused to let up, they’d usually give in. By ten o’clock I’d spoken to most of the people I wanted to and I had as complete a picture of what was involved with the sea wall project as I needed. By eleven I had three construction companies trying to come up with alternate plans to the one I was pushing. They tried to dissuade me from buying and reselling a vehicle and by the time I paused for mid-morning coffee I had two of them bidding against each other with plant hire prices coming down to around half what they’d been charging the council.

That was local government policy though. Give the contract to the lowest bidder then keep offering them the next one and the next regardless of how much the price went up. Businesses would bid to do their first council job at a considerable loss, because they knew the next one would be a profit and everything after that would turn into a real cash cow.

Private concerns like the village were different though. They’d hunt for the best deal so the businesses would fight each other to give the most competitive deal. Capitalism as it was meant to be – fair deals for all.

One of the two contending companies had the capacity to deliver the high grade cement we needed too. If I played the game as well as I knew I could, I should be able to land a decent discount on the whole job, and that would seal the deal.

I checked the milk in the coffee machine and set it to cappuccino. It would take a few minutes so I busied myself putting together the ingredients for air fryer fairy cakes. I had the mixture made by the time my coffee was ready. I spooned it out into a dozen and a half silicon cake bases and put everything in the air fryer ready to go. Cooking time was less than fifteen minutes, so I set them going and made a batch of buttercream. The cakes still had ten minutes to run by the time I was done so I took my coffee out into the courtyard and wandered about the place wondering what I could do to brighten the place up. It was all grass or tarmac, but there was room for a few tubs of flowers. I liked the idea of wood, but wasn't sure how it would cope with all the rain. Something to ask at the women’s meeting the following morning.

The rain was still enough of a nuisance that I didn't stay long outdoors. Long enough though since the air fryer beeped at me as I headed back in.

Cut out a divot in the top of each cake, ladle in some buttercream, cut the divot in half and put the two halves loosely back in the hole. Peel off the bases and add to a Tupperware box.

Seventeen should be enough to sample, which gave me one to try out. It was remarkably good enough that I was sorely tempted to try another. I liked my shape though and didn't want to risk losing it.

I settled for lunch instead. Poached egg on toast. Enough to settle the cravings, then back upstairs and on the phone for another round of negotiating. By the end of the day I just about had the agreement I was hoping for. Start date within two weeks, finish date within two months, total cost to the village ninety-five thousand and some good will advertising.

It seemed sensible to leave negotiations with the district council to Dylan. That was more to do with networking which was the one part of the job I’d never been good at. I suspected I could do better now, except I didn't have any established contacts.

With nothing much else to do I put together a healthy, low carb but tasty dinner – mainly salmon and veg but a few boiled new potatoes – and treated myself to a film while I ate. Some marginally enjoyable romcom that took me to my early bedtime.

Tuesday (day 5)

Tuesday started with a gentle sunrise and a cacophony of birdsong. Oddly restful and energising at the same time.

“Jeeves, make sure you save a few recordings of the dawn chorus in case we have a quiet day sometime.”

“A good idea, Gill.”

“An occasional Ma'am wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

“What’s the weather like today?”

“Warm with a few showers but mostly dry. Temperatures in the high teens and low twenties.”

“Sounds like summer dress weather.”

“Delightful Ma'am.”

“I said occasional Jeeves.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

“Do you have a sense of humour, Jeeves?”

“I was instructed to base my manner on a character from a series of novels by P G Wodehouse. I can alter that if you wish.”

“No, I rather like it.”

“Very good Ma’am.”

I made use of a shower cap and saved myself some time with the hair dryer, then used it all up applying adhesive and positioning my boobs. My first attempt ended up being a little lopsided, so I removed one – fortunately before the glue set – and re-positioned it. I must have done pretty well in the end because my bra fit quite neatly and needed only a small amount of adjustment.

Yellow summer dress, no tights needed and white sandals from the selection downstairs. It didn't seem quite enough so I riffled through my jewellery until I had a few bangles and a topaz pendant on a gold chain. I didn't feel like makeup, but settled on using a light pink lip gloss and little else.

Then I changed my mind and worked on my eyes for a short while to make them… I think the modern word is ‘pop’. Result, more Gillian less the guy underneath.

Breakfast, coffee – well duh – gather together my cake contribution and the summary of my previous day’s efforts then out of the door by eight. Really early since the ladies’ meeting wasn't due to start till ten.

I knocked on Gwen’s door to find her equally up and about, also looking delightfully summery.

“I didn't really have anything to do,” I said, “so I wondered if you might like some company before walking down to the village.”

“All I’m doing is waiting for a few things in the oven, so sure. Coffee?”

You can never have too much coffee.

Actually you can but I was nowhere near my threshold.

We chatted about nothing much. I let Gwen take the lead because I was still pretty new to this. It felt oddly right though, kind of relaxing into a friendship. It felt more and more like Gwen just saw me as another woman. I mean no reason why not. Now that I was taking the time, I looked good enough to pass – certainly better than a lot of women my age – and my natural behaviour – based on the inner me who had spent so much time hiding under the surface – was a match for hers.

Nine-thirty crept up on us without warning. Gwen noticed before I did and organised us quickly enough that she was able to box up her edibles and usher us out of the door within just a few minutes, and that gave us a leisurely walk down the hill to the church hall allowing us still to beat most of the other ladies in the group.

It felt both natural and unusual to consider myself as one of the ladies. I was pretty sure that a fair number of them didn’t think of me as anything of the sort, and I still had all too recent memories of plodding along on the opposite side of the gender divide. Despite that, I felt completely comfortable in my new role, so much more so than I could ever have imagined.

I ended up on the receiving end of more turned up noses and whispered gossip than I would have liked, but it didn’t stop me feeling female even if very few of the women around me saw me as such. Moira’s habitual smile was conspicuous by its absence shortly after she arrived.

She gave me an apologetic look as she started the meeting. “Gillian, I’m sorry you haven't been given much of a welcome today.”

“It’s alright. I can’t help being English and if most of you have a problem with that then there’s not much to be said on the matter.”

“Is that really what you think this is about?” one supercilious individual asked with a disdainful smirk.

“Of course I don’t.” I was tempted to include an expletive, but decided I’d be more likely to maintain the moral high ground if I kept civil. “But I can't help the other thing either. I don’t mind which one we talk about, so it’s up to you which prejudice you wish to address publicly.”

That at least wiped the grin from her face even if it lost me a few friendship points.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just be the person you were born as,” she said, her expression considerably more sour.

“But that’s exactly what I am being,” I replied. “I spent fifty years trying what you, in your ignorance on such matters, actually meant, and it nearly destroyed me.

“What I can’t understand is why you have such an issue with how I choose to live my life. If this brings me happiness, and believe me it does in a way just trying to live as a man never could, then why is it so difficult for you to accept it and be happy for me? What difference will it make to your life if I do this instead of wandering around in jeans, scratching my crotch and drinking pints? What harm am I causing you by choosing to be this way?”

I needn’t have bothered. She put up barriers as soon as she realised things weren't going her way. She also decided not to argue further as I evidently refused to let her tromp all over me.

“Anyway,” Moira tried to regain a little bit of control. “We’re here to talk about food. I see a few of you have brought samples. So, come on, let’s do some tasting.”

Everyone, or perhaps almost, brought out a sample of something to share. With the exception of Gwen and Moira, the whole crowd boycotted my fairy cakes. It was petty and spiteful and obvious, but I wasn't going to let anyone know it bothered me. I was as genuinely complimentary of the things I tried as I could be and wasn't at all surprised when I failed to make an impression.

The meeting ended, we packed up and the others left until just Gwen, Moira and I remained.

“I’m sorry about them,” Moira said to me once the three of us were alone. “I thought you handled the situation as well as anyone could, especially with Morag.” That put a name to my principal opponent at least. “It’s not your fault they’re so committed to being narrow minded. Are you still okay for lunch?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good. Bring those.” She pointed at the largely untouched fairy cakes. “They’ll make a better dessert than the one I had in mind.”

“Pop in when you’re back,” Gwen said. “I wouldn't mind another chat like this morning.”

They were being kind, but I was grateful. I smiled. “I’ll see you later then.”

“You’ll be alright?”

“There was a thing my mother always told me about friends when I was a kid. It’s not the quantity that matters but the quality. She may just have been trying to make me feel better about not having many, but I think she was right anyway.”

Lunch was pub food at its best followed by coffee almost as good as my machine would make. Dylan and Moira were suitably and agreeably impressed with the progress I’d made the previous day, so much so that Dylan put a call through to his contact on the council then and there. No real surprise when he said he’d get back to us with what he could do by way of a contribution.

“The next question is how do we raise the money,” Dylan said. “Even if we do get a chunk from the council, we’ll end up with a bill for fifty or sixty thou.”

“Again I might be able to help there,” I said. I thought of the slightly less than hundred thousand sitting in my bank account. I was living off it at present, and lending half of it would put a big dent in my reserves. However, I knew of several banks who had provided sizeable loans in the past. “If you borrowed it, how soon could you pay it back?” I asked.

“Six months to a year would be realistic. You’re worried about how much interest we’d have to pay?”

“Partly. The expected period of a loan helps set the interest rate.”

“I know a few people around here with pretty big loans already. Would extending one of those by the amount we need be an option?”

“Possibly. Certainly worth checking out. Plus we might be able to get away without putting up collateral.”

“Okay, you see what you can find out and I’ll do the same. We can each report back to the village on Friday.”

“Sounds like a plan. Anyway, thanks for lunch. I should probably be heading back “

“Let me drive you,” Dylan offered. “We’re not due to open for an hour or so, and it looks like the weather’s turned.”

I looked out the window at the grey clouds scooting in from the sea and accepted the offer.

“I can let you have your box of papers back while we’re at it.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks so much for your efforts Gill. This is a lot.”

The drive up to my place went by a roundabout route that probably took as long to drive as walking up the path. I wasn’t dressed for the sudden cold and wet though, so being chauffeured did appeal.

“I don’t have my gate control," I said, “so you’ll have to pull into the street that leads to Patrick and Gwen’s house.”

“Not a problem.”

We drove in silence for a while before Dylan spoke up.

“I find it difficult to think of you as anything but a woman you know. I mean on rare occasions I do feel like I get a glimpse of the man under there, but most of the time I just don’t see it.”

I smiled at him and tried to come up with a response.

“It’s hard to know what to say to that,” I started because I had to say something. “I’ve told you – well everybody – my story, so you know I didn't put on a frock at all until last Thursday.

“I don’t know what you'd have made of me in Gareth mode. I really wasn't very good at being a man, despite having all the equipment. This just seemed to click as soon as I tried it. I mean, I suppose with the push my aunt gave me I went into it all the way from the first, but that just meant it felt more natural to let her take control, as it were.”

“Do you think you’ll want to go back at any stage?”

“Hard to say. This is only the fifth day since I let myself be transformed, but after eighteen thousand disastrous days of trying it the other way, this feels so right I can't imagine ever wanting to switch again. That being said, it’s early days yet.”

“Fair enough.”

We pulled into the short road and Dylan climbed out with me. His attention was on the corner of the house. “This is where you were graffitied?” he asked.

“Word gets around,” I replied.

“Small community,” he apologised with a shrug. “Besides, I’m quite a big person around here, so I’d expect to be one of the first people to be told. Patrick did a good job on cleaning it up.”

“He did.”

“Do you mind if I have a look at the footage?”

“Not at all. Come on in.”

I led him through to the living room.

“Jeeves, turn on the main TV and show the security feeds when the vandalism took place on Sunday afternoon, please.”

“Coming up, Ma'am.”

“Just talk to him like he’s a normal person and ask for what you want,” I said to Dylan. “I’ll fetch your box of files.”

“What? Wait!”

I turned to look at him.

“What is this?”

“You know Alexa?”

He nodded.

“Jeeves is no comparison. He’s orders of magnitude better. Just talk to him.”

“Him?”

“He could be a she if you want, though his personality is based on the Jeeves from Jeeves and Wooster, so I’m not sure how well it would work. Oh, you mean… I suppose it’s an it, but once you’ve been talking for a while and you find you can’t help being polite, anthropomorphising seems to be the obvious next stage.

“Besides, it’s kind of nice having a man about the place who doesn't make a mess or leaves the toilet seat up.”

I left him to the wonders of technology and headed up to my office. It took a few minutes to put the paperwork back in order and pack it up so, by the time I came back downstairs with as heavy a box of files as I'd want to carry, it was too find Dylan totally engrossed with both the security footage and Jeeves.

“Zoom in on the right one, will you please, Jeeves?”

“Of course, sir.”

“As close as you can get.”

“This resolution shows the maximum detail, sir. Zooming in further would just show you a larger, blurrier image.”

Dylan noticed my reappearance and hurried over to relieve me of my burden.

“This thing’s amazing,” he said. “It’s hard to believe I’m not talking to a real person.”

“I know how you feel, sir,” Jeeves said quietly.

I bit back on a smile, as much for Dylan’s look of surprise as for my digital assistant’s sarcasm.

“That’s not very polite, Jeeves,” I told him.

“Very polite didn't seem appropriate under the circumstances, Ma'am.”

“I didn't think it was possible to hurt a computer’s feelings, Dylan, but I think you've managed to do so. It may be worth apologising.”

“What? Er, alright. I’m sorry Jeeves.”

“As am I sir. Can I help you in any other way?”

“Could you email me this video?”

“I could, but it might be larger than your email service provider will allow. Would it be acceptable if I were to send you a link to it instead?”

“That’ll be fine. Can you improve the quality at all?”

“I’ve already optimised it as far as my available tools will allow. Perhaps you know someone in law enforcement who could provide you access to their more specialised tools.”

“I don't think that will be necessary, thank you Jeeves. And thank you Gillian. Do you know where I could get hold of an assistant like this?”

“He came with the house,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe he knows. Jeeves, do you know where we could get hold of another like you?”

“I’m given to understand I’m unique Ma'am. I used to belong to your Aunt Daisy and she spent a considerable amount of time and expense improving me. She asked that I be installed here as a final wish. She seemed to think we’d be good for each other.

“The hardware and software upon which I am based are available, although not particularly cheap, however my personality was honed by your aunt over a period of some years. I suspect it would take a similar amount of time and effort to create anything else quite like me.”

“I suppose asked and answered. Thank you Jeeves.” Dylan said, then to me, “You’ll let me know when you’ve spoken to your loan sharks.”

“Sure. I have your number now.”

“And drop by the pub anytime you like. Moira and I both enjoyed your company very much today, and not just because of the amount of money you’re saving us.”

He left and I set about making a couple of cups of coffee. If I was going to visit my neighbour, best not to go empty handed.

A thought occurred to me midway through the machine grinding some beans.

“Jeeves, you were able to find the video I asked for easily enough.”

“I was.”

“Does that mean that if anyone else came along seeking to graffiti this place, you’d recognise their intent before they started?”

“I believe I would.”

“Could you alert me if it happens again?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Then make sure you do so, please.”

“Yes, of course. Although I won't be able to guarantee one hundred percent accuracy in my prediction.”

“That's alright. I'll be happy to allow for a few false alarms. Just let me know when you think it's happening and send me a live feed.

*Also, I’m assuming you’re familiar with gait analysis?”

“I take it you’re not referring to the five barred variety?”

“I mean identifying people based on the way they walk.”

“I’d need access to an extensive database for analysis and comparison, but I’m familiar with the concept.”

“You couldn't just do it from the people you’ve caught on camera so far?”

“The external cameras only came online a month or so ago. In that time, the people I have recorded on the camera feed, apart from our mystery artists, are Patrick and Gwen, Dylan and Moira, yourself, and seven additional people comprising the two technicians who installed and tested my systems, three people who appear to work for our neighbours on the farm and two additional individuals who, from their attire, were more likely to be visiting hikers than locals. All I can conclude from analysing their movements is that none of them matches the movements of the two miscreants.”

“Well, that's something at least. We can rule out anyone from Pat and Gwen’s farm.”

“I had already done so from their size and shape. I believe Patrick did as well from his examination of the footage.”

“What if the house ends up being tagged again?”

“Then I’m confident I’ll be able to tell you whether or not the second attack was carried out by the same individuals as the first.”

“What if I could get you some security camera footage from the village?”

“That would depend on the quality of the footage and whether or not our criminal masterminds walked in front of the village cameras. Unfortunately any evidence gained in this way would be considered tainted and inadmissible in court.”

“Alright, thank you, Jeeves. I’m popping over to see Gwen for a bit.”

“Very good. I shall see you again upon your return.”

Coffees in hand I made my way across through continued squally weather to the neighbouring farmhouse.

We didn't really have much to talk about, but we chatted anyway. Gwen wanted to reassure me that she wasn't a part of the morning’s display of pettiness and she was curious about what Dylan and I had worked out. For my part, I just appreciated the company.

That was one downside to what I was doing. I’d always felt like I belonged as part of a couple. It’s what had driven me to marry Lynn despite the contraindications, all so obvious now with twenty-twenty hindsight.

If I continued Aunt Daisy's experiment beyond the year – early days but I couldn't see things going any other way – then my prospects of becoming a part of a couple again dwindled to a few unlikely outcomes, some of which would prove just as disastrous as my efforts with Lynn.

I still felt as strongly as ever about complete honesty in a relationship only now, rather than hiding the mental and spiritual aspects of my nature, I was hiding the physical. Not really that though since I’d spoken openly about who and what I was. The clothing was more an expression of the me inside, with the added advantage – from my perspective – that it gave me an appearance to match my inner feelings.

The main thing, when it came down to intimate relationships, was being sure that my potential significant other saw me the right way. I hadn't decided yet if I was into men or women (or both) but once I sorted that out I had to be sure that whoever I was into saw me clearly and genuinely the right way.

If I ended up fancying men, then I had to be careful to avoid the ones who were into kinky stuff and would see me as a guy who likes to dress up, and I’d need to steer clear of those who saw me as a gay boyfriend who did a good job of going stealth and allowing us to look normal in public. In both cases, they would think of me as a man, and I would only end up disappointing them in that regard, as I had Lynn. I’d need someone who could see and fall in love with the woman inside me regardless of the body I wore.

Similarly, if I ended up going for girls, I’d have to avoid anyone who liked having an effeminate boyfriend who dressed and smelt nice. I’d have to hold out for a lesbian who didn't mind hooking up with a girlfriend with a dumb stick. Not that I’d be that bothered if she didn't want to make use of it. It was functional and I’d enjoyed the recreational aspects of making my two children, but I wouldn't miss out on putting it to it's intended purpose in the future.

Which brought up a new thought. If I didn't really care about having that part of my anatomy, did I really want to keep it? Did I particularly want the hormone mix it dumped into my blood stream and would I be better off with a different one more in keeping with my new expression of self?

Early days yet, but maybe not so early that I shouldn’t turn my back on getting some professional advice. I was going to have to sign up to a new doctor’s surgery for the time I lived here. When I did, perhaps I could ask about what support I could get.

“Gwen,” I interrupted her in full flow about something which neither of us really cared about, “who’s your GP?”

It was still early enough in the day that someone was manning the phones. She called and passed her device over to me, and in short order I had an invitation to come in and sign up the following morning.

While we were at it we talked about all the other side essentials, like dentist and hairdresser and the like.