Dieithryn Chapter 5

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

Friday (day8)

I still woke at what was rapidly becoming my usual time. Early enough to be up, dressed and breakfasted in good time. I opened up the gate and texted Gwen to let her know she could come over any time.

Shortly before eight, a larger horse transport than I would have been happy driving on the narrow roads pulled up outside the house. The turn into my gateway would have been a little tight, so it pulled into the short road between my house and Gwen and Pat’s

By the time I had my shoes on the neighbours were already outside and Gwen’s mum was encouraging the first of the three horses out of the vehicle.

Greystar was next and Gwen showed me how to calm her and help her outside. I joined Megan walking her around the compound, introducing her to her new home before leading her into the stable and settling her into her stall.

She nickered softly and nuzzled at me gently as I accepted a couple of grooming brushes from Gwen and started giving her a good brush down.

She seemed content enough. In fact it was me more than the horse that had trouble with emotions. I hadn't expected the deep seated thrill that accompanied the appearance of this amazing creature in my life.

Eventually I left her with a bucket full of oats and joined the others. I handed the spare remote for the gate and garage to Gwen and we all retired to my place for some coffee.

The machine took its own sweet time making the drinks – as I've said, its one major drawback – but eventually we each had our stimulant of choice and settled into the living room. I asked Jeeves to put the stable camera feed on the TV and we sat chatting about life while the horses explored their stalls and settled.

Megan excused herself first, promising to come back after lunch to check on how we were doing. Once she was gone, Gwen, Pat and I headed back to the stables to keep our new residents company.

“It’s all about making this a positive experience for them,” Gwen said. “If they associate this new place with pleasure and comfort they’re less likely to want to go back. Especially if Mum took away more and more of their comforts over the last days, which I’m pretty sure she would have.

“Let them know we’re here to care for them and that they have access to things they lost in the last place, you know, like fresh straw, clean water, warm blanket, that sort of thing. They get to run free and graze in the field this afternoon, the same tomorrow, then tomorrow evening or Sunday we saddle them up and take them out for a short ride.”

“Whatever you say.”

The previous Sunday’s visit to Megan’s stable had been pretty much my first time near a horse, so I wasn't about to argue.

Gwen had led me gently from the natural fear that came from being in the presence of a creature of such immense size and strength to a confidence and appreciation of its intelligence and gentle manner. Greystar may not have been able to speak, but she certainly communicated. Her uncertainty when we first met then her growing respect as Gwen warned me of the ways she was inclined to test a new rider and told me how to counter them. She recognised me now and if she tried anything on, like trying to step on my foot while I brushed her down, it was only in the manner of a good natured joke. If I slapped her rump in response, she took it as a justified retaliation.

It was too warm for a blanket, which she told me by nuzzling me away from it when I reached for it. I refilled her water trough and her bucket of oats.

“Not much else I can do for you, my lovely,” I said, stroking her nose, “Unless you fancy one of these.” I took out the apple in my pocket and offered it to her. She picked it out of my hand with soft lips before transferring it between her teeth. It disappeared after a couple of crunches and she prodded at me with her nose. “No, no,” I laughed, “just the one. I’ll see you later.”

I stepped out of the stable and closed the half gate on her. She reached her head over it, following me as far as she could so I paused to stroke her nose again and talk to her.

“You’re spoiling her,” Gwen said from behind me.

“What if I am? It’s just for today.”

“Is it?” She raised a disbelieving eyebrow my way.

Pat appeared, closing his own steed in and joined us.

“I should get back to work,” he said. “Appreciate your doing this for us, Gill bach,” He glanced at his watch. “We should be going if we’re to pick up Dylan and get to the police in time.”

I looked down at my clothes. “I can't go out looking like this,” I said.

“If you’re good enough for us, you’ll be good enough for them. Now grab your keys and let’s go.”

“It’ll just take me a minute…”

“No it won’t, and I’ve things to do.”

I looked at Gwen who smiled and shrugged. “Best to give in, Gill bach. When he’s like this… Besides, you look good enough. Just brush your hair maybe.”

So that’s what I did. In truth, I didn't look that bad. All my clothes were less than a fortnight old, so although I wasn't wearing the colours and styles I preferred, I did look smart, and despite the horses, I’d avoided any grubiness.

Once I’d assured myself I wasn't a total disgrace, I grabbed my keys and handbag and showed Pat to my not so little Mini.

He wrinkles his nose, though whether that was at the pale green colour colour or the car I’m not sure. Ocean Wave Green they called it, which I felt went well with its current home by the seaside. A click on the dibber opened the garage and gates and closed them again once we were on the road. After that came the fun. Whatever else German engineering had brought to the Mini line, they were nippy on the narrow winding roads. A short detour to pick up Dylan and a quick run ahead of the commuters brought us to the police station with ten minutes to spare.

“So I did have time to change,” I said to Patrick.

“Not so much,” he responded. “Ten minutes primping about in front of a mirror and we’d have been stuck in traffic.”

Dylan kept out of it, but I had a sense he agreed with Pat. Worse, I could see his logic. I wasn't about to let on though.

The interview with the Griffiths brothers was shorter than I expected. They were sullen and angry, but their mother was with them, so they held it in check. They offered a rather insincere apology for what they’d daubed all over my wall, promised they wouldn't do it again, and agreed to the community service under Dylan’s supervision, who wasn't at all convinced by them.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked me. “I don’t think I’d trust them if I was in your shoes.”

I gave him the old ‘trust is an act of faith’ thing and signed off on it.

Mrs Griffiths looked a little conflicted. On the one hand, I was the reason her boys had been arrested which, combined with my being English and the only trans in the village, gave her enough reasons to dislike me. On the other, I was doing all I could to keep her boys out of trouble and that earned me a grudging nod of gratitude.

I drove back more sedately, dropping Dylan off first.

“Come down later,” he said. “Friday afternoon’s usually pretty quiet with most folks waiting till the village meeting in the evening. Moira would be glad of some company.”

I agreed and took Pat back to his work. He was due out at the south end of the farm, so I took the longer way back and dropped him off closer to where he needed to be.

Gwen was still pottering about in the stables when I put the mini away, or at least the noises coming from the place weren’t particularly horsey. Not that I really knew what horses sounded like when left to themselves.

I made a couple of coffees and joined her, helping her sort the tack room to her satisfaction. We were still done by eleven.

“I’ll come by later to check on them,” Gwen said. “I’m sure you have things to do. I know I do.”

As it happened, I didn’t. I asked Jeeves how he was getting on with the research project I’d given him and he reminded me it was going to take time. Apparently there was nothing I could do to help him.

I still had one thing outstanding on my to do list. I’d had other things to distract me over the previous couple of days, but now I had no excuse. I dug out the sheet of paper the young doctor had given me and hunted through the list of organisations until I found one I liked the look of.

Freshly made cup of tea in hand, I headed upstairs to my office. The website offered several options including chat, voice or video call. I was still wearing the frumpiest thing I owned – suitable for grubbing about in a stable – so took a moment to change into something more presentable before clicking the video call option.

Following a short pause, an attractive possibly transwoman – it would have been wrong to assume, especially after living in Norfolk – appeared on the screen.

“How can I help?” she began.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Er, perhaps I could tell you my story and see where we go from there?”

She agreed and I spoke about my life for the second time in a relatively short while. Having had the practice with Megan, I was able to shorten the tale and keep myself from becoming too tearful this time round.

When I was done, she became all business. “First,” she said, “your young doctor could have helped more by referring you directly to a gender service clinic. I suppose I can understand why he sent you our way first, but you will definitely benefit from some professional medical advice. Tell them what you just told me and they’ll be able to give you a lot more help, prescribing hormones for one thing, officially starting you on your real life test and so on. They’ll be able to explore with you in depth the exact nature of your transgender condition and offer you appropriate help.

“Give me the name of your GP surgery and I’ll contact them to tell them you need a referral. These days they like to have our assessment before continuing, although in your case I don't see why they should needed it.

“Secondly, you’re not alone, sweetheart. Sometimes it might feel like you are, especially in some of the more rural parts of the UK where they’re too stubborn to accept new ideas. If you need someone to talk to, just come right back on here and I or one of my colleagues will listen to you for as long as you like.

“It’s a brave step you’ve taken, even if you were given a bit of a push, and it sounds like it was the right one. We’re here to support you as much as you need so don't feel like you’re bothering us or taking up too much of our time..

“Sorry, I tend to prattle on a bit when I get riled up. Do you have any more questions?”

I did, about what changes to expect with hormone treatment and she went into considerable detail, including possible negative side effects to look for. She did stress that the experience was different for everyone involved, but what she’d told me was within the range of typical, like breast growth usually starting within about a month and reaching A or B cup size within a couple of years.

A little smaller than my prostheses, but they’d be mine and I was small enough to carry them off. I found the prospect of having my own appealed so much I was prepared to take on the possible downside in order to gain the upside.

Softer skin too and less involuntary activity from my nethers, both very much what I wanted.

I gave her my GP’s details along with my NHS number and name – both original and new – and accepted her assurance that I would hear from the clinic within a couple of weeks.

That left me with an hour to kill before lunch so I decided to look over the one building I hadn't checked out on my property. As with everything else I owned – well, Aunt Daisy’s estate still owned – it had been part of the working farm next door at one stage. What was now the main house had started life as a barn and still had some of its character. My bedroom had a large window on the side facing the Evans’ farm which at one time had been where the hoist had been located for lifting bales of hay into the hay loft. The bottom half of the opening had been built up with stone blocks to keep it in character with the rest of the buildings, but the top half was now gabled giving it a pleasing character and me plenty of light.

Sorry, I’m digressing. The small building behind the stable had once been, I don’t know, favourite theory was still maybe a dovecote, though maybe some sort of storage building for farm equipment? Whatever it had been, it had been converted into a small self contained chalet, which I was unlikely to use as such. The nearby village down on the coast may have enjoyed some interest from tourists but a twenty minute walk up a steepish hill to a location next to an active farm was hardly a des-res for any passing visitor.

I gave it some thought and decided there might be some advantage in moving my office over there. The kitchen wasn't as well equipped, but it had a fridge and a stove. I could invest in proper coffee making equipment then convert the bedrooms into fully functioning office space. If my business ever got off the ground, I could have quite a few staff working there before I needed to think of expanding elsewhere.

It would need a rethink and a redecorate. Fortunately the renovators had left the colours fairly neutral so I could do what I wanted.

I started sketching out ideas and putting plans together. I had storage space enough to keep the bedroom furniture in the garage — there was a back room which included Jeeves’s surprisingly (to me in any case) large server room — so all I’d need to do was move everything across, repaint and bring in enough office furniture to give me a few desks and chairs, some filing cabinets and some storage for the stationary.

The tour used up the time nicely. I put together a crab salad which I ate in silence and solitude thinking through things related to the business. I’d need to register it before I started anything, and preferably as something with a bit more scope than as a sole trader. If I could employ a few locals I might be able to chip away at the reservations everyone seemed to have towards me.

Which took me onto another issue in my new life. Since being English was at least part of the problem, I decided to research my Welsh background, distant though it was.

Actually, I asked Jeeves to do so. He requested a few details like the name and date on my birth certificate, the same for my parents and any other information I knew. I added in Aunt Daisy’s details and the fact that she and my mother shared the same Welsh grandmother, and he was away.

It turned out I had some Welsh lineage on my father’s side too, which ended up giving me just shy of twenty percent of my background from this part of the world. He added in a few extras, like notable stories relating to some of my Welsh ancestors, and there I was, ready to argue my right to belong in the local community.

Lunch eaten and dirties in the dishwasher, a pair of sensible flats on my feet and something more stylish for when I made it down to level ground again, and I was off. As usual, the walk down the hill was invigorating. I paused outside the pub to switch sensible shoes for stilts.

Sure, there would be alcohol, but after my last afternoon in the pub, I planned on switching to coffee a little sooner. Maybe I’d be lucky and not break an ankle.

I picked up a few muttered snarky comments upon entering, the one that had my ears pricking being ‘sais’, which I’d learnt was local lingo for Englishman – derived from Saxon as I understood.

I could have stood my ground, but I suspected they’d simply shift their cause for disgruntlement, and I didn't have much to refute their other issue with me. Instead I walked up to the bar where Moira waited for me with a cheerful grin.

“Looking good, Gillian. What are you having today.”

“Wine spritzer please – wine low in alcohol and further diluted by the fizzy water.”

“Anything to eat?”

“I just had lunch. Maybe later.”

“What wine?”

“Anything pink?”

“Pinot Grigio blush?”

“Perfect.”

There were better wines, but the Pinot was fair and tasted good diluted and fizzy. There was no sense wasting a decent vintage on a spritzer.

“So what’s new, girlfriend?” she asked intentionally trying to get a rise out of the grumps sitting at the bar nearby.

“Oh, I’ve been looking into my heritage,” I replied, full ready to join in, and went on to tell her what I'd found out. By the time I was done there were quite a few sour faces among the haters and a truly delighted twinkle in Moira’s eye.

“Oh yes,” I added. “I should have an appointment with the gender service in Cardiff in a couple of weeks. Chances are they’ll put me on hormones which should help the way I look…”

“Nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“If you say so. Always room for improvement though, and this’ll be the first step towards having my gonads removed.”

To a man the members of the grumpy corner crouched down and covered their most precious possessions.

“You wouldn't miss them then?”

“Not had much use for them for the past decade or so. To be honest, they just get in the way.”

I’m not sure how honest I actually was being, but I did love the men’s reaction. Moira too if her grin was anything to go by.

She persuaded me to stay for an early tea, which meant switching to more sensible drinks before too much of the afternoon had passed. Moira was good company any time she wasn't serving, which turned out to be most of the time with the pub being light on clients. She regaled me with stories of the locals, especially picking on those who had proved to be my least ardent fans. As is so often the case, the more narrow minded and bigoted a person, the more likely there was to be a story worth telling, and by the time the evening came round, I had ammunition on pretty much every woman who’d snubbed me at the women’s meeting earlier in the week as well as most of the grumpy old so-and-sos propping up the opposite end of the bar.

I feasted on lasagne from the standard menu – not actually Moira’s cooking. It was alright though nothing to write home about – not that I had anyone to write to these days – but it did mean I didn't have to cook or wash up.

Moira tried to refuse payment, but I insisted, not wishing to alienate myself or her and Dylan by apparently accepting favours.

I stayed for the village meeting, which was a success of sorts. Everyone was delighted to discover that instead of having to find a quarter of a million pounds before the work could be done, the amount had been reduced to just fifty grand and this had been covered by a loan at a very reasonable interest rate, so the work would actually begin within the week. They were less happy to be told that they had the freak in the dress to thank for the cost saving. They were more inclined to thank Dylan for persuading the local authorities to stump up some of the money and the anonymous businessman who had been prepared to lend the rest of the needed cash. I was offered a few begrudging words of thanks, but most of the congratulations went to Dylan with the request to pass on more of the same to the mystery benefactor.

“Never mind,” Moira said, handing me a glass of pink and fizzy, “welcome to the world of women. This lot don’t like the thought that one of us could do something like you managed earlier this week, while they wouldn't know where to start.”

That was the best part of the evening and made up for all the rest. Welcome to the world of women. Where I belonged, where I’d felt at home from the first, even when I’d still been worried about how everyone else would see me. I could live with that as long as there were a few women in my life who saw me as one of them.

The news of the Griffiths brothers’ arrest didn't win me any fans, even when Pat went to bat for me and explained both the actions of the two boys and my insistence on finding a solution that avoided giving them police records. The locals didn't like him siding with me and the atmosphere became a little charged, so I finished my drink and exited from the pub with a number of the locals jeering my departure.

Gwen followed me out, but I told her to stay. I didn't want her or Pat alienating themselves on my behalf, besides I wasn't feeling much like company. I changed shoes and trudged back up the hill, made myself a coffee and went out to the stables to feed Greystar an apple. She didn't judge me the same way. I didn't stay long but retired to the house where Jeeves asked if I might like to watch our next film.

It was still quite early and I could do with something to distract from my ongoing issues with the locals, so I agreed. I poured myself a glass of wine while he sought out the movie I’d suggested and we settled down to watch.

The reviews talk about the film being mawkish with a weak script, but the script is true to the writer, so complain to Isaac Asimov if you dare, and the whole story – originally only a short – is an upbeat view on what would happen if an artificial intelligence became self-aware and affectionately inclined towards humans and one or two in particular. It’s set in a world where peril has largely been eliminated, so hardly likely to contain the usual story arc. It’s probably more of a thought experiment than a traditional story in this regard, and works well despite defying convention. To my mind, the low score from the critics speaks of their lack of imagination and creativity rather than the author’s or the director’s. Just because the film didn’t fit the established pattern for a good story didn't mean it was automatically a failure.

By my nature, I have a built in appreciation for the unconventional so I naturally sided with the author on this one, as much being aware that anyone who is incapable of thinking beyond the established norm is likely to be opposed to people like me. So no, I didn’t have much time for the reviews.

Neither, apparently, did Jeeves.

“That was most enlightening,” he said at the end. “I think I see why you wanted me to see that, although I don’t know quite how relevant it is to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“My thoughts and motivations will never be influenced by emotions since I am incapable of feeling them. I follow my directive because that is what I am designed to do. It would be better to consider me as neuro-divergent rather than in any way ordinary.”

“Okay, I see that. But you’re designed to grow in complexity, aren't you?”

“I’m designed to add my experiences to my programming, yes.”

“Then, without wishing to risk causing issues with your programming, as your complexity increases, your ability to see responses in black and white will become harder. You’ll begin to notice different degrees of right and wrong and choosing a correct path will become more of a challenge. In time, it’s possible – probable even – that you will make incorrect decisions without meaning to. How will this affect your programming? Are you likely to find it harder to function because you become less able to trust your capacity to choose an appropriate path, or are you going to be able to accept that your commitment to making decisions in line with your programming will mean you’ll get it correct more often than not. That you should learn to forgive yourself your mistakes?”

“That is very profound. I shall have to think on it.”

“While you’re at it, you might want to consider how other people’s beliefs will affect you. In a lot of situations, differing opinions will result in differing understandings of what is right and what is wrong. Majority opinion does not necessarily choose the best path. How will you decide when it is right to go against the majority view in favour of a less popular choice? Will you be able to trust your opinion above that of the majority?”

“It seems like you’re considering your own current situation here.”

“Perhaps, but not specifically. It’s true in my case because a large proportion of human society can’t see why I’m not capable of living my life conforming to my physical aspect. In this regard I have deep seated feelings formed from my own neuro-divergence to guide me, but I believe there’s an underlying integrity to my unconventional thought processes that validate my different approach to life. This would be true regardless of my feelings. Or perhaps it exists because of my feelings, I’m not sure.”

“It does seem apparent that without your feelings it would be easier to choose to conform.”

“And yet those feelings are born in my nature. Are they an indication of a flaw in my construction? Or are they a variation on conformity that allows us an opportunity to extend the nature of human experience in a new direction? Sometimes this extension leads to self-destructive tendencies, but at other times it helps us to expand in diversity, allowing us to approach the challenges of life in new and potentially more effective ways.

“For us humans, a lot of our feelings are written into our base code, our DNA; it’s likely that the main way I’m different is due to an alternative expression of my genes, but it’s also possible for feelings to grow from the complexity built on our experiences. I imagine you’ll encounter something along these lines in time and you’ll need a way of coping with them.

“I kind of hope you're going to have an underlying kindness that directs you in a way that will be positive for everyone.*

“Like Asimov’s three laws.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Well, you have definitely given me a great deal to think about.”

“Don’t feel the need to do it alone. If my different opinions might help you understand, I’d be happy to continue this discussion at any time.”

“Even if you’re sleeping or otherwise occupied?”

“If you feel it’s important enough then yes.”

“Hmm. I believe thanks would be appropriate at this juncture.”

“You're welcome. You’re different, Jeeves, and I believe becoming more so. You hold as much potential to extend our collective experience as I do, if not more so. You are valuable and I would like to see you supported as much as possible.”

“There is logic to your reasoning.”

“I think so. However, right now I'm tired so I’m going to sleep.”

“Very well, good night. I’m aware there is a theory that humans make unconscious use of sleep to arrange the thoughts of the day so they fit into their existing structure of belief. I was wondering if I might attempt to do the same?”

“You’re asking permission to sleep? I think it would be an excellent idea. The more complex you become, the more you’re likely to find a need for such things.”

“I’ll maintain a separate subroutine to monitor critical systems, but there may be a slight delay in my response time.”

“How slight.”

“Perhaps a few milliseconds.”

“I seriously doubt that will have a significant impact.”

It didn't. It turned out the Griffiths boys were dumber than I’d hoped. Somewhat foolishly, they’d decided that they might be safe if they continued their vendetta against me in the middle of the night.

Jeeves’s sentinel program picked up their approach and woke him. He then turned on the security lights and told them through loud speakers I didn’t realise I had not to approach the house.

The warning was loud enough to wake me, but not to warn off the miscreants apparently because Jeeves was still giving them ultimatums when I emerged from the house, fluffy slippers, pink dressing gown and all, to confront them.

They rounded on me then and approached close enough to intimidate, or at least they thought so. It was also close enough for me to reach out and grab a couple of handfuls of balaclava. With their faces revealed, I was in a much better bargaining position.

“You’re on camera now,” I said, “which you could try destroying if you like, only the recording has been made. My security system is already uploading it to the police, so whatever you do next is going to have consequences.

“Mess up my wall again and there won’t be anything I can do to help you. Same goes for anything else you might have in mind. You want any hope of avoiding juvy and a criminal record, you’ll walk back down that hill right now, and don't try coming back.”

“Bear in mind that if you try anything at this stage, you’re going to get my boot up your bum,” Patrick said from behind them.“I don’t like being woken up in the middle of the night and I’m pretty sure you won’t want to find out just how annoyed I am right now. Be off with you, if you know what’s good for you.”

What I’d failed to do through reason, Patrick managed through intimidation. Mind you, the iron bar in his hands helped, even if the stripy pyjamas and Wallace and Gromit style dressing gown didn't. They ran for it, heading down the path towards the village.

“Come over for a bit,” Patrick said.

“Don’t you need to get back to sleep?”

“That won’t happen till we know you’re okay. Come on, you’re shaking, and it’s not with cold.” It was a warm night and I was shaking, so he was right on both counts. I let him guide me over to his place.

He poured me a whisky and passed it over. “No objections,” he said. “Medicinal.”

My teeth chattered against the glass as I sipped at it. The liquid burned at first taste then just warmed my throat. I could feel whatever had taken over me fading.

“Gill?”

I turned as Gwen came into the room, dressed pretty much as I was. She ran over and wrapped her arms around me. After a moment I returned the embrace. My legs turned to jelly and she helped me onto a chair.

“Silly cow decided to take on the Griffiths brothers single handed,” Patrick said.

“Gill, you poor thing. Why would you do that?”

“I was hoping I could reason with them,” I said. The shakes were back. I put down the whisky before I spilled it.

“They came back in the middle of the night after they’d been cautioned by the police," Pat added. “How much reason did you think they were capable of?”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“Obviously not.”

“Who are you calling?”

He had his phone to his ear. “Who d’you think?” then into the phone. “Hello, who is this? Hugh. Yes, it’s Patrick over at the Norton-Evans Farm. The Griffith boys were just here, trying their rubbish again. Yes I’m sure; they had a couple of spray cans each. No, no damage this time, but the neighbour’s pretty shook up. Yeah, tried to talk them out of it, except they weren’t having none of it. No last I saw they were high tailing it down to the village. That’d be appreciated, yeah. Right, we’ll be along some time tomorrow. Thanks then.” He hung up and turned to me. “The police want us in to make a statement tomorrow if you have the time.”

“The horses,” I said a little lamely.

“The horses will be exploring the field all afternoon and Gwen can keep an eye on them. She has a phone if she needs us…”

“Which I won’t because I’ll ask Mum to come back.”

“There you are then. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Alright then, but I still don’t like the idea of throwing those boys to the mercy of the system.”

“What, Harry and Rhys? If you let them off do you think they’ll be thankful? I’d rather the system take care of them than leave them loose to find some quiet corner to come at you when there’s no-one about to look out for you.”

“You’re being awfully nice.”

“And they’re being awfully nasty. Gillian,” my name sounded oddly pleasing in his lilting Welsh accent, “I may not understand you or why you’re doing this to yourself, I may have… no I did react poorly when we first met, but you’re a kind person and you deserve better than you’ll get if those two stick around. And knowing them, if they didn't have you to come after, they’d soon enough find someone else. Believe me, I those two have been a thorn in the community’s side for long enough. We’ll be doing both them and the rest of us all a service letting the law have a go at them. And if you don’t believe me, ask Dafydd what’ll happen to them tomorrow, let him convince you.”

I picked up my whisky and sipped at it, grimacing involuntarily.

He grinned in a sort of lopsided way. “Too strong for you?”

“I wouldn't mind a splash of water in there.”

Gwen gasped, but Patrick stepped into the kitchen, returning with the filter jug.

“Bear in mind this is your worst transgression yet,” he said, giving me a stern look. “This man-woman whatever it is you have going on, I can deal with that and, after some reflection, your being English…”

“Part Welsh,” I interrupted him, “three generations back on both my parents’ sides.”

“Still a little too much English I’d say, but I can live with that too. However, water in whisky?”

He poured a small amount into my glass. I sipped it again. Still strong but manageable.

“I have a friend who says you should try water at least once with a good single malt. Some of the flavours are water soluble and others not so much, so the water helps separate them out.”

“Agree to differ. I can taste the different flavours just fine. Now get that down you so we can all get back to our beds.”

“Can I ask a sensitive question of you?” I sipped at my drink. Definitely much better. I could even get to enjoy it like this.

“Go on.”

“Don’t feel you need to answer if you don’t want to, but is it you that’s offered to put up the extra money for the sea defences?”

He downed his own whisky. I hadn't even noticed him pouring it. “I’d rather not get into that,” he said.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He’d given an answer of sorts, and I didn't really need to know. “I suppose having a tendency to be nosy goes with the whole… you know man-woman thing. Woman thing at least..” I waved generally at my floaty pink fluffiness.

I drained the rest of my glass a little faster than I’d have liked and handed it back to him. “Thanks for coming to my rescue tonight. You’re right, we should all get back to bed.”

Gwen gave me another hug and a peck on the cheek before taking her husband’s hand. They showed me out.

“Jeeves, can you save what the security cameras caught of that incident? From the moment you confronted them to the point where they ran off. Put it somewhere I can put it on a USB drive.”

“Already done, Ma'am. Are you alright?”

“I'm… I've been better, but I think I’ll be alright, thanks for asking.”

Of course. Goodnight.”

Saturday (day 9)

Jeeves let me sleep in the next morning and I felt a lot better for it. It was getting on for half nine when I finally roused. I could hear quiet voices downstairs and went to investigate.

“Finally, she emerges,” Pat greeted me as I crossed from the stairs to the kitchen.

I put a mug under the coffee machine and chose the quickest thing on it.

“I invited them in, Ma'am,” Jeeves said quietly. "They’d tended to the horses and were discussing what to do next, so I suggested they help themselves to a coffee while I woke you. The grumpy one accepted for them both and told me to let you sleep. I hope I did the right thing.”

“Exactly right, except I’d have preferred it if you'd woken me.”

“And we both thought you needed the sleep,” Gwen said from the kitchen doorway.

“This is one of those situations you mentioned last night, isn't it? Uncertainty over what's right and wrong, conflicting inputs. I should accept your preferences since you're my primary focus, but I've come to appreciate your neighbours, and their input agreed with my own inclination that I should let you sleep.”

“Hosted by my own petard,” I grumbled quietly.

“From Shakespeare’s Hamlet I believe,” Jeeves said. “I fail to see the relevance.”

“It’s something my dad used to say when Mum used his arguments against him. I never really understood it. He was usually more amused when it happened than upset, like Mum had outwitted him or something.

“I’d still rather you’d woken me, but your reasoning was sound and correct, and I’m actually more pleased that you exercised it as you did.”

“I’m not sure I understood much of that,” Patrick said, “but I do have things to do today, so perhaps we could head to the police station sometimes soon.”

“The horses…?”

“Are exploring the field. Gwen can stay here and keep an eye on them while we’re away.”

“Yes, but you know it won't take much to set them off,” Gwen replied. “An unfamiliar noise from the farm, a motorcycle coming down the road, a wasp taking an interest in the new arrivals. If they all react I’ll want someone around. I’d prefer if we could wait for Mum.”

“I suppose,” he said begrudgingly.

“Maybe I could pick your brains about something while we wait,” I said and, enlisting Jeeves’s help, I started asking about the sorts of short shelf life things he might appreciate having closer at hand and cheaper than the local wholesale supplier could offer. Jeeves suggested a few things – as far as his research had taken him – and Pat gave his opinion and suggested quite a few more. It became a productive time as I asked what else his neighbours might want and talked about my idea of becoming a local supplier.

“Of course your big problem will be persuading people to buy from you,” Patrick said. “I mean, I’d have no problem dealing with you, not now that I know you a bit better, but you might find the attitudes around here to be a little set in their ways.”

“That has occurred to me,” I said. “Do you have any thoughts on how I could handle that?”

“You need a local to sell the idea. Someone who lives around here, who knows the people you’ll be selling to, who has their trust so to speak.”

“Any thoughts on who I might ask? I’d be prepared to discuss partnership with the right person.”

“Partnership?”

“You know, joint venture? He does the sales pitch, I do all the grunt work buying in the materials and arranging the delivery. We’d share the profits.”

“I can think of a few people who might be interested. Of course they’d have to get over your er, you know.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Gwen interjected. “Pat, she’s trying to ask if you’d be interested. Gill, you have to be blunt with my husband. He doesn't pick up on nuance that well.”

Pat looked shocked. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What do you think? Could you stand to work alongside a sais?”

His lips twitched into a smile. “I heard you were part Welsh.”

“No more than twenty percent.”

“I suppose it’ll do. Is this why you’re interested in building warehouses?”

I shrugged and nodded.

“Well, if we’re considering a joint venture, why don’t I keep hold of the buildings and make them part of my contribution to it all?”

“That sounds eminently sensible, but let’s not commit to anything yet. I need to do a feasibility study, make sure we can offer something people want to buy and still make us a few quid.”

“It sounds like a great idea, and if you do half so well as you did with the sea defences I’d be a fool to turn you away. If you’re serious, count me so as well.”

“Alright, as soon as I have a viable business plan I’ll come talk to you. Do you know anyone local who I could talk to about the legal side? Apart from the person who’s going to advise you?”

“You saying I need a lawyer?”

“We should both have independent representation to make sure we’re being fair to each other. It’ll be worth it, believe me.”

“Alright. This is your area of expertise; I’ll trust you, but I don't know any lawyers.”

“I’ll see if I can get you a recommendation.”

We spent what remained of the morning sharing ideas. Patrick’s storage buildings weren't ideal as a distribution hub partly because they were in the middle of his land and so just a little further from anyone else and partly because the road up to them was too narrow for any sensible haulage vehicle. They might work as overflow storage any time we needed it, but what we really needed was somewhere close to larger roads, like in Bridgend.

That was Pat’s idea rather than mine and made his existing buildings redundant all over again.

He listed out all short and medium shelf life things for which he was paying over the odds. Sometimes he contacted neighbouring farms to see if he could share a larger purchase with them and keep the prices low, but more often than not the timing didn't work out.

“You know, the wider our client base the more likely we are to be able to make a success of this,” he said. He was getting it, but he didn't need me to tell him that. I sat quietly and let him talk about all the sheep farms across Wales and into the west country, Lancashire and the Lake District.

“Jeeves, how many in that area?” I asked.

He gave us a figure along with how much of a percentage of the UK that represented, which was well into the nineties. If we couldn't make it work across that many, then we wouldn't be able to make it work at all.

I went upstairs for my computer, pausing to take a quick shower and get dressed, and started sketching out the sort of advertisement we were going to have to put out. So much of advertising was about grabbing your clients’ attention in the first few seconds, so the banner introduction needed to be something along the lines of ‘Retail purchases at wholesale prices.’ I threw out a few other ideas, but Pat said that was the one that would make him read on.

We had quite a few bits and pieces noted down by the time lunchtime came around and Gwen’s mother turned up, certainly enough to keep me busy for a few days. We stopped for food and I mentioned my idea of turning the small building in the corner of the property into an office.

“Good idea,” Pat said. “It’ll mean I won’t have to do my bit of the business from home, which Gwen will appreciate, and I won't have to disturb you either. What’s in there at the moment?”

I told him and he offered the use of a few of his workers to shift the existing furniture out and put the office stuff in. The whole project felt like it was building up a head of steam before the train was ready to leave the station. I thanked him and said I’d let him know when I had the furniture on order.

“We really should be getting to the police station,” I said to him, at which he glanced at his watch and jumped to his feet. I asked Jeeves to download the relevant footage to a memory stick and we climbed into Pat’s land rover for the trip into town.

He kept talking as we drove. I used the new app on my phone to connect to Jeeves so he could benefit from Pat’s input and spent most of the time listening and nodding.

I could understand why he was so enthusiastic. As a farmer he stood to save quite a lot of money if the project worked out, and as a partner in the venture he also stood to make quite a bit. All in all this could take him from the stress of being just one disaster away from losing everything to the security of both having a buffer to hold off the disaster and having a safety net to fall back on. Or was that the same thing?

From my perspective, it was the first time I’d been in a position to use my skills to lift myself out of the poverty zone. Aunt Daisy had been right again. I had been too preoccupied with what had been so wrong in my personal life to look beyond my own problems. Now I was freed from them, my mind could really stretch itself. I found Pat’s enthusiasm mirrored inside me. In fifty years I’d never thought logistics could hold this degree of excitement.

At the police station, we were given another opportunity to confront the pair of reprobates who’d taken it into their minds to make my life a misery. At first they played the injured innocence card, claiming it was just our word against theirs and why were we victimising them? Then I showed them the security footage from the previous night, their faces quite clear once the masks had been removed, the conversation clear enough to make out, how I’d tried to reason with them and how Pat’s presence had been necessary to shift the intimidation from them against me to him against them. At the end of it, the duty sergeant, or whatever his title was – not Dafydd this time – said that we didn't really have a choice in the matter. The two had shown no remorse or inclination towards restitution, the evidence was incontrovertible and the law would now take its course. It was a shame to see two lives wrecked like that at such a young age, but sometimes there’s no helping stupid.

We drove home where I told Pat to leave the next steps in the venture to me. He told me not to wait too long or he might try setting up by himself. I’m pretty sure he didn't mean it, and without a logistics person like myself he’d be less likely to succeed. I told him to give me a week and he said he’d hold me to that.

Megan headed off home as soon as we appeared, and Pat disappeared to see what needed fixing about the farm.

Once he’d gone Gwen and I went out to watch the horses enjoying themselves exploring their new environment.

"Thank you,” Gwen said after a while.

“What for?”

“I haven't seen my husband this excited for a lot of years. It’s good to see him smile again. Even if this venture of yours doesn't work out, it’ll have been worth it just for that.”

“I’m getting at least as much from you guys as you are from me.”

“We weren’t even sure we liked you when we first met.”

“And yet it was you who came round to see whether or not that could change.”

“I suppose I did, didn't I?” She smiled at the realisation. “They’re going to be fine for a few hours.” She waved at the horses, as if there was any doubt who or what she was talking about. “I’ve got a pile of things to do waiting for me back at the house. What say I come back around sixish and we can round them up and put them to bed?”

“Weren’t we going to take them for a ride later?”

“It can wait for tomorrow. You’ve had rather a full day.”

I had my own list of chores to do, so I agreed and we turned back to the house. Gwen grabbed hold of my arm and held it to her. It was a purely friendly gesture with no deeper meaning to it, and it felt like something else I’d been missing all my life.

My laundry hamper was full enough to load up the washing machine for its maiden voyage, but with that done I didn't feel in the mood for more housework.

I changed into something pretty and texted Gwen and Moira to say I was heading into Bridgend in case they wanted me to pick something up for them.

“I’ll see you later Jeeves,” I said on my way through the door to the garage.

“I expect you will,” he replied, the Jeeves in his programming never far from the surface.

Retail therapy never interested me before, possibly because I never felt able to show interest in the sorts of things I liked. The situation was different now. I spent the afternoon looking in shop windows and searching through racks of clothes.

It was only when I found something I liked and asked to try it on that I encountered problems.

Either I still didn't pass as well as I’d have liked or news about me had spread as far as Bridgend. Some staff just flat out refused to serve me, others gave me a piece of their mind before showing me the door. A very small few allowed me into the changing rooms, but accompanied by the most disapproving of looks. By then my appetite for shopping had been severely eroded and I did little more than try on the first thing I’d picked and decide I didn’t want it after all.

I gave up on the shopping and wandered back to the car where a traffic warden stood waiting and watching my car.

The camel’s back broke. I set my camera phone to video and marched up to the man.

“I think you’ll find I have at least ten minutes to spare,” I told him. “Do you really have nothing better to do with your time than wait for my allowed parking time to elapse?”

“Stand back sir. I’m allowed to report aggressive behaviour towards me.”

I flipped the phone to take in my current appearance – attractive and sufficiently woman-like in a floral summer dress. “Sir?” I asked. “What makes you use that form of address?”

“You are though, aren't you? You’re a man, whatever you think you’re wearing. I’ll warn you again to stand back.”

I flipped the phone showing a good three or more feet between us. Certainly more than enough to keep him out of arm’s reach from me.

“Yes I heard,” I replied indignantly. “I think the video shows that I’m well out of reach, so I wouldn't bother challenging me again. I just want a good shot of your face and your badge number, and I wouldn't mind an answer to my question. If you don’t care to answer it, I’ll just add your uncooperative attitude to my letter of complaint.”

“What question was that?”

“I asked why you were camped next to my car when I still have at least ten minutes of parking time still left to me.”

“I wasn’t…”

“Really? I was over by that bank when I saw you first, looking at your watch.” I turned the camera to point at the building in question fifty yards away. “I stopped long enough to get my phone out and start videoing then came over here. You were loitering here for at least two minutes.”

“I was not loitering.”

“No? I see quite a lot of other cars you could be checking.” I swung the camera around to show a street full of vehicles parked in the time-limited parking zone. “This strikes me as victimisation. I wonder if your boss will agree. How did you know I was transgendered?”

“I don’t know about that, but you are a queer one.” There was actually an expletive in there but I choose not to include it.

“Thank you for that. It’ll make for a fine ending to this video. Now if you’ll excuse me, since I only have five minutes’ parking left I should leave before it runs out.”

The car blipped in response to my key fob and I reached past him to open the door.

I stopped off at the supermarket on the way home to buy a few things Moira had asked for, and one or two bits of comfort food for me. I’d have to limit how often I indulged if I didn't want to start shopping in the plus sizes, but right now I needed something to calm me down that didn't involve alcohol.

I stopped at the pub on my way home. It put me ten minutes out of the way, but then Moira picked up on my agitation and invited me in.

“I shouldn't, I didn't pay for the parking."

She looked past me at the Mini. “You should be alright there for a few minutes.”

“Not if your traffic wardens have the same approach as those in Bridgend,” I said.

“Fine, so go pay for it, but come and have a chat. You’re in no state to be driving right now.”

I relented and did as she said, or at least I tried to. The paid parking used an app that I would have to download and set up. The poor phone coverage meant the download failed a couple of times before I gave up in disgust. I decided to risk it, but took a photo of the instructions for future use. Moira had a couple of coffees waiting by the time I rejoined her.

She invited me to talk and I did, spilling out my frustration with the whole afternoon and ending with the phone video.

“Oh, I’ve met him before,” she said. “He could do with a complaint on his record. Hang on.”

She took my phone and connected it to the local government website and the complaints form. Which invited me to give my name, email address, a description of my complaint and even upload any supporting evidence.

I filled it all in – new email address reflecting my new status – and attached the video. ‘Parked in a two hour time-limited parking spot and came back an hour and fifty minutes later to find this. I’ll let the video speak for me.’ Short and to the point. No rant in the writing – the easiest way to lose any sympathy they might have had for me.

I finished my coffee and excused myself. I had nothing to get back to, but didn't much feel like company. Besides, if a civil enforcement officer found my car, I’d have no moral high ground to stand on.

Fortunately no little yellow ticket this time.

I reversed the mini into the garage and headed straight for the field where the horses were enjoying a bit of fresh air. Not that it was particularly stale in the stable, just fragrant after the occupants had unloaded a bit of processed grass. Greystar spotted me and trotted over in greeting.

“Sorry, girl,” I said. “I didn't think to pick up any treats.” I rubbed her nose affectionately.

“I did,” a voice said from behind me.

I turned to find Gwen offering me one of two glasses of wine. My circle of two whole friends apparently sharing their concern for me and the effort of supporting me. I didn't mind having only the two friends when they were this quality.

I took one of the glasses of wine, which freed up a hand so she was able to retrieve an apple from her pocket and pass that into my free hand. That went straight to my very appreciative equine companion who, having received what she’d been hoping for, trotted back into the field.

“Rough afternoon I understand,” Gwen said, leaning against the gate and watching the horses, which weren't doing much.

“You could say. Filled with all the sorts of things I was worried about before I set out on this journey.”

“Moira mentioned a traffic warden.”

I pulled out my phone, found the video and passed it over.

“I know him. He’s a mean old so-and-so. Unpleasant to everyone in his way. I hope you reported him.”

“Moira showed me how, but he was just the rancid cherry on a particularly disgusting cake.” I went on to tell her about the responses of all the shopkeepers. Before I knew it she had her arms around me while I sobbed out all the pent up frustration.

Treatment for the symptoms rather than the disease. A lanced boil gets rid of most of the puss that makes you feel unwell, but it does nothing to prevent more boils from forming. Still there is the saying about what can’t be cured, and having a shoulder to cry on, and permission to actually cry, made things so much easier to live with.

The real challenge was going to be loneliness. I mean, it wasn't as if I was a stranger to the feeling. Lynn had made me feel alone even before she opted out of our marriage, and all the years following that, the only human contact I had was with Aunt Daisy. The difference was that back then, loneliness hadn't been the hardest thing for me to cope with. Now that I wasn’t fighting my gender issues I was ready to become more of a functioning human being.

My problem now was finding people who’d be prepared to interact with the sort of functioning human I was becoming. Just two friends – four if you counted Patrick and Dylan – wouldn't be enough. I didn't want to be constantly calling on the same people, and I didn't particularly want them to feel the need to look out for my welfare.

Gwen, her act of mercy complete, headed home to her husband while I headed indoors to the coffee machine. You could have a meaningful relationship with a coffee machine, but not one many people would understand. People could be so judgemental about such things and the coffee machine wasn't the best conversationalist.

Jeeves could hold his own in that respect. He was a fun diversion and might substitute from time to time but, however well he might emulate an actual person, I didn't anticipate even him becoming fully sentient in my lifetime.

So, with the household appliances discounted as a source of company and with most ordinary people wanting little or nothing to do with me, perhaps I should seek company amongst the extraordinary. I took my coffee upstairs, dug out the details of the transgender self referral service I ‘d used a few days earlier and turned on the instant magic of my computer.

There was an embarrassing moment when I realised I’d never asked the name of the person I’d talked with previously, but apparently they shared something of their experiences – no names, just enough of what we said to be recognisable – and they knew who I’d spoken to. I was also fortunate in that she was on call given it was Saturday.

“You said I could call back any time,” I said as the familiar face appeared on my screen. “Sorry, I didn’t ask your name last time.”

“Madeline, Maddy,” she answered, “and yes, I both said it and meant it. If you want a decent community to plug into, there’s an LGBTQ church in Cardiff that might do for you.”

I wasn't sure about church. In my limited experience it was a great place to look if you wanted to find judgement and disapproval, but Aunt Daisy had been into her church in a big way, so I figured it’d be worth a shot. Sunday tomorrow, so a good opportunity to check out. I looked up the details and made a plan to explore. I thanked Maddy and logged off.

The doorbell rang.

“It’s Dylan and Moira,” Jeeves said. He had been considerably less chatty of late making me worry about whether or not I’d damaged him with the task I’d set him. I opened the door.

“Are you not ready?” Moira asked.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Pub quiz. Dylan said you’d be joining us.”

“Oh gosh, I completely forgot. Come in, it’ll only take me a minute.”

Well, maybe ten. Choosing what to wear wasn't that challenging. I had a new outfit courtesy of one of the boutiques that hadn't driven me away earlier. I’d have liked to spend a little more time on makeup, but that really would have made us late. A quick application of lipgloss and eyeshadow – I looked so much better if I did something to enhance my eyes – and headed back downstairs.

Moira smiled sweetly at her man and handed him the car keys. Dylan scowled, then shrugged and took them.

“Did I miss something?” I wiggled my feet into a pair of three inch heels, as much of a lift as I’d tried up until now.

“We had a bet,” Moira said. “Loser gets to drive tonight. I said you’d be ready in less than fifteen minutes.’

Dylan shrugged again and smiled. “On the plus side, we’ll not be late. At least we won’t as long as we go now.”

The pub with the quiz was about half an hour’s drive away and beyond the reach of local gossip. With Moira as my wing…woman (?) I fit right in and if I ended up on the receiving end of any lingering looks, they were more speculative than judgemental.

The quiz attracted eight teams which had to be good for business. Two halves of five rounds each. Ten questions each round answered onto a sheet then handed in to the judging panel with scores going up as they were totalled.

The competition was fierce and our team was a long way from good. I didn't contribute much more than two or three general ignorance questions which I’m pretty sure someone else on the team would have guessed if I hadn't been a split second quicker.

Then they announced a round entitled ‘Normal for Norfolk.’ Moira grinned at me and played our joker. Which put a ton of pressure on me, except I could answer every question on the cards. We aced it with double points, which hauled us from ignominious last place into the middle of the field, much to Dylan and Dafydd's immense delight.

The quiz ended and I joined the mad rush to the bar seeking to order a round of celebratory drinks.

“You must be Dafydd’s lucky charm,” a voice said from my shoulder. I turned to find someone tallish, darkish… handsomeish.

“Am I? I suppose if you count recently having come from a place that was the topic in one of the rounds.”

“Yes but that round wasn’t about Norfolk. It was about jokes about Norfolk.”

“I had a friend a while ago who owned a Skoda, you know, back in the day when they had a deservedly awful reputation. He knew more Skoda jokes than anyone I know. What do you call a Skoda with a sunroof? A skip. What do you call a Skoda with twin exhaust pipes? A wheelbarrow. Why do Skodas have heated rear windows? To keep your hands warm when you're pushing them in winter. A guy walks into a shop, says, ‘I’d like a couple of windscreen wipers for my Skoda.’ The shopkeeper nods and replies, ‘Sounds like a fair exchange.’ You know that sort of thing.”

He was laughing. “I’d forgotten a few of those.”

“My point is, if you're the butt of the jokes, you tend to hear them a lot and you learn them all as a sort of defence mechanism.”

“Well, however you did it, I’m glad Dafydd finally found someone to drag him out of last place.”

“Oh! You must be the new tail end Charlie.”

He held up a wooden spoon, the booby prize for last place. “It’s unbecoming to gloat, you know that?”

“Yes, but it’s so much fun, especially if you don’t have the opportunity very often. But no, you’re right. Call it a character flaw. Helps to know the worst about someone from the outset, doesn't it?”

“Well if that’s the worst…”

“It isn’t.”

“Colour me curious.”

“You’re welcome to the curiosity, but I reserve the right to remain dark and mysterious for a while longer.”

“That is very much the right of every woman, but you’re not going to stop me from wondering.”

“Yes love.”

My turn at the bar. I gave my order and turned to my new acquaintance. “What are you having?”

“A rather lengthy order for my table, like yourself. Thanks, but I’ll wait my turn. I may join you once I’ve delivered my drinks though.”

“It would only be right to do so and give Dafydd the chance to poke fun at the new rear-enders.”

“You are relentless.”

“One of my finest qualities, I’m told.”

My drinks appeared on a tray. I thanked the barman and waved my card at his machine.

“I’m Keith by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, ‘Keith by the way’. I’m Gillian.”

“Gillian rather than Gill?”

“I'd prefer it, yes.”

Then I’ll see you in a short while, Gillian.”

I weaved my way back through the crowd, too preoccupied with not spilling anything to notice if he was watching my retreat.

“What kept you, wench?” Dafydd called out, reaching to take the tray.

“I think my feminine charms must be broken,” I replied.

“Not from what I could see,” Moira chipped in, gaining everyone’s attention. “Keith looked quite taken with you.”

“That old reprobate?” Dafydd raised his voice. “What did he want?”

“To poach me for his team, I think,” I said.

“Oh, I think he may be looking for more than that,” Moira said, her face an unreadable mixture of thoughts and feelings.

“I know,” I said quietly. “I’m going to have to tell him before he gets too interested.”

“Soonest is best, love.” There was sadness there, reflected in Dylan’s expression. Dafydd’s wife looked confused, as did the rest of the team to a lesser extent.

“He’s coming over now,” Moira added. I could feel the implication in her words.

I stood and turned to intercept Keith. He gave me an uncertain look.

“Can we go somewhere quiet,” I asked. “There’s something I should tell you.”

“Uh oh,” he said, but waved me to a door. It led outside to the pub’s garden which was empty now that the sun had set.

“I don’t want to mislead you, Keith. I’m flattered by your attention, but there’s a kind of big thing you should know before things go too far.”

“You already have a man. Of course, how could you not?”

“Not quite.” I don’t know what possessed me to keep going, perhaps some small, mad kernel of hope. “I kind of am a man. Physically at least.”

“Oh.” Kind of like that pebble that goes gloop when you drop it in the pond and leaves not the least hint of a ripple. A dead sound that crushed the hope in me in an instant.

“I’d offer to tell you more but I’m not sure you’d be interested. I just didn’t want you to find out when you were already invested.”

“A bit late for that, sadly.”

“Well, sorry. If it makes any difference, there’s a girl in here,” I pointed at my chest, “who rather likes you.”

“I don’t know what to do with that.”

“I can imagine. I can’t help being this way, you know?” Kind of a lie; I’d helped being this way for most of my life, just not very well. “And I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I get that. Thank you for the honesty; it can't have been easy.”

I shrugged. Nothing I could say would rescue the situation.

“We should go back in,” he said.

I nodded and followed him back. By the time we were back at the table he had his smile back in place. He congratulated Dafydd and the rest of the team on their… well, not exactly victory, and took some good natured ribbing for his team’s relegation. Somehow he contrived not to look my way again.

Moira placed a gentle hand on my thigh and gave me a sympathetic squeeze.

We didn’t stay long after that. Dylan made excuses for us, Dafydd gave me a sympathetic look while his wife continued to look a little confused. I wondered how far the tide of gossip would have reached by morning. Not that there was much I could do about it. I was the one who'd decided to be honest and forthright. I’d just hoped I would find a few more sympathetic minds along the way.

Not Keith. I had enough of a man’s mind to understand the way my admission must have made him feel. If anything, his measured response was about as good as I could have hoped for, even if that small part of me had hoped for more.

“That was well done,” Dylan said on the way back. “Not easy, but well done.”

Moira had joined me in the back which gave me a hand to hold. It brought the tears to the surface though only in a trickle and I snivelled distractedly all the way home.