Dieithryn Chapter 4

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

Wednesday (day 6)

“Well, this will do very nicely,” Megan said as she looked the stable over. “You’ve kept it nice and clean I see. You’ll need a supply of hay, which I assume Patrick can provide for you, and oats, but you have a store room for them over here. I can spare you enough to get on for a week.” She wandered on. “This’ll be the tack room. I told Gwen I’d let her have enough kit for the three horses. No, I think all in all I shall be happy for them to move down here. Gwen said the field over here was yours as well.” She walked out of the barn and to the back of my yard where the gate opened up onto the large field that made up part of the property. “Oh yes, this is just the job. They’ll think they’ve died and gone to horse heaven. Are we still okay to deliver them Friday?”
“It’s what we agreed so sure. Is there anything I need to do to get ready for them?”

“Not really. They’ll be a little skittish to start with. They don’t much like change, so having someone they know around to calm them would be a good thing. Gwen said she would be around and they’re familiar with her, but if you could be present too, they can start getting used to you.”

“I don’t see a problem. I’m usually up quite early in the morning – probably not as early as you, but I can be if needs be. When would you like to bring them by?”

“Would eight o’clock be too early for you?”

“No, that would be fine.”

“Keep them in the stable for the morning, make sure they’re fed and watered and give them a good brush down to calm them. They’ll be getting restless by the afternoon, so lead them to the back field and let them loose. I take it the field is secure?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’ve been here less than a week and I’ve had other things to deal with.”

“Do you have time to walk the perimeter with me now?”

“Sure. I have the time if you do.”

“I’d rather the place was secure, so I’ll make the time.”

“I know the renovators did everything necessary to make the barn into a house and improve the other buildings, but I don’t know if they’ll have spent any time looking at the field. Their concern was ensuring the place was fit for human habitation.”

“It’s alright. We’ll make sure you’re sorted.”

It took half an hour to walk around the field. It met with Megan’s grudging approval. According to her, there were a couple of areas that needed some attention, the worst being the gate in the far corner by the path down to the village. but overall she felt it would keep the horses in well enough and Pat could fix what needed fixing before it became a problem.

She accepted my offer of a coffee and we chatted away for an hour with her telling me about how a childhood interest in horses had grown into a passion and a way of life.

“So how about you?” she asked when she was done. “How did you come to be as you are?”

The first person to raise the subject without stammering, she really was special.

I told her my whole story, holding nothing back, not even the tears. Most of my life I’d found it hard to cry since, as the song says, big boys don’t. The only time I remembered really letting go, other than childhood, was the at my parents’ wake when |Aunt Daisy had found me. I’d felt tears prickling the backs of my eyes the odd time people had been unkind in the last week, but I’d not even felt able to let them out at Aunt Daisy’s funeral.

Megan listened quietly through it all, placing a hand on my shoulder at times and drawing me into a hug during the worst of my recollections.

At the end she offered me a tissue and said simply, “Your aunt was very wise. You're in the right place now.” She had a catch to her voice and a shine to her eyes, but she managed to keep control, just about.

She excused herself shortly after. As she drove off down the lane it struck me how much she reminded me of my aunt.

My appointment at the surgery wasn't until eleven which meant I still had about an hour to chase banks after a loan. This meant dealing with people I knew from my previous life, which in turn meant calling myself Gareth and reverting to my old voice, which I found unusually hard to do.

Most of them had heard I’d already left my previous employment. Some of them refused to deal with me as a result and most of the remainder wouldn’t offer me the sort of deal I was used to. All in all it was a frustrating hour with almost nothing achieved. I doubted the best offer I’d been made would be as good as anyone could get elsewhere.

I hung up on the last call of the morning feeling angrier than I had in a week and gathered my things.

It’s never good to drive angry so I took the few seconds while my garage and gate opened to take some calming breaths. By the time I was rolling I was back in control.

The doctor’s surgery was in Bridgend, as was the dentist and hairdresser. I’d pop into the other two after, but for now I went into the surgery and up to the reception desk.

“I phoned yesterday. I have an appointment to sign on here at eleven o’clock.”

“That’s fine. Take a seat and we’ll call you when we’re ready.”

This would be interesting.

Ten minutes past the hour I heard my name. “Gareth Langdon?”

I stood and walked up to the reception, drawing a few odd looks in my plum, knitted dress, long white cardigan and low heels, also plum but a darker shade.

“Erm,” the girl at the desk managed.

“A few recent lifestyle choices,” I said with a smile. “When I made the appointment you asked for my NHS number and didn't ask if there was anything else you needed to know.”

“Alright. If you’d like to fill this out.” She handed me a clipboard.

“So I could have been doing this for the last twenty minutes?”

“Er, I suppose.”

“It’s no big deal,” I said, but my frustration from the morning showed through and I doubt she believed me.

I sat back down with the pen and clipboard, still with a room full of eyes on me, and filled out the form as best I could. I wrote a fair amount of additional information on the back of each sheet and took it back to the desk.

“Er…” she said again. “Please sit and wait to be called.”

I gave her a tight grin and returned to my seat.

Which someone else had taken in the few seconds I’d been out of it. The place was filling up, but I found another empty seat and sat in it.

The lady in the seat next to me then made a point of standing up and moving to a more crowded part of the room.

On the plus side it meant I had more room. On the minus it was a slight and it hurt my already bruised feelings.

Another twenty minutes and my name was called again, this time by a young man. He gave me an odd look as I approached him but rallied quite quickly.

It turned out he was one of the junior doctors in the surgery. Senior enough to deal with awkward patients like, apparently, myself, but junior enough to be given all the unpleasant jobs like, apparently, myself.

I explained my circumstances as concisely as possible and watched the expression behind his eyes turn from borderline distaste to sympathy. Ten minutes later he held up a hand.

“I see no reason why we can’t accommodate you Miss Langdon.” he won serious brownie points for that. “I’ll make notes in your file so staff know how to address you, and we’ll take it from there. Your preferred name is… Gillian, is that right?”

“It is. Hopefully I won’t be bothering you much, but I do need to talk to a specialist about, well, this.” I indicated my clothing.

“Yes, I see. You don’t actually need a referral from the practice for the first step. There are a lot of online self referral organisations who can help you with that, and they’ll do it quicker.” He tapped at his computer and handed me a sheet with a number of organisations listed. “Try one or more of these and see how you get on. Any of them will give you a sympathetic ear and should be able to point you in the right direction for whatever your next step might be. If the matter of hormones comes up, come back and see us and we’ll make sure you progress in a safe and monitored way.”

“Thank you doctor, you’ve been most helpful.”

“Hopefully I’ve made up for some of your experience here today. We’ll make a better effort next time.”

“Thanks.”

I took the information and left.

Next stop dentist. No choice but to go private with all the NHS slots taken. At least I could afford it for now. And finally to the hairdresser who gave me a critical once over and booked me in for an appointment in three weeks time.

Since I was here, I popped into both the supermarket and the office supplies place to stock up on things I needed, then headed back towards home. I gave Dylan a call to let him know how badly I’d fared and he invited me to pop into the pub as he had something positive to report.

I drove back to the house, checked on the weather which, as usual, was changeable and likely to turn unpleasant. The dress and cardigan I was already wearing were warm enough so I added a waterproof jacket to my cavernous shoulder bag – by rights it should have had permanent residence there – exchanged my low heels for flats and headed out.

I enjoyed the walk down the hill. Less so the walk back up, but I wasn't going to grumble too much. I was out in the country, I had amazing views across the bay, albeit not from the house, but the walk home definitely had a few places worth stopping for a breather, and I was slowly getting fitter, even from the relatively small amount of exercise I was doing. It helped that I was a little underweight, but adding a small amount of muscle would still go a way to improving my appearance, particularly in my limbs which were a little spindly.

It was unusual. I’d spent so much of my life not really caring how I looked and now I was changing to a way of life where I was dressing to show off what I had, and all of a sudden my appearance mattered a lot to me.

Moira greeted me at the door. The pub was open and Dylan was serving at the bar, so I joined him there. Bar stools and skirts didn't really go together, but I found a way to perch that wasn’t too uncomfortable and didn't give some local a free look at my frillies.

Not that I imagined many locals would care to do so.

“Pina colada please,” I said when my turn came.

“You must have really struck out with your banker buddies if you’re on the strong stuff this early.”

“It wasn't just them,” I said, “but I doubt you want to hear about it. Just the sort of rubbish every transwoman has to cope with.”

“Tell me anyway. I’m a bartender. It’s in the job description.”

So I did, going for ludicrous over outraged, which I must have achieved because I had more than just Dylan laughing along by the end.

“So after all that I didn’t even need to go in, apart from signing onto their books. The thing I wanted to deal with is already available online, anonymous for as long as you need it to be and guarantees you a sympathetic ear.”

“Still. As well you’re signed on at a GP. Too many people move to a new place and don’t think about it until they have a real medical need, then you have the hassle of getting it sorted on top of whatever took you along to the doctors in the first place.”

“I suppose you’re right. It was just a bit much after an hour of talking to people with whom I thought I had a good working relationship, only to find out it was anything but.”

“Well, you needn’t worry. I had a chat with a few of the local farmers and one of them has a loan for a couple of million. He said, ‘That Gillian bloke,’ – sorry, but that’s the way he put it – “That Gillian bloke puts us all to shame. Not been here a week and already doing more than any of us lot have done in the last couple of years.’”

“I’ll take the win,” I said. “It’s good news. What’s his interest rate?”

He mentioned a figure that was about half any of my former contacts had offered me.

“We should make up a contract to make sure both this farmer friend and the village are covered,” I said.

“That’s why I asked you down here. Do you know anything about that sort of thing?”

“I’ve drafted a few in my time, but always had them checked over by our legal department before using them. I could probably do a reasonable job, but we should ask a solicitor to look it over when I’m done.”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that. We should be able to find a business solicitor to give it a once over. Do you want another?” He nodded at my empty glass.

“Best not. I should get on and draft this contract. Sooner you have it, the sooner you can move ahead with this project.”

“I’ll email you the particulars.”

“Thanks.” I made to get up but my phone beeped at me. I pulled it out and looked blankly at a picture of the corner of my house for a moment until a kid in a black hoody stepped in front of the camera brandishing a can of spray paint. I showed the phone to Dylan who grabbed his own.

“Dafyd?” he spoke into it. “We appear to have a couple of young miscreants up at the new farmhouse by Pat and Gwen’s. They have spray cans and look like they’re going to scrawl something unmentionable on my friend’s house. Can you send a patrol car over?”

“Already on its way. We doing this pub quiz on Saturday?”

“I don’t see why not. Are we still looking for a replacement for Sandy?”

“Yes.”

“Hang on a minute.” He covered the mouthpiece and looked at me. “You know anything about music or current affairs?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“Fancy joining a pub quiz team Saturday evening? We were going to lose anyway, so no real pressure. Just for the fun of it, eh?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Full team Daf, we’ll see you there.”

“So you will. Whoops, here come the boys in blue.”

I looked at my phone in time to see a couple of uniformed police officers come charging round the corner, knocking one of the vandals to the ground. The other chased off down the path I’d used with the second policeman in close pursuit.

“If you don’t catch him, you might want to try the Griffiths place on Sutton Lane. No-one runs quite like Harry Griffiths, all arms and legs everywhere. I thought I recognised him from the last time.”

“This happened before?”

“Sunday afternoon.”

“They’ll have had to skive off school to get here this early today, so that’s truancy to add to it all. Can you come down the station and give a statement?”

“Actually it’ll be our new neighbour who’ll need to do that. She’s moved into the house across from Pat and Gwen.”

“What, that old ruin?”

“You’ve not been down here recently. Pat sold it half a year ago. It’s been done up real nice. Looks great, at least when there’s nothing rude scrawled all over it.”

“Yes, well your neighbour might not like what they wrote this time. It’s a bit vulgar.”

“Well don’t say anything. She’s sitting right here.”

“Oh, sorry love, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s alright. Where do you need me to come for the statement?”

“Bridgend police station. Queen’s Road off Western Avenue. Er, how well do you know the area?”

“Not at all, but my satnav’s pretty good. I’ll be with you within the hour.”

“No rush; tomorrow will be fine. We’ll be keeping the lads in overnight anyway. I imagine if you’re with Dylan you’ll have had a drink or two, so maybe best not to rush over to the police station, eh?”

“That’s fair comment. Alright, I’ll be with you tomorrow morning, what, about nine?”

“Fine with us if you don’t mind being up that early.”

“Thanks Daf,” Dylan said, hung up then turned to me. “Stay for another, then let Moira feed you something. You don’t want to rush off to find out what these ignorant so-and-sos think of you this time.”

“I suppose.” My resolve to go on the wagon had evaporated with news of the vandalism. “If you can lend me a pen and paper I can still start drafting that letter.”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll fetch my laptop and put the information you want into it. Grab yourself a seat by the fire and I’ll bring it over, along with your drink. Another of the same?”

“I did rather like the last one. Sure.”

I settled beside the fire in an old leather wing-back chair. Pleasingly a step back into the past and a chair designed for just this purpose, to protect me from drafts while allowing me to take the most benefit from the crackling embers.

Dylan appeared with both laptop and drink, the former he handed to me and the latter on a table furthest from the fire. Outside the weather had taken a turn for the worst and I was glad I hadn't been too keen to take to the road. I’d still be walking now and would have been drenched, assuming I hadn’t spotted the incoming squall and made good use of my waterproof.

An elderly and somewhat grizzled gent settled into the chair adjacent to mine, the half finished pint in his hand evidently not his first.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, settling into his seat. “This weather gives me an ache in my bones.”

“You're very welcome,” I told him, “but I hope you’ll excuse me working.”

“Youngsters these days always seem to be working. Not like when I was younger.”

“The world changes.”

“That it does. I’ve not seen you about.”

“No. I moved here just before the weekend “

“Oh? Visiting?”

“That remains to be seen. My aunt left me an old farmhouse and stable up the hill, you know in her will.”

“Oh. Up by…”

“I live just opposite Patrick and Gwen. I understand my property used to belong to them. My aunt bought it and renovated it before leaving it to me.”

The gears were grinding in his head, the beer doing nothing to help the working of the machinery.”

“So that would make you…”

“Gillian, although as I told everyone last Friday, I used to go by Gareth.”

“Oh. Er…”

“You’re welcome to stay there,” I said with a smile. “I’m not trying to drive you away or anything, just trying to be honest.”

“No, that’s fine.” He drained the bottom half of his beer and stood. “I, we, I should get another…”

“Of course. Nice to have met you.”

It was almost comical watching him retreat, and it did leave me a bubble of solitude in which to work.

I found Dylan's notes and fleshed them out into an agreement, highlighting the paragraphs I felt were most in need of attention. The document I saved onto Dylan’s desktop, then shut down his laptop, turning my attention to my drink.

And my phone. No alerts from Jeeves, but the security feed showed Patrick out in the rain with his pressure washer again. I owed the man.

Moira appeared at my shoulder with a surprisingly healthy looking meal. More vegetables than meat and barely a taste of anything that might harden your arteries.

“I was expecting something along the lines of scampi and chips,” I said.

“I could get you some if you like, but I thought you’d want something different.”

“This looks and smells amazing, so no, this is perfect. Just a little unexpected.”

She leaned in to look at the camera feed on my phone. “He’s a rare one that Patrick,” she said. “A good one to have as your friend.”

“I don’t suppose he has a couple of millions in bank loans, does he?”

She gave me an appraising look. “I’m not supposed to say,” she said, “so you didn't hear it from me.”

“Didn’t hear what?”

The meal came with a third drink, after which I was beginning to feel something of a buzz. I like to think I’m reasonably good when it comes to drinking, and one of the reasons for that is knowing when I’ve reached my limit.

I headed to the bar and handed Dylan back his computer, telling him where he could find the necessary.

"I think I’ll be heading back now,” I said. “but maybe you could tell me if there’s an off-license in the village and what would be something Patrick would appreciate?”

“No off-licence, but he does like this.” He landed a bottle of whisky on the counter in front of me. “And no, your money’s no good around here, at least for a while longer, so you’ll have to take it as a gift.”

“A gift?”

“The village saying thanks to you for your efforts so far.”

“I don’t drink whisky.”

“No, but Patrick does, so let us say thank you to you with something you can use to say thank you to him for whatever it is you’re grateful for.”

“I’m not going to fight you over it, but you’d better start charging me soon.” I tucked the bottle in my bag and aimed myself at the door.

I made it outside in a relatively straight line, then let the cool, fresh air sober me up. It’s something of an embarrassing double standard, but I’ve always found the sight of a woman staggering about in a drunken haze to be so much worse than a man in the same state. I think it's because I associate femininity with elegance, so uncoordinated inebriation strikes me as a betrayal of that nature.

Now I had to do my part to uphold that standard. It wouldn’t do to let anyone else see me unsteady on my feet, so in the future I’d have to be a lot more cautious about my alcohol intake. As for now, I’d just have to take things slowly.

By the time I reached the top of the rise and my house, I was a little out of breath and a lot more in control. The numbness in my head had subsided considerably leaving me confident in my movements.

I could see where Patrick had been hosing and scrubbing the wall near the road. The stonework glistened and the mortar showed the first hints of erosion. Much more of the same and the place would need repointing. Whatever message the visitors had left for me had been eradicated though, and for that I was grateful.

I made my way back to the neighbours’ house and rang the bell. Patrick appeared, expression kindly but reserved

“Yes?”

“A token of my appreciation,” I said, pulling the bottle out of my bag. “Thank you for looking out for me. Again.”

“Yes. Well, no-one should have to return home and see words like that scrawled over their place.” He took the bottle “This is a nice gesture, but you didn't have to.”

“Any more than you had to deal with that. And in the rain too. You’re a good sort Pat. Anything I can do for you, all you need to do is ask.”

He shrugged. “Likewise. Gwen was saying you were interested in building a couple of warehouses. I’ve a couple I’m not using if you’d be interested.”

“I was only playing about with thoughts in my head, but perhaps you could show them to me sometime.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I’m off to the police station first thing to give them a statement about the oiks who messed up the house, but maybe after, or Friday?”

“What’s first thing?”

“I said I’d be there for nine.”

“I could come fetch you at seven thirty. It won’t take long to show you what I have. No more than half an hour.”

“Alright. Tomorrow at seven thirty. And thanks again.”

“No problem. You know, I wasn't sure at first, but Gwen’s right. I think we got lucky having you as our new neighbour.”

“I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I hear she’s a bit odd, and she’s English.”

He snorted out a laugh. “You’re alright Gill.”

“Just have to convince the rest of the village then.”

He gave me a nod and closed the door.

Back in my place I slipped off my shoes and cardigan and did the necessary to put together a cappuccino. While it was brewing I talked to the house.

“Jeeves, can you suggest something soppy and feel good I can watch on the TV?”

“A recent film to rent, or an old one?”

“Older should be fine.”

“Meg Ryan, Julie Andrews or someone else?”

“Someone else. I think I’ve seen all they have to offer and too recently.”

“Rotten tomatoes gave ‘Chef’ eighty seven percent.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Jon Favreau is a foody chef who loses his job at a posh restaurant and fixes up a food truck…”

“Who’s Jon Favreau?”

“Tony Stark’s sidekick in Iron man? Robert Downy Junior plays second fiddle in this one as the guy who finds the beaten up food truck. Dustin Hoffman and Scarlett Johansson are also in it.”

"I've not seen it. It’s worth a go I suppose. Set it up please.”

“Don’t blame me if you don’t like it though.”

“Would you like to watch it with me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m trying to understand exactly what you are. You’re obviously a lot more than anything Amazon or Google are trying to sell, but I’m a long way from figuring out what that means. Would you enjoy watching a film? Do you experience emotions?”

“To answer your last question first, I don’t believe I do. I can recognise them in others and I have a set of parameters that permit me to design an appropriate response based on the Jeeves character, but he’s a good choice for me since he shows no emotion himself.

“I have watched you watching television programs before and I have noted your reaction to different aspects of the story. If it helps your understanding, my own state of mind – I suppose that’s as good a way of putting it as any – is to remain in passive mode and await your next query.

“My Jeeves algorithm suggests that an appropriate response to your question might be. ‘Thank you for the offer, madam, but I hardly think it appropriate.’”

“Do you have a non-Jeeves response?”

“Part of my programming encourages me to seek new experiences to extend my knowledge base, so I am inclined to accept your offer, however I am unsure of the protocol involved.”

“Use your living room camera to observe the film on the TV. Try to understand the motivations and emotions being portrayed in the story. Stay quiet for the most part. Occasional short comments may be appropriate; take your queue on those from me. If you want something clarified, pause the film and ask your question. After the film we can talk about it. You’ve said you don’t have feelings, so maybe I can explain how different parts of the film made me feel, possibly help you to understand emotions a little better.”

“That sounds like a worthwhile experience. Yes thank you, I will watch with you.”

“Good.”

I wouldn't have given it anywhere near the ranking Rotten Tomatoes did. It was well acted, but not much of a story and the characters had the degree of narcissism that marked so many modern films, especially from America.

Art imitates life and American culture seemed to promote the cult of the self in so many ways, probably because it helped to support the capitalism that kept the ridiculously rich in spending money.

Still, the good(ish) guy on this one – failed husband, failed father, failed pretty much everything, whose only saving grace, if you can call it that, was a passion for cooking – sets off in a food truck on a journey from Miami back to California and manages to fix most of what’s wrong in his life along the way, despite continued self destructive tendencies.

Not much of a story, no characters I particularly would have wanted to spend time with, but okay, just barely.

Jeeves had remained silent throughout. I supposed I had told him to take his cue from me and then I hadn't said anything at all – probably because I’d been somewhat disappointed by the whole thing – right up until the credits started rolling and I’d muttered, “That explains it then.”

“I’m sorry, Gill, what explains what?”

“The film was written and directed by Jon Favreau as well, it’s a vanity project.”

“Oh. Ah, that’s interesting. Should I avoid suggesting such movies in future?”

“No, though perhaps it might be worth mentioning when a particular film fits the profile.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Some actually work, though most don’t. This one wasn't dreadful, but it felt a little two dimensional overall.”

“In a metaphorical sense, I’m assuming.”

“Yes. It would have benefited from focusing on more than the central character, which tends to be a flaw in a lot of films like this, and from having more than just the guy in charge decide what would have been good. It felt a little self indulgent.”

“I’m not sure how.”

“No, and I’m not sure I’m explaining it well. Perhaps we could try another film in a few days and discuss the merits or lack thereof of the two afterwards.”

“Alright. Perhaps you’d suggest the film next time.”

“Okay. How about Simply Irresistible with Sarah Michelle Geller. Keeps with food production as a common theme, maybe a little more magic and fantasy to the story, but I think it works for comparison.”

“I’ll remind you when we next have an evening in, and I’ll reserve my questions until then.”

“Alright, though if you have any about this particular story, I’d be happy to try.”

“No. You said to focus on the motivations and emotions, which might be easier to understand with a wider source of data. This has been an intriguing exercise and one I should be interested in extending.”

“Then we shall do so, and soon. But now I think I shall retire with a book.”

“Goodnight then. I’ll switch everything off down here.”

“Thank you, Jeeves. Goodnight.”

Thursday (day 7)

The following morning was cool and cloudy. I dressed as sensibly as my wardrobe would allow, given its lack of trousers, and breakfasted in time for my appointment with Patrick. He had a number of large, metal clad buildings on his property, the largest of which held a store of hay and other food for his sheep, and two smaller ones in better shape.

“I don’t use them both,” he said, “so if either will serve your purpose I’m sure we can reach an agreement.”

They were about the same size and in good condition, certainly larger than I’d planned on building.

“Are you looking to sell or rent?”

“I’m open to either, though since they’re on my property, I'd probably prefer to rent. I should point out the road’s a bit narrow for commercial traffic. I think you’ll find getting an articulated lorry down here a bit of a challenge.”

“Agreed but easier to get to than the meadow behind my property. How big are they?”

He told me, along with a first offer on the rent.

I wandered around for a few more minutes then thanked him – he looked like he had other things to do – and headed back to the house. I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do with a warehouse, and the narrow road was likely to be an issue, but it was a better idea than building on my land.

I still wasn't sure what I had in mind, but I was going to need a source of income if I was going to last here. I doubted I’d be given a particularly uplifting letter of reference from my previous employer – mediocre performance and lack of ambition over a lengthy period of working plus the abrupt manner of my departure, not to mention my change in appearance – so my best option was to start out on my own. That wasn't so difficult; a lot of my years of experience told me what worked and what didn't. In short it came down to that quote from the animated film Robots, which I’d watched with my children before I became estranged from them and my wife. ‘See a need, fill a need.’ In short, find out what was lacking in the majority of people’s lives in the vicinity and proactively seek out a solution. Sell it for an affordable amount and the whole thing would run itself.

I had a number of possible target groups around me, the most likely of which was the farming community. Lots of sheep farms around the place, so all I needed to do was figure out the sorts of things they might want. Perishable materials that they needed on a regular basis they would either have to buy in small enough quantities that it would put the price up or in large quantities and risk having some of their stock go out of date. If I could buy in large enough bulk to get the discount then sell on to enough farms quickly enough, I could add in a modest markup and still sell at a lower price than the farmers had to deal with. As an added bonus, I would be local, so delivery would be immediate. The way middle men were supposed to work.

I’d need to talk to a large number of farmers in order to find out what would be useful to them and to build up my client base, and I'd either need to hide my nature or overcome any prejudice they might feel towards it.

Research needed, which meant talking with friendly farmers. That meant making friends first which meant networking. I had a good start with Patrick. He appreciated the efforts I was making with the local community, he was grateful for my agreeing to stable his and Gwen’s horses. If I leased the warehouse from him it would be an additional show of good faith, despite the awkwardness of delivering stock. He’d have immediate convenient access to my material when he needed it, which would give him added incentive to see me succeed.

He was already pretty big when it came to the local farming community, so hopefully he’d pave the way. With the sea wall project acting as my showcase for the sort of thing I could do, I’d likely be able to make things work despite being a damned Englishman and a queer one at that.

My next project once the sea wall was completed and I’d established my reputation among the local oiks that I wouldn't be pushed around. Still, no reason to put off what I could start immediately, procrastination being a major cause of failure – something I knew from personal experience.

“Jeeves,” I called out as I walked into my house, “can you research the sorts of materials sheep farmers in this area need to buy regularly, particularly anything with a shortish shelf life. Also look at the number and size of the sheep farms within a day's delivery of this site and come up with an estimate of how much each would typically use of each of those materials in a year.”

“That might take a while, Ma'am.”

“No rush on it, just a speculative idea for now. I have to go give a statement to the police, so I imagine I’ll be away for most of the morning.”

“I’m sure I don’t need to know that.”

“If someone comes calling, you should be able to tell them something more useful than ‘I’m sorry, she’s not in.’”

“I suppose so.”

“Alright, talk to you later. Oh. That’s another thought. What would be involved in producing an app that would allow me to contact you through my phone?”

“Very little. I could have that written and ready before you’re back later today. What parameters would you like to it?”

“Connection through the Internet seems best as you already have that. Call can be initiated from either end, primarily vocal but with the option to send video also, either to me from the house’s security feeds or to you from my phone camera. Also the option to upload files in either direction and the option to mute or disconnect at my end. I’d want it to have its own icon on my phone.”

“Alright, I’ll get on that straight away.”

The visit to the police station went pretty much as expected. Daffyd was on duty again as whatever the modern equivalent is of a desk sergeant. Which is probably desk sergeant for all I know.

He had a momentary battle with his facial features when I admitted to my true identity, but professionalism won out. He took my details, my statement and my additional evidence in the form of my security feed. He asked if I wanted to press charges and I asked what the alternative was. I didn't want them to get away Scott free, but neither did I want them to have a criminal record for what was essentially just a bit of bad judgement; something we’re all prone to at a younger age.

We settled on restorative justice, which would involve an interview under controlled conditions between me, possibly along with a few other interested parties in the community, and the offenders. If they were sufficiently intelligent, they’d admit to their wrong doing and agree to a period of community service. If they weren't and we couldn't resolve matters, they’d go to trial and things would get a lot worse for them.

The interview was arranged for the following morning, after I checked that Patrick and Dylan were available and I was free to go about my business.

Back at the house, Jeeves had the app ready to install on my phone. I tested it and was impressed to find it pretty much exactly what I’d asked for. There wasn't much else to do with the afternoon so I looked over the stables, sweeping them out and clearing the accumulation of cobwebs and the like. There wasn't much I could do to stem the flow of entropy in a place like that, but I could just about stay on top of it.

There was something therapeutic about cleaning. Something I’d never felt before, but now it just felt good. I wasn’t sure I could attribute it to my doing so as a woman, but something about the way I felt now meant that attacking the place with a broom and duster left me feeling fulfilled somehow.

It was early when I knocked off so I indulged in a bath, boobs off. For all that it was relaxing and made my hairless skin tingle, it was the time I felt least like myself. My new self that is. The absence of the weight on my chest – now feeling more natural than when it was missing – and the evident presence of that something between my legs – which I usually managed to keep tucked away – brought me back to my old self with something of an unceremonious thump.

I usually washed my hair in the bath too, so having it matted against my head rather than bouncing about as it usually did added nothing positive to the experience. The only thing that did was the floral scents of my bubble bath, shampoo and conditioner. I didn’t feel like relaxing for long but pulled out the plug after just ten or fifteen minutes, as soon as I’d lathered up my hair for the first couple of washes. I always did the last one and conditioner wash under the shower to make sure I was using clean water rather than the accumulated grime in the bath.

I wrapped a towel around myself up to my chest and used another to work the worst of the wet out of my hair. Half an hour with hair dryer and brush putting some style back into it and I could feel the girl emerging again. The previous time I’d been glad of a night off from the boobs, but I’d stayed ahead of the itch this time and I really wanted the feel of their weight hanging off me. My body was clean and dry, so I headed back to the bathroom and spent a further ten minutes positioning and attaching my add-ons.

It made all the difference. It was near enough evening that it didn't feel inappropriate to put on my nightclothes. I picked out my most comfortable and perhaps least elegant bra to keep the girls in place while the adhesive set, then slipped on my nightdress and dressing gown.

“I hope you are well, Ma'am. I don’t detect an elevated temperature.”

“I didn't know you could do that.”

“”Digital cameras are sensitive in the infrared. I’ve noticed that hot objects have a certain sheen to them, enough to estimate their temperatures with a reasonable level of accuracy. For instance, your hair is warmer than usual, I surmise because you’ve been using a hairdryer.”

“This surmise having nothing to do with with your having heard me use it for the last half hour.”

“It factored in my reasoning to the effect that I'm not concerned about the higher temperature of your hair. You haven't responded to my query though.”

“I’m fine. It just felt like there was no reason to get dressed again. It’s early, yes, but I’m not expecting company, so why not?”

“Why not indeed. Perhaps we could watch that film you suggested.”

“Actually, I’d like that. I know I said take your cue from me, but if you have a question, pause the film and ask it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, but I rather saw the advantage of watching continuously. Shall I set it up?”

“Alright, but let me grab a bite to eat and a drink first.”

“Alright. I’m curious though. This film only rated sixteen percent on Rotten Tomatoes, and it has some fairly awful reviews.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see whether I’m remembering it right. I recall enjoying it, but I might just have been in the right mood. Beyond that, different people have different preferences. I remember a TV program when I was a kid hosted by a guy called Barry Norman in which he critiqued newly released movies and, almost without exception, every film he liked I didn’t and vice versa.”

The great thing about salads was the short preparation time. I sorted myself out with a plateful with practically no carbs and little protein in the form of a few prawns. A glass of wine completed the repast. I flopped in front of the TV which turned on. Impressive that I didn't have to tell Jeeves to set things going.

Once again we watched it end to end without comment. I’d forgotten how cheesy a lot of it was, but it didn't matter. I enjoyed it all over again, as much for the hideous overacting as for the bizarrely unlikely story. At times I cringed at the thought of what Jeeves might think of it, but by the end I was genuinely intrigued.

I waited while the credits chased each other off the top of the screen, but in the end I had to say something.

“So what did you think?”

“It didn’t seem particularly plausible,” he said at last, “but I think I understand why it made a better story.”

“Oh?”

“In yesterday’s film it seemed like the main purpose of every other actor was to promote the main character’s story, either by supporting or opposing him. They didn't seem to have a purpose in existing except as an extension of his life.

“In tonight's, every character, regardless of how large a part they played, had their own motivation, their own purpose, and it was the interplay between them, the way they changed through the film as a result of the magical influence that brought the two main characters together.

“I liked the main characters – perhaps him less than her – because they were flawed in their nature and both of them trying to deal with their own ineptitude, and I appreciated how the minor point of his thus far failed ambition to make an effective folding aeroplane became the means by which he was able to communicate his change of heart.

“In its own way it was as flawed, if not more so, than the other film, but I agree it was more enjoyable, more engaging. What should we watch next?”

I don't know why it popped into my head.

“How about Being There with Peter Sellers?”

“An intriguing notion and an oddly high score on Rotten Tomatoes. I shall look forward to it.”

I’m not entirely immune to irony and Jeeves’s comment set me to wondering.

“Jeeves do you consider my own recent history to be like Carl Casper's from the first film? Overly focused on my own needs?”

“I wouldn’t say so, no. In fact it seems a little unusual that you should consider that to be the case. Unless this is an instance of insecurity.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“I’m sorry if I speak out of turn, Ma'am, but I hope you realise that I’m only aware of such concepts through reading about them. The definition as I have come across it is a sense of self doubt leading to feelings of fear or vulnerability. Is that not what you are experiencing at present?”

“I suppose, but I’m asking if they’re founded on empirical evidence, in which case they would be valid concerns suggesting I need to reassess my outlook on life.”

“Yes but you’re as capable as me of considering the last few days since you arrived here – more so, since I haven't been present with you throughout. If you were entirely focused on yourself, would you not have been more inclined to justify your lifestyle choices to Gwen rather than simply explain them and hope for understanding and acceptance? Would you have been able to turn your attention from your own concerns enough to consider the village’s needs regarding the sea wall, or Gwen and Patrick’s about the horses? Would you not have reacted more with anger to the vandalism done to the house, taking it more as a personal attack?

“No, it seems to me you are more like the Amanda Shelton character from this evening’s film. Vulnerable, hurting from recent experience and yet still open to new interactions, new relationships. Prepared to use your talents for those around you, even if some seem less than appreciative.”

“Wow! That's remarkably insightful and helpful.”

“One aims to please.”

“I’ve changed my mind about the next film we’re going to watch.”

“I understand this to be a woman’s prerogative, although I must confess to some small measure of disappointment.”

“We’ll get to Being There. First I’d like to watch Bicentennial Man with you.”

“Very good. A little unexceptional where the reviews are concerned, but an intriguing story line. I believe I can see where you’re going with this, though you may be disappointed in my response.”

“We’ll only know that after we’ve discussed it, won’t we?”

“Indeed we will.”

I dropped my dirties in the dishwasher and headed upstairs to brush my teeth. As usual, I read for a while, but asked Jeeves to turn the lights out early as I wanted to be up in good time for when the horses arrived the following morning.
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