When they were Down, they were Down

After New Year, I was busy with my books and notes, swatting up for the exams. And then it would be new work in a new term. I took the dress and shoes back to Steph and we arranged for me to be available on Saturdays to wear her new designs for the camera.

That meant that I needed to go through with the rest of the plan and tell Tape that I wasn’t coming back. The money I’d get from six hours in front of the camera would help, if not fully covering what I would have made in wages and tips, but Steph assured me that I would be earning more by the time I finished the school year.

I took the dress, wig, and other things to Tape in a carrier bag, telling the boss that the pressure of my second-year work would mean that I needed to get more sleep, so, reluctantly, would have to resign from my position. He told me that he was sorry to see me go and gave me a belated Christmas bonus.

I had enough aside to cover my expenses until more money from the modelling came in, so settled into the new term getting home before midnight every night. I made a real difference to my study but made Howard sad that he couldn’t escort me home in the early hours.

Things were moving along nicely, without any real worries. I was doing well in my studies, getting more sleep and spending much of Saturdays in front of the camera. I wasn’t going to be a billboard model, which would have meant that I would have to be prepared for fashion shows. I was, shall we say, the beta tester, where the fashions were filmed on me moving around, to double check the lines and flow of the outfit skirts. I had trialled all the outfits for B.U.K, which were accepted, with a lot of accolades.

That’s when everything spun around and upended my life. In the first week of March, I had a phone call from my father, telling me that my mother had been hit by a hoon losing control while doing drifting in the local supermarket carpark. I was needed at home, immediately.

I called the LSE and told them about my problem, and they told me that I would get all the course notes and some leeway when I got back. I called the Duke, and they told me to take whatever time I needed, as did Steph. I packed a small bag and bought a train ticket home, arriving with two days of sitting beside Mums’ hospital bed before she died.

The hoon was charged with dangerous driving, causing death, on top of not having a licence, driving an unregistered and uninsured vehicle. The police would throw the book at him, but it wouldn’t bring Mum back. It devastated Dad, which led to his own problems, so giving heart palpitations. He had to be hospitalised to calm him down. In the meantime, I slept in my old bedroom in an empty house. My older brother was busy running a pub of his own in Scotland, and my sister had married and gone to Canada for a new life.

When I went into our family pub for a look, I was horrified. The place was a tip and smelt of old beer. I asked for a lemonade, and was almost laughed at, but the bruiser behind the bar gave me a bottle and asked me if I wanted a straw. In the hour that I was there, eating a bag of crisps and drinking my lemonade, I saw him pocket at least three payments after the buyer turned his back, and then ring up ‘No Sale’ on the till.

I went to see Dad in hospital and asked him who was managing the pub. He told me that it was one of my uncles, his younger brother, Robert. I also asked who was on the licence. He told me that it was him, Mum and me. I went to the local police station and explained that, as a licensee of the pub, I wanted to shut it down and check the books, telling them what I had seen.

I was loaned two police cars for an hour. One crew went to the back, the other came with me into the pub, me with the licence papers. The bruiser tried a runner out the back and ended up on the floor in cuffs. We took the names of the few drinkers, allowed them to finish their drinks, and the police stayed with me as I looked through the pub. Making sure it was empty, they took the bruiser away, telling me that they could only hold him for a couple of days unless I could supply some real evidence.

I didn’t go home, doing a full stocktake. I found that the takings went nowhere near the deliveries. Luckily, I could also count the empties out the back, and check the kegs by rapping them with a small hammer that you use to tighten screw connections. Given the numbers, it didn’t take long to see that he was not only pocketing the takings, but likely moving spirits by the case. The other worrying thing was the number of bills with red printing from the brewery. The number of kegs being charged for was about two times what the pub would have turned over on a good week. The bill for two electric slot machines was odd, seeing that there wasn’t one.

Before I went back to the police, I went around to the pub my uncle was operating. It was pristine and had a good size bar with a lot of modern equipment, including two shiny slot machines. I sat outside in Dads’ car for a while, just watching, until closing time. I saw that the only car left in the carpark was a Porsche Cayenne Turbo GT, which my uncle got into after locking up. I looked it up on my phone, finding out that it was a good hundred and forty thousand worth if it was a quid. I wondered if a stocktake here would show that the takings didn’t match the purchases, by the number of cases and kegs taken from my pub.

The next day, I made a formal complaint, asking that the bruiser, who turned out to be my cousin, be charged with fraud and theft of property belonging to me and my father. I showed them my figures and told them that the pub was closed if they wanted to double check. I had a long talk with an inspector from the fraud squad and he rang the brewery. Half of the beer deliveries charged to my pub had been delivered to my uncles one. He asked me what I wanted to do, and I told him to get them to stop all deliveries until further notice and hold any action over unpaid accounts until we had worked it out.

With all the evidence that I had brought in, I was sat behind a one-way window as my cousin was interviewed. At first, he refused to answer any questions, but when he was told that he would be charged with stealing the takings and selling boxes of spirits, he looked worried. Then, he blustered, saying that his father would get him out of trouble as his father had some high-level contacts in the golf club. The inspector smiled and closed the folder in front of him.

“Sorry to be the one to give you the bad news, lad. My sergeant is on his way with some uniformed to arrest your father for dealing in stolen property and suspicion of fraud. His pub will be shut down while my team go through the books. I am now formally arresting you on a charge of theft and involvement in that fraud.”

I gave the inspector the keys to the pub and went to see my father. When I got up to the ward, I asked if a nurse could stay with us while I told him some bad news. He looked fitter than the last time I had seen him, a couple of days before.

“Dad, you’re looking good today.”

“I think that I’ll be ready to get out tomorrow, in time to say our last farewell to your mother.”

“That’s not going to be very nice for anyone. Tell me, how long has your brother, Bobby, been looking after the pub?”

“About a year, son. Your Mum had a fall, and I was looking after her full-time. We just let the arrangement carry on when she got better.”

“When was the last time that you went there?”

“A good nine months. Why, is there anything wrong?”

“I’ve shut it down, Dad. I went in to have a look and the place was a smelly tip. My cousin, Eddy, was behind the bar. You know, Uncle Bobs’ brute of a son. I sat there with a drink for an hour and watched him pocket about half the takings.”

“That’s just not right! When I’m out of here, we’ll go and have it out with Bob!”

“We’ll have to do that at the police station, Dad. In the time he’s been running the place, half of the brewery deliveries have been going to his pub, and a lot of boxes of spirits have gone the same way. On top of that, we’ve been charged for two slot machines that are gracing his own saloon bar.”

“That’s preposterous! What about the accounts?”

“I’ve gone through all the paperwork I could find, Dad. Our accounts with several suppliers has been stopped, pending court action over unpaid bills. The fraud squad have the keys to the pub and will contact everyone regarding the situation. Uncle Bob will be joining his son in the cells while his own books will be looked at. I expect that he’ll be formally charged with fraud, tax evasion, and receiving stolen goods as starters.”

Dad slumped back on the pillows and the nurse added something to his drip. I sat as he relaxed. He looked me in the eyes.

“Gene. You’re a good son, and I’m proud of you. I’m not proud in how I let everything slide, but I thought that I could trust my family. I give you permission to put the pub on the market if I can’t get strong enough to do it myself. That idea of you running the group finances is now dead in the water. I think I’ll have a sleep, now, and you can take me home tomorrow. I’ll need some support for the funeral, and then you can go back to London after I’ve spoken to the police.”

“All right, Dad. I’ll be in to take you out of here. I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news at this time.”

“It’s all right, son. You did what you had to do. Now, run off and let me rest.”

I thanked the nurse on the way out and went out to the car. I sat for several minutes, thinking about my future. I got my phone and rang Steph, who was becoming a friend. When I was put through to her, I explained all that had happened to me. She was silent for a few moments.

“Gene. Did you say that you were doing the LSE course to take over the running of the pub group finances?”

“That’s right. It was about twenty pubs, but it would be a hard job to get them to install all the computers that would allow me to monitor them all. Even harder now my Uncle has been charged with fraud.”

“My business is growing like wildfire. Would you be interested in becoming my financial officer?”

“That would be great! I still have to get through this year and next, but it would be good. Thank you.”

“Look, what we’ll do is get you back here, find you a place nearer the office and allow you time for your study. You can do more modelling for me, as well as learning about my business. I’ll be happy to listen to any advice that you may give me and pay you a wage on top of the modelling. It’s not charity! What you’ve saved us with your photo sessions, on top of the success with the band outfits, has been instrumental to our growth. Give me a call when you get back and we’ll get it happening. Give yourself a few days with your father after the funeral.”

I went home and remade the bed in the master room, taking cases from the top of the wardrobe and carefully packing my mothers’ things, smelling her with every item I folded. She had been a beauty in her younger days, and had kept some of her better outfits, which were in my size. I saved them in a separate case, along with her cosmetics and other things. An idea was forming in my mind, as I knew that the House of Foster was an all-woman establishment except for the photographers.

When they were only halfway up, they were neither up nor down

Next day, I went to the hospital and picked up my father, taking him home. When he saw his bedroom, with one empty wardrobe, he gave me a hug.

“Thank you for that, son. I couldn’t have done that without collapsing. I’ll have a lie down, and then we’ll go to the restaurant in the High Street and have lunch. Can you make the booking? After that, we’ll go and talk to the police to see where we stand.”

“Right, Dad. I’ll give you a nudge around lunchtime.”

The rest of the day went well. Dad was refreshed after his nap, happy to be at home, and we had a pleasant lunch and a good talk with the fraud squad inspector, coming away with the news that Uncle Bob had been linked to a lot more cases of receiving than I had already discovered. His high-level contacts at the golf club were now under the spotlight. We were given back the keys to the pub.

We stopped there so Dad could see for himself, and then went to the undertakers to finalise tomorrows’ funeral. Later that afternoon, we picked up my brother and sister. She had flown to Scotland to see him, and they had flown down together. The four of us went to dinner and filled them in on the events of the last few days. We had to stop my brother going to Bob’s house to remonstrate with him, telling him that Bob was likely to be in a cell by now.

That evening, I rang the Duke to tell them that a lot had happened. I did tell the guv’nor about the pub stuff, and he was very understanding when I told him that it was unlikely that I would be working at the Duke again but would pop in to say hello when I was back in town.

The funeral was a sad affair, with a lot of the family and friends attending. Several asked where Bob and his family were, but we kept quiet. The next day, the local paper had his picture on the front page with the headline, ‘Local publican the kingpin of robbery gang!’

The day after that, my brother and sister were taken back to the airport to go home, and Dad and I were alone again. He, and my brother, had arranged for him to go to Scotland to stay with the family there when things had been sorted out.

I had a message to go and talk to the inspector, seeing that it was my name on the original complaint. When we got there he sat us in his office and opened a folder.

“Now. A lot has transpired since you came to us with your problem, Gene. You would have seen the local paper. Your uncle had been involved with a larger group, with him laundering money through ‘managed’ winnings on those slot machines. He was also selling stolen electricals in the pub, sometimes making them raffle prizes. We have rolled up a lot of back cases with the information he kept in his pub and his house.”

“What about our accounts, sir. Will they be cleared, or do we have to sell up?”

“The main ones are the brewery, the wine and spirit merchant, and the slot machine supplier. All of them are aware of the situation and will hold off any court action. We may be able to get a judge to award you compensation for what he’s done, out of his assets, but that may take a few months. I advise you to go about your business.”

We got them to put Dads’ contact details in the file, as he was the holder of the deeds of the pub, and I told the inspector that I was heading back to London. Over the next few days, we cleaned out the pub, packing up all the unopened bottles and untapped kegs, contacting the suppliers to come and pick them up as returns. We cleaned the saloon bar and then put a big sign outside. It read, ‘Closing Down. Free drinks tonight.’ When we opened the door, there was a line outside. Dad and I dispensed the drinks, threw bags of crisps out to the crowd, and the night finished when we exhausted the final keg. A lot of the customers were very sad that the pub was closing, but the newspaper article had let on that we were the victims in the situation. When we cleaned up, we found one of the waste bins with just bank notes in it. Dad insisted that I keep it as a bonus.

The following day, the returns were picked up and we had a visit from one of the country-wide chains, with an offer to buy the property and take over the licence, which Dad agreed to, and they set a day for signing the papers. Back home, we were visited by the local real estate agent that Dad had rung. The family home was put on the market.

After all of this, Dad was a lot better, was back in charge of his life, and it was time that I left. I packed another case with all of the things of mine that I wanted to keep and told him that the rest could go to charity. Next morning, we loaded up the car with my cases, and he drove me into London. At the flat, we managed to get a parking spot and I took the cases inside. I treated him to lunch at The Duke and then he drove away to get on with his life.

The other guys came home, and we sat in the kitchen while I told them all the things that had happened in the two weeks that I had been away. Later, that afternoon, I rang Steph and told her that I was back. She told me to go into the office in the morning, before I went into the LSE to let them know I could restart.

Her business was in a modernistic set of units on William Road, near Euston Station, and she took me around the corner to show me a flat on North Gower Street, between the Crown and Anchor and a solicitors office. It was being lived in by a friend of hers from the Fashion Academy, who would be going to Italy for work at the beginning of May. That would be right at the start of the summer term. Back at her office, I looked up the best way to get to the LSE. It was quite easy, with any of three lines that took me to Farringdon, and then one stop on the Central line to Holborn. Five to ten minutes if everything was running smoothly. There were so many eating options in the area, mainly Indian, that I would never have to cook. I was with Steph for two hours, going through her financial system. She had computerised it, but there were more modern packages that would streamline the system. She did have an accountant, but I would be able to save her money by presenting him with a financial report that he only needed to check and sign off at tax time. He didn’t handle the wages, or the payments in or out, so that would be one area where I could make a difference in very short time.

When I left her, I was at the LSE within twenty minutes, to check in with them. When I told them what had happened, the first thing they needed me to do was to have a session with their student support officer. I had lunch in the canteen and saw her in the afternoon, a session that lasted three hours as I had to go through the whole story, my part in the events and my thoughts about the loss of my mother, my expected future career, and probably my family home. When I thought about it all together, I spent some time crying while she organised some hot tea and some cake for when I had settled down.

When I left, that day, I was told to come back in the morning and she would help me get all the course notes that I would need to catch up with, to the end of the term, just a few weeks away, and promised a room where I could catch up, with a computer and printer for me to do anything that was needed to be handed in.

For the next few weeks, I spent every weekday at the LSE, getting my mind back in harness, without any need to have late nights. I told Grant and Howard that I would be moving out at the beginning of May, and we did have some evenings were we had a few drinks and talked.

I learned a lot more about my flatmates than I had known, even with the long time I had been sharing with them. They were both from the Midlands, from well-off families. Grant even grew up on a family estate where grouse-shooting was normal. Howard was from a family that had a trucking business, where they also built the truck bodies to order. He was doing a graphic arts degree.

We had a few meals at the Duke, where we were always welcome, a couple of times just Howard and me. I never suggested Tape, as I didn’t think that I needed that kind of entertainment. By the end of the term, I had picked up everything I had missed, and submitted all the projects that had been set. The guys went home, and I was in the flat with nearly a full month before I moved.

I spent that month, every day, in the House of Foster, spending about half of my time modelling, and the other half in a corner with the books and a computer. Steph quickly authorised me to get a financial package that would output the financial reports in a way that would be far easier for her to understand. By the end of those weeks, I had it all working smoothly, with all of the suppliers, employees and costings on the system. She took my interim report to her accountant, and, when she came back she took me to dinner.

I also spoke to her about me being the only guy in the office, and I was told that Jean would be welcomed. When I moved into the new flat, I was able to unpack the things that I had taken from Mums’ wardrobe and drawers. During term, I was Gene at the LSE, and Jean in the office. The other girls helped me get all the extra things I needed, like shoes and other things. When we got to the summer break, I went to a salon with one of the girls and had a full make-over, working in the office as Jean, full-time. One of the odd things that happened was that the dresses that had suited Mum, also suited me, and even triggered some design thoughts in Stephs’ mind.

For autumn, she had a new range that was advertised as, ‘It’s all in the Genes’, on the flier she sent around. I was the main model for these, which brought me to the attention of the fashion press as the new girl on the block. Somehow, Howard saw the flier and called my mobile, asking me if I’d go to a show with him if he came into town. One show led to another, and, by the time the next term started, we were going steady.

Also, by that time, the sale of the pub and my family home had gone through. Dad deposited a considerable sum into my account from the proceeds, which gave me enough money to look at transitioning.

When I graduated, the following year, it was as Jean, with the operation taking place before the Christmas break. Howard bought me an engagement ring, and I gave him permission to have a test ride as his birthday present in March. We married in August, and he became a part-time designer for the House of Foster, with his graphics degree being a total fit. We found a bigger place to lease, an apartment with a spare room where he could set up his office, as a freelance, adding other clients in a variety of businesses.

In the course of my last two years, I had gone from being totally down to being on top of my personal hill. Unlike the Duke, I may only have the one man, but I had many more than ten thousand following my social media site.

Marianne Gregory © 2026