[Central London, 2016]

Stephanie looked out of the office window and sighed. The grey February skies and the rain that seemed to have been falling for days showed no signs of easing up. She wished for winter to end and the world to start to come to life again.

She looked at the clock on the office wall. Only an hour to go before she joined the crush on the Piccadilly Line for her journey home near Rayner’s Lane.

“Steph, have you finished those letters for posting tonight?” came a voice from the inner office.

“Yes, Mrs Thompson. They are ready for your signature.”

Stephanie got up from her desk and went to take them to her boss, Paula Thompson, for her signature.

Mrs Thompson ran a very discreet and special dating agency. They didn’t advertise in the Media and had almost zero presence on the Internet, especially on platforms like Twitter/X and Facebook. The HQ office eschewed modern technology in all its forms. There were no computers or mobile phones, or even a FAX machine in sight. The letters that Stephanie had prepared were all typed on a manual typewriter. This was all done to enhance the aura of ‘exclusivity’ and ‘personal attention’ that the agency was known for in selected circles.

The agency's rejection of almost everything modern extended to the clothes that they both wore. They were dressed as if it were around 1959. While at work, Stephanie called the woman she worked for ‘Mrs Thompson’. Out of the office, they were mother and daughter. Stephanie had been brought up in a home that was decorated in the style of the late 1950s. Appliances were only replaced when beyond repair. The only piece of modern technology in the family home was the TV. Even their mobile phones were switched off and put away while at home unless the need to use them was urgent. It wasn’t as if they totally eschewed modern life and technology. Still, they both preferred a less distracted and decidedly slower pace of life, even if their business was located in central London.

Stephanie’s home was much the same. She did have an ancient laptop that was brought third or fourth hand from a pawnbroker in West Ealing. It was good enough for email and a bit of internet searching. Its main use was to source the retro clothes that they wore every day.

Stephanie had just finished sealing the envelopes when the office door opened, and a young man walked in. His whole demeanour was one of extreme nervousness.

“Hello,” said Stephanie.
“Can I help you?”

“I… I think so. Is this PS Placements?”

Stephanie smiled.
“It is. I’m Stephanie. Please come in and shut the door. This building has a horrible draft problem.”

The young man closed the door and stood in front of her desk. He could not keep his eyes off her clothes and, especially, what appeared to him a positively tiny waist. This was accentuated by a five-inch-wide black velvet belt that had a gemstone of some sort right in the middle.

“Now, how can we help you?” asked Stephanie.

“I… I… I err… I think that you find partners for people?”

Stephanie suppressed a laugh. Instead, she smiled.

“Do you have a CV?”

“Yes… Yes, I do.”

He fiddled with his backpack and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It was slightly crumpled.

“Here it is. Sorry about the state of it.”

Stephanie took the sheet and scanned it. She shook her head.

“I need to take this to my associate. Please stay where you are.”

Stephanie stood up and went into Mrs Thompson’s office. She felt his eyes on her every move, so she gave a little bit more of a bum wiggle. Her skirt swished against her stocking-clad calves.

Mrs Thompson looked up from the papers that she was working on.

“And?”

“A little too young, but the best candidate I’ve seen for months.”

Stephanie handed over the sheet of paper.
“Judging by the contents of his backpack, I think he has come straight from school.”

Mrs Thompson read the sheet twice.

“Send him in. I’ll give him the bad news.”

“Are you sure? He’s very nervous, and we both know that sometimes…?”

“Ok, ok. I’ll be kind to him… Just for you.”

“Please go into the other office. Mrs Thompson will see you now.”

“Come on in, Damien,” said Mrs Thompson.
“I don’t bite.”

He came into her office. Like the outer one, there were zero signs of modern technology. Like Stephanie, Mrs Thompson was wearing a very retro outfit. Even her makeup was retro, with red lips, red nails and a flash of blue/green eyeshadow.

“Now, Damien, I understand that you want to change your life in a big way. Correct?”

He just nodded.

“The problem is that you are not yet of age. We do not engage clients who are under eighteen. I’m guessing that your parents know nothing about your desires?”

“No. They’d go apeshit if they found out what… who I really am.”

“And who is that?” she asked, putting him on the spot.

His eyes darted around the office. Anywhere but at her, and especially her eyes.

He took a deep breath and blurted it out.
“I should have been born a girl. I knew from my first day at school. As soon as Theresa sat next to me on that first morning at primary school, I knew.”

“What did you know?”

“She wasn’t wearing perfume or anything, but just being close to her told me that I wanted to be her.”

“Did you do anything about it?”

Damien shook his head.
“How could I when the teacher was my mother? Then there is Dad. He is an elder in our very evangelical church. People like him hate anyone who does not conform to their ideals 100% of the time. No one can be perfect all the time, but in his eyes, if you do wrong even once, you will suffer eternal damnation in hell. I’m not like that.”

Damien’s eyes had glazed over. He was close to tears, so he fished a decidedly grubby handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped them dry.

“I’m different, but I can’t tell him that I am. Then, last week, we went to church as usual, and I was introduced to Faith. Dad said, ‘Sit with Faith and get to know her. She is a nice girl.”

Once again, his eyes betrayed his state of mind.

“I knew right away what he meant. I’d seen it before in the church. His emphasis on the word ‘nice’ told me that she was a virgin and that I had been marked down to marry her before the end of the year. Faith didn’t smell nice. She had BO and needed to visit the dentist badly. Her hair was cut short much as a man would have it.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I sat with her through the service. Then we were left to talk. There were elders nearby but out of earshot. She whispered to me that she was a lesbian. I just clammed up.”

Then, her mother arrived on the scene. She had been busy with the teas that were served after the service. She gave Faith a ‘Brides’ magazine and said, ‘We have to start planning your big day right now.”

“How did you feel?”

“I felt like the world was caving in on top of me. Faith wasn’t happy at all. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Faith and her parents are coming to visit on Sunday afternoon to talk about the wedding. That is how it is done with them and their Church.”

“I suggest that you say nothing to anyone about your visit here today. When you have finished school for the year,” she said, looking at his CV.

“You will be eighteen. Come back, and then we can talk. Can you manage that? Can you survive until then?”

He nodded but didn’t look happy.
“I think so. I overheard Mum on the phone talking about an October wedding.”

“I went to Faith’s school yesterday. I managed to speak to her for a couple of minutes. She’s going to leg it as soon as she is eighteen in September. Her last words to me were, ‘You are far too girly for me. I want a butch woman.”

It was clear to Paula that Damien wanted to say more, but just didn’t have the words to describe how he was feeling. Paula had seen what he’d described several times in the past few years. The rise of the evangelical hard-line Christian sects, a more unwelcome import from the USA. They were, in her eyes, just as restrictive and dogmatic as the hard-line Muslim factions such as the Taliban or Hamas. She’d hoped that the era of arranged marriages was over, but his words had told her that it wasn’t.

“Don’t worry, Damien, as far as we are concerned, you were never here today.”

She handed him his CV back.
“Can you destroy this for me, please? My parent will go mad if they find me with a document like this. In their eyes, my future had been ordained by God. Bollocks. Sorry for the language. They just want me to continue the scam that their church has been running for years.”

Stephanie took the crumpled sheet of paper from him.
“As Mrs Thompson said, you were never here.”

“Please try to put all of this out of your mind until you leave school. Our clients are not looking for dumb blondes if you get my meaning. They want people who can contribute to their lives. One of our previous clients is currently finishing their PhD in molecular biology. Their partner runs a biotech company, so you can see how they can work together. So, good luck with your exams… and I promise you that none of our clients will want to railroad you into getting married without knowing you as a person.”

“Thank you for even seeing me at no notice.”

“Damien, if things take a turn for the worse before your birthday, please don’t do anything silly. Can you promise me that?” asked Paula.

He just nodded. He knew what she was referring to.

Damien left without saying goodbye.

“Poor kid,” said Stephanie as she came into the office after seeing Damien out.

“He was terrified, but he took the first and crucial step. He wants to change, and change is our business.”

“Shall I start a deep dive into his background? That church of his parents sounds awful.”

“Please. Cheryl should be available next week as it is half-term, and she lives just a few miles from him.”

Cheryl was one of their converts who was happily married to the father of two boys.

“I’ll call her in the morning. I need to get those letters in the post.”

Paula nodded her head.

[July that year]

Damien was in trouble. His reluctance to agree to anything related to his forthcoming marriage had angered his father. Words were said, leaving Damien under no illusion that his life was about to end.

He returned to the offices of Paula and Stephanie.

“Damien, we were not expecting you for another month or so?” remarked Stephanie when he arrived.

“My life is over. My father has decided to send me to summer school in some redneck part of the USA so that I can become an honest God-fearing person. That school specialises in what they advertise as ‘Conversion Therapy’.”

“Why did he do this?”

“I have not agreed to anything that they want me to do about the wedding. Talking back to your elders is not allowed.”

“He says that I have had unclean thoughts and that I need to be cleansed before I become a man of god.”

“Man of God?”

“He’s enrolled me in the theological college that his church is aligned with. It is next door to this summer camp. I’ve looked it all up. It is worse than a prison. You sleep in ‘cells’ like a medieval monk. There is no heating because they say that it makes people soft in the mind as well as the body.”

Damien handed over a flyer for the ‘Summer School’.
“I stole this from my father while he was preaching last night.”

Stephanie read it twice. What she saw was not good.

“That isn’t good. Let me see if Mrs Thompson is off the phone yet. I put a call through to her just before you came in.”

Damien sat down and let out a huge sigh. The frown lines on his forehead told Stephanie just how stressed he was.

Stephanie went into the inner office. Her mother was waiting for her, so she gave her the flyer.

Paula looked at it briefly and shook her head.
“I heard most of that. Shit Creek does not even come close to what he’s going through, and there is a lot worse to come if this is anything to go by.”

“Are you going to call Thomas Gold, or shall I?”

Paula smiled back at her daughter.

“I’ll make the call. Why don’t you make our guest comfortable?”

Stephanie smiled. Her mother had read her mind once again.

“Thomas, Paula Thompson.”

“We are good, but we need your help.”

“A radical Christian family want to send their son off to the USA for ‘summer camp’ and then Theology College. The camp seems to be a thinly disguised correction facility for non-believers. I have not looked up the college, but if others like it are anything to go by, then it could be more of the same.”

“Yes, that is what we would be looking for. He is eighteen at the end of August. After that, he can walk out, but I fear the damage could already be too much to rectify if he has been ‘corrected’ by those people.”

“He’s here at the moment. He’ll need a place of safety for tonight.”

“Thanks, Thomas. We’ll see you in a while.”

Paula put the phone down. Their day was going to get more complicated, and any thoughts she might have had of an early night were fast disappearing over the horizon.

[to be continued]