Dieithryn Chapter 1

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

Introduction

Of all the places in the UK I never expected to live, Wales had to be at the top of the list. Or near if you include the places I have lived but had no choice. Much of my childhood was spent in Nottingham, and I have absolutely no desire to return to the place.

And no, it has nothing to do with the whole reputation for unnatural forms of erotic ovine recreation. I’ve lived in plenty of places that have dodgy reputations and it always comes down to neighbours looking for something disparaging to say to help them feel better about themselves.

Devon and Cornwall have undeserved reputations for incest, as does eastern Kent, largely from those living in western Kent. Norfolk has a more deep seate reputation for the same to the extent that the medical abbreviation NFN – or normal for Norfolk – is reserved for patients showing peculiar or rustic behaviour. Having lived in all of these places, I can't say I've noticed anything to suggest there's any truth behind it, so I can only imagine the same is true of Wales.

So, why my aversion to the place? It's the same for pretty much the entire west coast of the British Isles – the weather.

Most of Britain's weather comes from the west. Humid air comes in from the Atlantic on the prevailing winds, is pushed upwards by the land masses and condenses into saturated clouds that then drop the majority of their load before heading further inland. The higher the hills, the greater the lift, which leads to more impressive downpours.

On average, the west coast of the United Kingdom has three to four times as much rain as the rest of the country, and after living so much of my life in Nottingham, I have always had a greater need for clear skies and dry days,

Actually, Nottingham sits on the right side of the Pennines so doesn't have so much rain, but throughout my childhood it did have its own personal cloud machine in the form of Ratcliffe power station. It's powered down now, but its eight giant cooling towers belched a constant flow of steam into the atmosphere throughout my youth, putting so many of my memories under a slate grey sky and an almost constant -- or so it seemed -- mizzle.

Normally I have an intense dislike of portmanteau words, but the combination of misery and drizzle forms an almost perfect description of the less cheerful aspect of memories growing up, for which read almost all of them.

If only the weather were the only cause of depression in my life. I mean, sure, it's in there. I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, which I've never thought was a great choice of words to describe what it's about. Its only saving grace is in the acronym, but they could still have come up with a better choice of words. Seasonally Acquired Depression for instance.

Anyway, I'm digressing. I can deal with the SAD using sunrise alarm clocks to give myself a little more consistency in when I believe the sun peeps above the horizon. The other aspects I've fought with over the years have proven a lot harder to cope with.

Friday (day 1) part 1

Now

Anyway, Wales. Nowhere near the top of my list of places to live, or even to stay, so all the more surprising when I found myself driving down a road barely wider than my car between overgrown hedgerows and rundown stone walls.

My satnav told me I'd arrived as I came alongside a wooden gate set in a stone built wall. I pulled up and stared somewhat disbelieving at the buildings on the other side.

I'd used Google Street View to check on the property once I'd agreed to the terms in my aunt's will, and it had looked considerably more run down. Corrugated iron roofs of the sort that you expected to find hiding sheets of asbestos, rough stonework badly in need of pointing and doors and windows that were either boarded up or badly rotted (or both). The courtyard had been paved in utilitarian concrete with weeds growing through everywhere. In short, the place looked derelict and, with the risk of hazardous substances involved, downright dangerous to live in. I'd agreed to the terms though, so here I was, sitting in my brand new Mini Clubman and staring in disbelief at my new home.

There was a way of checking. The envelope with all the legal documents I'd been given included a couple of remote control key fobs, two buttons on each. I retrieved one of them and pressed the top button. The five bar gate that stood between me and the property swung open.

I still couldn't quite believe this was the same place. All the buildings, including the stable block opposite the main house and the smaller building at the back of the plot, which I'd assumed to be an old dovecote, had all been renovated. The stonework was all mended, new slate roofs replaced the cheap ironwork and new hardwood doors and windows filled every hole. The courtyard had been completely redone with a tarmac drive leading from the gate to what had appeared to be a badly built porch, but now, if the large double doors lived up to appearances, was actually a spacious garage.

The bottom button on the remote opened the garage doors. The entrance was easily large enough for the Mini – it could have accommodated pretty much anything smaller than a truck – and the garage itself just about large enough to hold two Minis.

I reversed a few feet – enough to give me room to turn into the driveway – and straight into the garage. A couple more button presses closed the gate and garage doors behind me. The garage lights came on automatically to reveal a space larger and quite possibly better decorated than my last flat.

Then

So anyway, Aunt Daisy isn't really my aunt. She's actually my mum's second cousin, or she was. I'm not great at genealogy, but Mum told me once that means they had the same great grandparents and she is – was – actually my second cousin once removed.

According to Mum, her grandparents died young, leaving their nine children – including Mum's mum, my grandmother – to be distributed among various family members. So the story goes, my nan was mistreated by the family that adopted her so she ran away as a young teenager, bought a one way coach ticket to as far away as her saved money would take her and found work in a grocers. Eventually, she met and married my grandad who was also an orphan and they muddled through as best they could. My Mum was the oldest of their two children and wanted to go to art college, but they could never afford it. In the end she met my dad who worked as a junior clerk in an insurance firm.

Minor irony there; Dad didn't believe anything bad was going to happen to him so when he and Mum were killed in a senseless and easily avoided accident at home, he had neither will nor life insurance, which meant I didn't inherit a whole lot.

Not that I cared much. My parents' death devastated me. I was already struggling with a different aspect of my life, and losing them pushed me over the edge for a while.

A long enough while that my wife took it as a reason to leave me. She took our kids and most of what meagre wealth we had accumulated by then and left me with nothing much. I managed to scrape enough together to put down a deposit on a one bedroom leasehold flat in a less than salubrious part of the city, and from there I just about managed to keep my life from totally imploding.

That was where Aunt Daisy came to my rescue. In more ways than one.

Her branch of the family tree had fared better than mine. Her grandfather set up a haulage firm and managed to grow it into a successful enough business that his children and grandchildren ended up being very well supported. When my great grandparents died, it was mainly her side of the family that took in the children, but they couldn't look after them all, and it was my nan who ended up with the bum deal and was placed in a home where she wasn't wanted. When she ran away from home, Daisy's grandad made a considerable effort to find out what happened to her, and when he found her, he kept an eye on them. Both my nan and grandad were proud people and wouldn't have accepted charity, even from family, so there wasn't much he could do directly. He did make sure both my mum and her sister were invited to family gatherings though, and it was through this that Mum and Aunt Daisy became friends.

After I was born, Aunt Daisy became my godmother, and she took her role seriously. She never missed a birthday and at least once a year she would make an appearance and take me out for a meal. At first it was Mum, Dad and me, then after I married it became Lynn and me, then Lynn, me and the kids, then after my life fell apart, just me. In those last years she made sure she visited several times a year – quite a commitment since she lived at least a hundred miles away.

She's always been like that though. She sets her mind to something and she goes ahead and does it. Very much a force to be reckoned with. A product of her generation with quite a lot of influence from the one before her, I don't think I ever saw her wearing trousers. That being said, there was always a forcefulness about her personality. My dad once mentioned how her body language was actually more typical of a man's. In arguments she would square off against her opponent, and quite often win when her opponent didn't know how to respond to her aggression.

With the best will in the world you could never have called her attractive, but formidable worked for her. Between her looks – or lack of them – and her forcefulness, no man showed interest in her, but that didn't seem to bother her. She made her way through life contented enough with a number of close female friends -- platonic relationships I should hasten to add -- and using her drive and personality to fight her way up past the glass ceiling and establish herself as a magistrate in her area. She was well suited to the role as well, and I doubt anyone would have questioned it. She was always herself and took her rightful place in the world, dismissing as irrelevant the consideration that being a woman should have been a handicap.

Of all the people in the world, Aunt Daisy was the one who understood me best. She was the one who listened and never judged, which was at least part of the reason she was the one I felt safest confiding in. Besides, I'm pretty sure she suspected beforehand. You know, from all the hints she dropped?

"Gareth, you know how your father is so committed to amateur dramatics? Have you ever wondered how he ends up always being the pantomime dame?"

I'd noticed, and wondered, just never said anything. Too afraid where a conversation like that would lead.

"They say the apple never falls far from the tree."

Apparently, I'd started looking uncomfortable at that, so she'd changed the subject.

On another occasion she'd talked about her work and how much she enjoyed the challenge. "You know, if I had to do it all over again, I think I'd have preferred to have been born a man. Still it must be so much easier to be a woman trying to fit into a man's world than the other way around, don't you think?"

I'd stammered out nothing much of a response to that and missed yet another opportunity.

It occurs to me now that Mum might have said something to her. She'd never caught me, but I'm pretty sure she suspected something, especially if what Aunt Daisy said about my dad had any substance to it.

You see, I'm a product of my generation too, and influenced by my parent's generation. Ours was the first to acknowledge that people weren't all the same, that alternative sexualities and genders actually existed. Only none of that happened early in my life. I grew up in an environment where you didn't talk about such things, where raising the topic made people uncomfortable -- doubly so when your parents were doing their best to pretend that there was no such thing.

The only time I saw a man wearing a dress was when I saw my dad doing it on stage, or on rare occasions when the Two Ronnies would cross-dress. We never watched Dick Emery or Stanley Baxter because the whole man dressed as a woman thing happened much too often on those shows, and came across as much too believable.

Throughout all of my life, men dressing as women was only seen as something to laugh at, and feel a little uncomfortable about, so I never felt I had anyone I could go to with the feelings I had inside me. All I knew was that I should keep such feelings buried, and that I should feel intensely guilty about them when they came to the surface.

Carrying a secret is a burden though. It weighs on you all the time, and all the more when you don't feel you can share it with anyone. I tried it once or twice with friends I felt were close enough I could trust them. All I succeeded in doing was make them extremely uncomfortable. Fortunately, I was correct in my assessment that they could be trusted to keep my secret, though unfortunately not in my assumption that they would wish to continue as my friends. I risked and lost two good friends before giving up.

The only other person I told from my age group was Lynn, and for two reasons. The first was that I felt a marriage could only be built on complete honesty and I could hardly consider starting our lives together with such a massive secret hanging between us. The other reason was that old saying about a burden shared being a burden halved. I hoped that by talking about it to my significant other, I could reach a point where I could cope with it better.

I was wrong on both counts. Firstly, this was the point where I discovered that even in a marriage there was such a thing as too much truth. I'm still not sure I accept that, but Lynn definitely believed it. Secondly, the whole thing about sharing burdens only works if the other person is prepared to do their part. If they're not, then they become a whole lot heavier.

Now

Yeah, if anyone wants evidence of a German sense of humour, you only need to look at what they've done to the Mini. It was originally designed in response to the fuel shortages following the Suez crisis. It was supposed to be small and fuel efficient – which it was for the age. The design brief was to create a four seat car that could fit in a box four feet by four feet by ten. My Clubman was half as big again in every dimension. Mind you, with its hybrid engine, its fuel consumption was about three times more efficient and I rather liked the extra space, even if the name could only be thought of as ironic.

I did like the sideway-opening double doors at the back. Mind you, that had been a feature of the clubman right back to its earliest incarnation. I would have liked the wooden trim of the original, but given the damp environment I was moving into, it was probably for the best that I didn't have to worry about parts of my car rotting.

In the seclusion of my garage, I felt safe stepping out of the car. Replace my driving flats with a pair of kitten heels – no need to totter around on stilts with no-one around to enjoy the shape of my calves – and open the back to begin unloading.

Most of it would stay where it was until I'd had a chance to wander around the place and decide where what went, but I did have a box of essentials for the kitchen. It was heavy and squashed my breasts in a way that I'm sure would have been at least a little uncomfortable had they been real.

I loved the extra space in the garage. In time I'd probably line a couple of the walls with shelves, but only once I'd had a chance to enjoy the space and decide how much of it I needed to keep.

The door from the garage fed into a corridor. To the left it eventually opened up into a large single story space that was mainly living room and dining area. To the right it found its way to a staircase that led up to the bedrooms and bathroom, at least according to the notes I'd been given, and opposite at points along the length of the corridor were doors through to an office or downstairs guest room, depending on what I wanted to do with it, a downstairs toilet and shower -- I wasn't sure when I'd want to use a downstairs shower, but it was there, and who knew when the upstairs facilities might become unusable -- and closest to the living room/diner, a large and well appointed kitchen.

Lights went on wherever I went, courtesy of my smartwatch detecting which room I was in and responding. I unpacked the contents of the box into the fridge and cupboards, opened up a bag of coffee beans and added them to the all singing, all dancing machine waiting patiently for me to christen it.

The door bell rang and I took in a long calming breath. This was part of the deal and I'd have to face it sooner or later. I smoothed down my dress, checked my appearance quickly in the hall mirror and headed for the front door – middle of the corridor with space to hang coats and remove muddy boots. This door didn't open into the courtyard but rather into a short road I shared with one other house.

Another breath and I opened the door.

"Hello, we saw the light on and thought we'd welcome you to the neighbourhood. My name's Gwen and this is Patrick. I put together a shepherd's pie because I didn't know if you'd have the means to cook yourself anything. There are a few fast food places down in the village, but they charge quite a lot to deliver up here."

Gwen had a lilting Welsh accent which shouldn't have come as a surprise given where we were. Her welcoming smile had turned a little glassy as her brain had made sense of what her eyes were telling her. I mean, I look a lot better than a lot of the women I've seen around rural Norfolk, but that doesn't really say a lot. I know I don't pass particularly well, but then what do you expect after just a day? Patrick's smile had also frozen on his face, but his eyes had turned angry.

"That's very kind of you," I said. "I'm Gillian." A name I'd always liked and quite recently adopted. It had the advantage that any form of identity that only used my first initial -- which included my signature -- didn't need to change. I softened my voice a little, but it was no more feminine than my appearance -- which is to say, some small effort made, but I know I'm not convincing anyone. "I know I'm not exactly normal, but it's not my intention to cause offence. Since I'm not entirely what you were expecting, I won't be upset if you take back your welcome, though I hope you'll be open to a conversation at some stage. I am your new neighbour and I'd like for us to be on friendly terms at the very least."

"Oh, don't be silly," Gwen said, holding out her casserole dish. "I made this for you, so you should have it."

"Thank you very much," I said, taking it from her. "I'll be glad of this later. Long drive and don't feel much like cooking if you know what I mean. I was just making myself a drink if you'd like to join me. The kitchen's still a bit of a mystery, but I think I should be able to find what I need."

"Oh no, it's very kind, but we'd better leave you to your unpacking. We just wanted to say hi and welcome to the neighbourhood."

"Maybe another time then. I take it you live across the road?"

"That’s right." Was there a hint of reluctance in her movements? Or was I being paranoid?

"Well, thanks for popping by. I'll drop this back in a day or two."

"Oh, no rush. It was nice to meet you, er, Gillian."

"You too. I'll see you again soon, I'm sure."

They were gone before I'd finished speaking. I closed the door gently and carried my supper back into the kitchen. Supper for two or three nights by the looks of it. It seemed they'd been expecting a family rather than a... whatever they thought I was.

The coffee machine was one of the newer ones with a milk reservoir. The one I was used to I'd bought back when I could afford such luxuries. It had lasted nearly a decade and I'd worried about what I'd do when it finally gave up the ghost. The refrigerated milk reservoir meant no messing about with a jug of milk and a steam spout, just push the button and let the built in computer decide what to do next. I set it up with all the raw materials it needed and selected a cappuccino. A minute's grinding and gurgling produced a very serviceable looking cup of coffee, complete with pattern on the foam.

It was a little weak for my tastes, but then the screen popped up with a feedback screen. I touched it and raised the strength a couple of points. Next time would be better.

I carried my drink through to the living room. Windows large enough to light the place well, but not so large that they gave a good view outside unless you were standing right next to them. Better for privacy maybe, but I'd have liked french doors looking into the courtyard. The renovators had kept to the original style. They'd done a good job too. The entire place looked like the images I'd seen on Street View might have done fifty years ago.

The inside was quite beautiful as well. I'd not had any say in how they'd decorated or furnished it, and if I had I'd have chosen something radically different, and I'd have liked it a lot less. There was a subtle feminine feeling to the place that I found surprisingly restful. The TV was smaller than I'd have chosen, but somehow that didn't bother me as much as I'd thought it would. Binge watching TV was a thing of my sad past. What I was going to replace it with, I couldn't say, but whatever else my life was becoming, I didn't feel like I was trying to escape from any part of it.

I finished my coffee and carried my mug through to the kitchen, depositing it in the pristine, brand new dish washer. I still had a car full of things to unpack. Just clothes and personal effects, and almost all of them newly purchased. The house was fully stocked and furnished, so I didn't need anything else, and this was part of the terms I'd agreed to. I'd filled up the back of the car, so it would most likely take several trips to unload. Quite a few trips if the weight of the first case was anything to go by. I wasn't sure if it was psychosomatic, but I could only manage one case at a time.

The shoes didn't help, so I kicked them off. I'd just about managed to lug to the top of the stairs when the door bell rang again.

More neighbours to upset with my abnormality? I straightened myself out and checked myself quickly in the hall mirror before opening the door.

"Gwen. I thought I'd chased you and your husband away."

"I'm sorry about that," she said. "We weren't exactly welcoming, but you did take us by surprise a bit. I could feel Patrick getting tense, so I thought it best to back off before he said something we'd all regret."

"Does he know you're here?"

"He had a few things to check with the farm. Actually, I think he just said that to get out of the house. He has his way of dealing with things, and I have mine. Anyway, I felt pretty dreadful about how we reacted, so I came back to apologise."

"Would you like to come in for a coffee, or a tea?"

"Thank you, I think I could do with a cup of tea. And I'm sorry for being nosy, but I've been curious to see what the contractors did with this place. It's been derelict for quite a few years now."

"Tea and a tour then. Which would you like first?"

"Oh, tea first, I think. We should have a chat. Clear the air, if you know what I mean."

I'm not as precious about tea as I am coffee, but I still prefer it loose leaf and brewed for four minutes in a preheated teapot. Fortunately it was a preference Aunt Daisy knew about me, that we had shared, so teapot, cosy, strainer, milk jug, tray, even bone china cups and saucers, because tea tastes so much nicer out of bone china.

"Do you take sugar?" I asked as I assembled everything. I'd spotted a box of sugar cubes in the cupboard, which had to be for guests as I hadn't taken sugar in either tea or coffee since I was twelve, or there abouts.

"No thanks. I can't afford to."

"What do you mean? You have an amazing figure."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't if I put sugar in everything, would I?"

I glanced over my shoulder and returned the smile I'd heard in her voice. I added a handful of shortbread fingers to a plate then carried the tray through to the living room.

"This is lovely," she said looking around. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

"I wish. It's so much nicer than anything I could have come up with."

My internal clock told me four minutes had elapsed so I busied myself with the tea making. Gwen accepted the cup I offered as well as one biscuit. More calories than a spoonful of sugar, but I wasn't going to judge.

"I'm not sure where to begin," she said.

"Then let me." I paused and took a breath. I'd spent a fair amount of time considering how to handle situations like this, and the only example I'd found that helped me make my point was a Marvel one shot of Agent Carter. The chances of Gwen being into scifi were pretty remote.

Maybe I didn't have to mention the geek factor though.

"There was a telly program I watched recently, set in the nineteen forties. The main character was a woman working in an office full of men with a boss who kept giving her drudge work.

"There was this scene at the end of a day where the boss calls her over and says something like, 'We're done for the day. Me and the boys are just heading down to the bar for a drink."

"He pauses long enough for a glimmer of hope to appear in her eyes. Maybe she's finally convinced them to accept her as an equal.

"Except the boss man goes on to say, 'There's a stack of files on my disk. Why don't you work through them before you knock off?'"

I could see the spark of anger in her eyes. These days it doesn't take much to wake the latent feminist in just about any woman. I waited until she had a good smoulder going before adding.

"That's how every group of women I ever met made me feel."

Then

Lynn's reaction to my revelation was not great. She didn't lose her temper with me or shout or call me a pervert or anything, although it might have been easier if she had. Instead she glared at me with a frosty silence for long enough to make sure I felt uncomfortable, then she walked out of the room.

After a couple of days continued silence I sent her a text. 'I'm probably the last person you want to hear from,' I said, 'so I'm just going to reach out this once and leave you alone. When you're ready to talk, assuming you ever are, let me know.'

She left me hanging for another two weeks before texting back. 'Seven tomorrow, where we went on our first date.'

It was meant to be another test. Did I remember stuff like that? Sure I did. It wasn't the most romantic of destinations, but it was all I'd been able to afford. More a cafeteria than a restaurant, but the owner had taken pity on me and set us up in a back room with the best china and everything.

She wasn't present when I turned up five minutes early, but a quirked eyebrow at the proprietor had him indicating the back room with his head. I made my way back to the room and let myself in.

"You remember this much then," Lynn said through pursed lips. It was the sort of expression that might lead to wrinkled lips and skin from having spent altogether too long sucking on lemons. Not the time to comment on it though.

"When have I ever missed an anniversary?" I asked calmly.

Her lips relaxed a little. "That's true. You were always good at that sort of thing."

"Nothing's changed, Lynn..."

"How can you say that!?"

"Alright, bad choice of words, perhaps, but I do stand by them, because the only thing that's changed is that I've told you something you didn't know a couple of weeks ago. It was still true before I told you about it..."

"Did you ever put on any of my clothes?"

"Do you seriously think I could fit into any of your clothes?" I was slim enough, but Lynn was smaller and more slender than I could ever have hoped to be. She waited even so. "No, I have never put on any of your clothes."

"How can I believe you?"

"You never used to have a problem trusting what I told you."

"That was before you lied to me."

"No Lynn. I never lied to you, and before you tell me that not saying anything about this is the same as lying, it isn't. It's not the sort of thing you share on a first date, or on any number of following dates. I've learnt from experience that it's not something I can share with just anybody."

"Do your parents know?"

"Not as far as I know."

She snorted incredulously. "So you'll tell me about this... thing of yours, but not them?"

"For one thing they wouldn't understand; I hoped you would. For another, I wanted to be honest with you before our relationship went any deeper."

"Well, I don't want anything to do with this side of you. If there's any chance of our relationship going anywhere from here, I'm going to need your word that you will never speak to me about this again, and that you'll not indulge in... whatever it is you do."

It seemed a little unfair that she thought I indulged in anything. Other than wishful thinking that was. All I'd ever done was gaze over the fence and long for the greener grass I saw there. It didn't seem like my life would be any different if I agreed to her demands, and nothing had changed in the way I felt about her, so I agreed.

Of course something had changed, only at the time I was too young and naïve to recognise it. From Lynn's perspective, I'd revealed an aspect of myself she had no idea existed. Somehow, I wasn't the person she'd been falling in love with all these years, but rather something unknowable. Someone with the deep seated hidden past which left her wondering if she could ever trust me again.

The thing is, an iceberg remains an iceberg regardless of whether you know that ninety percent of it is below water. It remains the same, and suddenly discovering that so much of it lies hidden below the surface does nothing to change its nature or the beauty of what you see on the surface.

Then again, witless oaf that I was back then I hadn't the first idea of what was going on in Lynn's mind, and even if I had I wouldn't have known enough of what was going on to use the iceberg metaphor.

Instead, Lynn and I tried to rebuild our relationship on a foundation that had been seriously undermined. I noticed the questioning looks and the increased tendency to respond in a distrustful and critical manner, but I put them down to her coming to terms with what I'd told her, and checking to make sure I was keeping my part of the deal. I'd managed to do so since we'd first met so I had no doubts I'd be able to continue to do so. In time things would go back to the way they'd been, including Lynn. All I needed to do was be patient.

We found our new normal. The frostiness in her eyes diminished but never quite disappeared. I still had the same feelings for her I'd always had, so managed to convince myself things would mend in time.

Eventually I noticed her looking in jewellery shops and took notice of the style of ring she seemed to prefer. I'd been saving since well before I told her my guilty secret so was able to afford her choice albeit at a stretch. It meant the special night out took us back to the back room in the cafeteria, which I thought was romantic. I splurged on flowers and managed to make enough of an impression that when I presented her with the ring, she accepted it readily enough.

We married within the year and became parents within two, then again just under two years later. A pigeon pair my mum called them. Our daughter, May, was born first, then twenty-two months later, or son, Liam.

It was almost enough. Lynn's frosty edge thawed almost completely once she had children in her life, and parenting turned out to be an exciting adventure regardless of my role. I mean, I couldn't ever come close to the experience from Lynn's point of view, The feeling of having a small life growing inside you, the pain of childbirth -- I'll admit not overly upset about missing out on that -- the overwhelming sense of love I saw in her eyes when she held each of our children for the first time.

I'll admit to a small degree of jealousy over that last one. It had been a lot of years since Lynn had looked at me with that unreserved delight and try as I might, I couldn't match it. They were my children and I would love them just as completely, but for me it was an act of will unsupported by any hormonal rush.

I knew that childbirth could alter a woman's brain chemistry so I was kind of ready for it when Lynn transferred some of her affection from me to our daughter and son. I just wasn't ready for how much or what it would mean for me.

In the years since we'd been married, I'd been passed over for promotion at work time and time again. At first Lynn had been supportive and sympathetic, even glad that extra responsibility wasn't keeping me in the office all hours, but as her priority shifted from me to our children, she began to see me as inadequate as a provider. I earned enough to afford us a modest home in a reasonable neighbourhood, but her ambition for our kids grew beyond my means to deliver, with the consequence that she became more critical of me, something which our kids -- our daughter in particular -- picked up on and began to emulate.

Then my parents died. It was a stupid, senseless accident. A fault in their boiler, no carbon dioxide monitors in the house. They'd gone to bed early as usual and not woken up the next day. The neighbours had contacted me when they hadn't seen Mum and Dad for a couple of days. I dropped by after work and found them in bed. As kind a way to go as I could imagine.

We held the funeral several weeks later, after the autopsies – necessary in such cases – followed by a wake in my parents' house, now with a suitably repaired boiler.

I'm not great with crowds, never have been. I could never figure out why, but whenever I spend more than an hour or so in a crowded place, I start to feel all knotted up inside and have to get away. Add my sense of loss to it all, I managed half an hour before needing to escape.

Lynn found me an hour later in my parents room, clinging to one of my mother's dresses.

"Really?" she asked in her dangerous voice. "You leave me to cope with your family and friends on my own, and for this? I thought we were done with this nonsense."

I didn't have words to react. Just looked back at her through tear streaked eyes.

"Well I am," she said, her voice sharp as flint. "Why don't you stay the night here? Among all your mother's things. You disgust me!"

It doesn't seem to matter how broken you get inside. There's always room to become a little more broken.

Aunt Daisy found me some time later. An hour, maybe more, I couldn't say. She sat beside me and put an arm around my shoulders. Maybe it was that she gave me space, but I found my voice.

"It smells of her," I held up the dress, now crumpled and damp from my tears.

My aunt responded by tightening her hold. I folded into her embrace and let the tears flow.

Now

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.

"Feeling excluded?" I offered in reply, more a question than a statement; an invitation for her to consider rather than a declaration to bulldoze her with.

"I still don't understand."

“Throughout all my life, as a child as much as an adult, I’ve felt a need for close companionship like girls have with each other. Guys don't do it; they have their own way of acting around one another which works for them but never has for me. Women have this way of being together where they let down all the barriers and allow themselves to be vulnerable. The strength you gain from trusting each other and being worthy of that trust is something I’ve been missing all my life.

“Only whenever I’ve found myself in a group of women everyone sort of clams up. The easy going, trusting attitude disappears. Everyone ups draw-bridges and mans – or womans if you prefer – the battlements.”

“Can you blame us when men treat us the way you just described?”

“Not all men are like that, in fact not many are. You’d probably be surprised at how few modern men are that kind of arsehole.”

“Well perhaps, but you can’t blame us for being cautious. I mean when you make yourself vulnerable, you open yourself up to being hurt. I mean, I have that sort of relationship with my husband, but it took a while for me to learn to trust him.”

“I suppose, but can you see how excluding someone like me is as hurtful as having your trust betrayed? Especially when there's no indication that you would ever trust me that much?”

“Trust has to start somewhere though, and since you’re the one looking for it…”

“It should be up to me to make the first move. Not that easy when faced by a phalanx of blank faces.”

“Well I’m sorry, but it’s hard not to be wary when you look like this.”

“Oh, this is a recent development. All my experiences before today have been in male mode as it were. This is… It’s hard to explain.”

“Perhaps you could try.”

She was listening at least. Progress of a sort.

“Alright. My, er, well I’ve always thought of her as an aunt. Not that closely related genealogically, but she’s always been a part of the family. Anyway, my aunt passed away recently.”

Then

Lynn never bothered to ask for an explanation. As far as she was concerned, I’d given her reason enough to leave – something, I eventually admitted to myself, she’d been looking for for some time. She had what she wanted out of our relationship, which is to say our kids. Beyond that, she would take whatever else she could.

Aunt Daisy made sure I had proper legal representation. I hadn’t been that bothered. Between my grief over my parents’ death and the shock of Lynn seeking to leave me, I had slumped into a deeper depression than usual. I didn't really want to fight so left that to my solicitor. Lynn was ready to hang my dirty laundry in public, except there really was no evidence other than the conversation I’d had with her, so my own representative threatened her back with slander should she do so. In the end we reached an agreement where she kept the house and the kids and I kept my income. My parents had lived all their lives in a council house, declining the opportunity to buy it when it was offered, so I had little more than the contents when probate was finally granted a year after their deaths, the inquest returning a verdict of accidental death.

By then I’d found a one bedroom leasehold flat that served my needs. I didn't keep much of my parents’ belongings. A few pieces of furniture that had some value and one or two sentimental items was all. The rest went into a skip and added to the country’s landfill problem.

I kept on with my job and saw my kids on weekends. As they grew into teenagers they began to resent the time they were expected to spend with me and I didn't have the strength to fight them. I asked them if they would prefer not to continue seeing me and let them have their liberty when they asked for it.

“You can always ask your mum if you want to get back in touch,” I told them.

“Yeah. Like that’s going to happen.” Liam’s words, but from the expression on May’s face, he spoke for both of them.

I wanted to blame Lynn, to accuse her of poisoning their minds against me, but there was a part of me that looked at the shrivelled remnant of a person I’d become and could only imagine their disappointment in me.

That was part of my problem. I could see so much that was wrong with me, even come up with reasons for the problems, but somehow there never seemed to be a solution.

One of the reasons I kept being overlooked when it came to promotion at work was my inability to network effectively. Put me in a room with a bunch of people and I was lost. Ask me to talk about what our company had to offer and I could do it till the cows came home – no-one knew our products and services as well as I did – but networking was all about selling yourself, for which you needed confidence and something to talk about. When I looked inside, past my everyday mask, I found nothing. Well, except her, snivelling in some dark corner, and no-one wanted to know about her.

The same applied to the dating scene where the only real difference to networking was the aim of the meeting. Essential, both were about convincing other people to like you, just for different reasons.

Then there were the days when the weight of it all threatened to crush me. On those days, all I could do was endure under the pressure, which left me incapable of applying myself to the tasks I’d been assigned, even the urgent ones with deadlines looming.

I knew my performance was suffering and was even vaguely aware that it had been noticed. No quiet words from my line manager yet, but they couldn't be far off.

Aunt Daisy started visiting more often after that. Like I said, she took her godmothering duties seriously. Instead of one maybe two visits a year she started making up excuses and turned up every other week.

After the first couple of unannounced visits, in which she found me living in an embarrassing level of squalor, I began making an effort to keep the flat tidy. Certain days it was an uphill struggle but, given that the whole flat wasn’t much bigger than the hotel rooms she stayed in, I usually found enough willpower to keep on top of things – dishes in the mini dishwasher, dirty clothes in the washing hamper and a quick hoover every Friday evening at the very least, since her unannounced calls usually happened on the weekends.

I also made Saturday my cooking day. Shopping delivered on Friday evening and transformed into a week’s worth of meals by Saturday lunchtime. It gave me something to do with my weekends and meant I had enough to offer as an alternative to the restaurant meals Daisy kept offering to feed me. The hotel bills had to be adding up, and the sort of places she insisted on taking me for lunch couldn't have left her much change from a hundred quid.

She kept probing after my little secret, but I never quite found the courage to tell her. It had gone wrong for me every time I’d told it to those close to me, most spectacularly with Lynn, and Aunt Daisy was too important a person in my life for me to risk her poor opinion of me.

She held me together over the months and years while the rest of my life fell apart. First mum and dad, then Lynn, then the kids. At least she gave me enough of a boost on the weekends she did visit that I'd be able to go back into work and put in enough effort that I never did have that dreaded conversation with my manager. I mean, it’d probably end up being three similar conversations quite close together so they could satisfy the Protokol Nazis, but once the first verbal warning was given, the written one and the final dismissal wouldn't be far behind.

Then the day came when, instead of the expected visit from my aunt, I had a phone call from a solicitor. A special condition in her will that I should be informed of her passing and invited to come to the reading of her will.

I almost didn't go. She’d been the one good thing holding my life together, and now she was gone too, I could feel it all crumbling around me.

Except she’d anticipated that.

The solicitor who’d called to deliver the news had read out a letter – part of the special conditions.

‘My Dearest Gareth,’ it began. ‘I’ve known for some time now that I was dying. I was diagnosed with inoperable cancer in a part of my body I’d prefer not to speak about. No chance of a cure, so rather than fight it for a few additional months of existence, I decided to accept palliative care to ease the discomfort over the time I have left.

‘I’m sorry I didn't get round to telling you, but you know better than most that some things are just too hard to share, even – perhaps especially – with those you care for most.

‘I imagine you will want to curl up into a ball of misery and will the world away, but I'm not going to let you. Call it a last request from someone who loves and cares for you very much. My funeral will be held on,’ here the solicitor gave a time and date, ‘and I’ve arranged for a car to pick you up at your home and bring you. There are a few things I’d like you to do in preparation for the day. They’re a little unusual, but I’d like you to humour me in this.

‘The car will pick you up in the afternoon before the funeral and deliver you to an establishment where the proprietors have some very specific instructions on how to make you ready for the funeral service. My first request is that you do not argue with them but let them get you ready as I’ve instructed them.

‘My second request is that you pack up any items of sentimental value, anything that you would miss if your house were to burn down for instance, and bring them with you. Also pack any important documents – birth certificate, degree certificate, passport, etc – and any documents of ownership you might have for your flat, car, and any other object of significant value, and bring them with you as well.

‘Lastly, I would like you to prepare a short eulogy to give at the funeral. I know that may be asking a lot, but I would like the congregation to hear from the people I’ve cared most for in my life, and you are most definitely one of those.’

Now and Then

“Her letter was kind of cryptic, plus with it being her last wish, I could hardly say no. The funeral was set for a Friday, but that was no problem. My employers had more difficulty persuading me to take my annual leave than otherwise, so I always had more than enough available to me. I took the Thursday and Friday off and did as my aunt had instructed me, filling a couple of small suitcases with the few memories of my life I wanted to keep. A couple of photo albums, a scrap book, some silly keepsakes from holidays I’d taken as a child, a few things May and Liam had made to give me as Christmas and Birthday presents, some framed photographs of my parents, my kids, even one of Lynn taken during happier times. Mum had a few nice pieces of jewellery which would probably have gone to Lynn had she hung around at all following my parents' deaths. I transferred them from her jewellery box into a silk roll she used when we went on holiday. It wasn't a lot to show for getting on for five decades of life, but in a way it felt good discovering I could travel tonight if I needed to.

“I also packed a sports bag with a change of clothes, a few changes of socks and underwear, my night things and toiletries. I ended up with a couple of hours to kill before my ride was due to turn up. I spent them wandering around the flat looking for memories.

“There were none. With my valuables packed away, the place had no more personality to it than a cheap travel hotel. When my driver rang the doorbell to announce his arrival, I grabbed my bags and left with no desire to return.

“The car must have cost my aunt’s estate a good chunk of change. We must have driven a couple of hundred miles across to the village Daisy had called home. The only words my driver spoke were to direct my attention to the car’s hospitality centre. He assured me that for long distance hires like this one the drinks and snacks were complementary, so I mixed a packet of nuts with a packet of green olives and snacked over a small bottle of Tempranillo which proved to be a better vintage than I’d been expecting.

“I don't usually travel very well so I passed the time watching the English countryside speed by. The ride was smoother than any I’d experienced, but I knew if I spent more than a couple of minutes focusing on a screen, my stomach would rebel. It was a beautiful day though. Blue sky sparsely streaked with mare’s tails, and all the vibrant greens that make our country special flaring in the sunshine. For the first time in a long time I felt the weight lift a little from my shoulders. I sent up a quiet prayer of thanks to my aunt.

“We paused a couple of times to feed the thirsty V8 pulling us along. It also gave me time to use the facilities. I offered the driver a coffee and he took time out to show me how I could make myself one using the car’s facilities. I repeated my offer and he accepted. One flat white for him, one mocha for me. No better drink in my mind, combining coffee and chocolate, two of the world’s finest foodstuffs.

“With the coffee machine discovered, more coffee was made than was perhaps wise, and a couple more comfort stops added to the journey. We still arrived at our destination just five minutes late.

“It was beyond the last thing I would have expected.”

“Oh, stop being such a tease. What was it?”

Dieithryn Chapter 2

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

Friday (day 1) part 2

“It was a sort of country manor house transformed into a luxury resort. The main hall had been turned into multiple suites, double beds and en suite bathrooms, immense closets with mirror doors. The stable block had been converted into a series of boutiques. Hairdressers, makeup specialists, manicure and pedicure places, fitting rooms for lingerie and different sorts of clothing, from casual to ball gown. The nature of the place wasn't obvious from first appearance, and I only started to pick up on it after my driver told me he’d return in time to take me to the funeral the following day.

“‘My things.’ I waved at the rear of the car.

“‘They’ll be safe in the car until tomorrow. Our vehicles are kept in a secure parking garage with twenty-four hour surveillance.’

“‘But, my toothbrush.’

“‘I’m told everything is provided. I will see you at eleven thirty tomorrow.’

“I’d made my aunt a mental promise not to fight, so I let him leave. I then committed myself to the care of my hosts.

“It left me conflicted, I can’t begin to tell you how much. This was something I’d been fighting for nearly five decades, and it went against everything in my nature to give in to it.

“Almost everything. Deep deep inside of me a tiny voice called out for me to surrender, to allow myself to be treated with these strange, soft, sweet-smelling activities.

“Almost as a punishment to myself for agreeing to Daisy's terms I suggested they start with a whole body waxing. Rather than warn me off, they smiled and agreed.

“‘The best artists prepare the canvas first. You won’t regret this.’

“I nearly did. I have quite a naturally hairy body, and they grow quite long. I imagine for women who have the procedure done regularly, the hairs being removed are short, thin and sparse, meaning the pull is significantly reduced compared to gorilla matting like I had. The follicles are larger, more deeply entrenched, and everywhere. With the hairs lying flat, the wax tends to pull at angles rather than straight away. The result is a degree of pain that goes beyond anything I’ve experienced. And not just the once, but so many times over.

“I was tempted towards profanity but managed to settle for screaming like a girl and crying like one.

“I half expected to be told not to be such a cry baby, but my aesthetician – yes, my first time encountering that term too – a smooth skinned trans woman who paused briefly to offer a little sympathetic advice. ‘First time’s the worst,’ she said. ‘Best to do it quick before you talk yourself out of it. It gets easier, even during this session, and you’ll be so glad you did.’

“I clenched my teeth and let her continue. It stayed excruciatingly awful for a long while, but then it eased and finally it was done. I was bleeding from a few pores where the follicles had been pulled out at too oblique an angle, and my whole skin tingled in an almost erotic way.

“‘You were so brave,’ my torturer said without the least hint of condescension. ‘The worst is over. It only gets better from here.’ She wrapped me in a soft, white dressing gown, gave me a quick hug and propelled me towards a door.

“Which led to a bathroom and a painfully hot bath in rose scented water and so many bubbles.

“A young woman joined me once I was submerged. ‘I’m Chelsea. You don't mind, do you?’ she asked. ‘I can arrange for a trans girl to do this if you prefer, but we’re girls together, aren’t we?’

“I was still reeling from the sensation of having all my body hair stripped out of me. I shrugged and nodded, which she took as a sign that she should go ahead. I was treated to the most thorough head massage while my hair was lathered up and rinsed away three times, then a fourth with conditioner.

“‘I’ll leave you now,’ she said. ‘Don’t be too long. Mandy’s waiting for you through there. She’s patient enough, but she does her best work with people who don’t keep her hanging about.’

“‘Mandy?’ I asked.

“‘Our hairdresser. Let her do her magic. We can always turn you back afterwards if you need.’

“A degree of mystery there, but I followed Aunt Daisy’s last request and let Mandy do her creative worst. Or best, depending on your point of view.

“I won’t bore you with any more of the details, other than to say they covered bits I wouldn't have thought were needed. By dinner time I’d had my nails and face painted – different paints, if that even needs saying – I’d had appendages of size appropriate to my body shape attached to my chest with a sort of glue and blended in to my skin until even I couldn't tell where the prostheses ended and my actual skin began, I’d been fitted into an array of lacy undergarments that were a little restrictive but not uncomfortable, and I’d been helped into and out of a selection of dresses, skirts and trousers.

“Somewhere along the way, a black dress had been put aside for the funeral without me noticing. I chose a selection of everyday clothes and left wearing something formal enough for dinner, but not quite a ballgown.

“‘The rest of your choices will be hanging up in your wardrobe by the time you’re done with dinner,’ I was told. ‘We’ve taken the liberty of choosing a nightdress for you, based on your preferences.’

“‘I’ll be leaving tomorrow,’ I said.

“‘We’re aware. There's a suitcase large enough for everything in the wardrobe, and we’d be happy to pack for you while you relax a little tomorrow morning.’

“‘All that stuff is mine?’

“‘What can I say? I could wish for such a generous godmother.

“‘I don’t know what you’d like to do after dinner. Some of our guests like to stroll around the grounds. Others like a game of something, and others still like to chat over a cup of hot chocolate. Whatever you choose to do, you’re among friends here.”

“This place sounds remarkable,” Gwen said. “I don’t suppose you have the details?”

“I do, but I’m not sure Patrick will be so keen.”

“Maybe not, but you never know till you try, eh?”

“Maybe You're right.”

“You’re telling me your aunt organised this without talking with you first?”

“Oh yes. In fact if she had raised the idea, I’d have vetoed it straight away.”

“You didn't like it?”

“No, I loved it. By the end of the evening, I’d got over my lifelong tendency to self sabotage. I realised I had no-one left to pretend for. My parents were in the ground and Lynn and the kids couldn't be more disappointed in me, even if I turned up wearing a frock, so why not?

“The feminine part of me that I’d recognised at an early age and learned to suppress, partly because of the disapproval my parents – for which read my mum with Dad agreeing with her because he knew what was best for him – and partly because of the reaction of the small handful of friends – Lynn included – who I’d told about it. I’d never done anything more than talk with that select group of now former friends, and I’d struggled through all of my life as a result. Now, out of the blue, my feminine side had been released from her shackles and she’d come out swinging. I didn’t stand a chance.

“I spent a lot of the evening by myself, exploring the newly released feelings, but I did take time to talk to some of the other guests, and even the trans staff. It was eye opening to discover that I wasn't alone, that a lot of my experiences matched many of their own.

“I met people who felt stuck in the middle, who lived most of their lives as I had, expressing themselves as their physical gender, but on a regular basis they would come to this retreat and embrace the girl inside them for a few days. Others, much the same, topped up their girl time sleeping in frills and lace, in many cases alongside an understanding and accepting spouse. Others were embarking on a year’s real life test living full time as a woman with a view to having corrective surgery at the end of it.

“I retired to bed early, but not that early once I'd gone through the skin cleansing and moisturising ritual. I changed into the white cotton nightdress, brushed my teeth with the brand new brush that came with the room, and slipped between the sheets.

“Hairless skin and rebellious boobs meant it took me a while to settle, but when I did, I slept more soundly than I had in all my life. For the first time in my living memory, the burden I’d been carrying was gone.

“The following morning I woke early without the need of an alarm. Another sunny day beckoned, so I dressed in a short skirt and sleeveless top before skipping – yes, I actually skipped – down to breakfast. I wasn't the first, but that was probably a good thing because I was greeted with a barrage of compliments which left me feeling good.

“A couple of the guests were planning on going for a swim, but I didn't want to risk ruining my hair.” I touched my tresses self consciously.

“This was what, what was her name, Mandy did for you?”

“I’ve grown it long all my life – probably my only concession to my inner woman – but never really styled it. I’d probably have to have most of it cut off if I wanted to go back to my old self.

“Anyway, the rest of the group decided to go for a short walk. The roads around the retreat were fairly quiet and it gave me some practice walking in heels, even if they were barely that.

“The others gave me some tips on speaking. You know, avoid the Monty Python falsetto, focus on relaxing your throat muscles and just raising the pitch a small amount. I was kind of getting the hang of it by the time we made it back.

“One of the hostesses was waiting when we reappeared and led me off to get ready. Another makeup session, which apparently would have been more of a tutorial if I’d not disappeared on the walk, and then into the black dress I’d chosen for the funeral. An extra inch on the heels, sheer charcoal tights, a small hat with a veil and a pair of black lacy gloves and a small handbag – a clutch bag, I think they call it. Barely room for my mobile and my wallet. I didn't recognise myself when I looked in the mirror.

“Time had flown by and my car was waiting for me before we were done. Same car, same driver. He held the door for me and smiled encouragingly as my hostess gave me a few last minute pointers on how to climb in and out of the vehicle with appropriate elegance.

“My driver glanced at me in his mirror as we pulled away from the resort. I’d felt safe there, and now I was heading towards a church full of strangers wearing a frock. I felt unexpectedly good, but nerves began to flood through me. I had my eulogy prepared, but I wondered how appropriate my words were now, or how they would be received, especially from a man in a dress.

“‘If it helps,’ my driver said, 'you look really good. If I hadn't dropped you off yesterday, I wouldn't have recognised you.’

“‘Thanks,’ I said, not sure how much I believed him.

“The church was nearly full when I arrived. An usher – or are they only for weddings – led me to a seat near the front. Heads swivelled in my direction all the way, though whether or not that was because they were wondering who I was remained to be seen.

“The service was fairly traditional with hymns and readings and a homily from the vicar – at least I wasn't the only bloke in a dress. Eventually it came time for the eulogies. A lengthy list of people I’d never met although Aunt Daisy had spoken of them over the years.

“Finally it was my turn. I’d been flipping through the notes I’d prepared and so little of it seemed appropriate. I tucked them back into my handbag before standing and making my way to the lectern.

“‘I’ve been sitting here for the last half hour watching a parade of strangers come up here to pay their respects,’ I said. ‘I suppose it’s my turn to do the same for you.’

“My name appeared in the order of service as simply my first initial and my surname. No title, no explanation. Up to me, I supposed, to decide whether to bluff it out or come clean. Up to that moment I hadn’t decided, but like I said earlier, I was a little too prone to honesty.

“‘Aunt Daisy – she wasn’t really my aunt, but we all called her that – was my godmother. I worked it out once, genealogically speaking. She was my second cousin once removed. She and my mother shared the same great grandparents.

“‘I had a whole lot of things prepared to say about my aunt Daisy. How she showed interest in a kind of littlest branch of the family. My grandmother was orphaned at an early age and grew up with next to nothing. My parents were never that well off, but Aunt Daisy always took the time to check in on us, and on me in particular. Especially after my parents died and my life fell apart.

“‘More than anything though I’d like to remember her for the way she could see right into you. Into me at least. You see, she saw something inside of me that I’ve been trying to hide all my life. She tried to tell me it was okay to be the way I am, but I’d learned from so many people through so much of my life that it wasn't, that I wouldn't hear it from her. I kept on fighting it and losing.

“‘These last few years she’s been checking in on me every two to four weeks, and it’s only through having her in my life that I’ve lasted this long.

“‘Fact is, I was so caught up in my own problems that I didn't even notice she was sick. She never said anything, which was just like her. I don’t remember one time when she talked to me about something that was bothering her.

“‘She knew she wasn't going to be there for me for much longer, so she planned this last gift for me. Made it her last wish that I accept it even if I wasn’t sure.

“‘And so here I am, courtesy of my amazing aunt’s legacy. My mother named me Gareth, but she could never see the girl inside of me. It took Aunt Daisy to recognise that she had a goddaughter in me and to bring her to the surface.’”

“What happened then?” Gwen asked.

“Oh, there were a lot of people in the congregation who thought my revelation, and my turning up in a dress were highly disrespectful, and pandemonium reigned for a while. Did you know that word was coined by John Milton in Paradise Lost? It derives from the Greek and quite literally means all demons. He used it as a name for Hell’s capital city.

“I stepped away from the lectern and let the vicar restore order. It took a while, but everyone quieted. I looked to him for permission to continue, and the he agreed with some misgivings.

“There were a few grumbles when I returned to the lectern, but I waited for silence and they subsided eventually.

“‘I’m forty-nine years old,’ I said, ‘and before yesterday I never put on a dress. I only did so today at the invitation of the remarkable person we all came here to honour. It released something that I’d trapped inside myself for all of my life, and for the first time I feel truly alive. I came here to pay my last respects in a way that would show my gratitude to the woman who loved me and knew me best of all. It was not my wish to disrupt this service and I don’t want to do so any more than I have. If I’m not welcome, I’ll leave.’

“I stepped down and started walking down the aisle towards the main doors. I didn’t get very far before an elderly man in a black pinstripe suit stood up and reached out a hand to stop me. He led me back to the front of the church and stepped up to the lecturn.

“‘What she says is true, at least as far as Daisy’s gift is concerned. I’m Miles Jeffrey, Daisy’s solicitor and executor. She asked me to arrange for Gareth's, er, transformation, so I would say he, or perhaps you would prefer she, my dear, has more right to be here than almost anyone else present. And that this is precisely how Daisy would have wished you to come. You will remain here for the remainder of the service, if for no other reason than because you are invited to sit in on the reading of the will after we’ve laid your aunt to rest. If anyone here objects, then they’re welcome to leave. I’m quite certain Daisy would want you to stay even if more than half of everyone here else chooses to leave. Please take your seat.’”

“I did and, apart from a few residual grumbles, no-one felt like making so public a statement as walking out. Miles made sure I was standing with family when Daisy’s casket was lowered in the ground and, when all was done, herded us towards a line of cars.

“Daisy never married, so family meant brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews. There were about a dozen and a half of us including Miles and myself to distribute between three limos. I asked after my luggage since my own car and driver didn't seem to be present and Miles assured me it had been taken care of.

“The convoy took us the short distance to his offices and we were shown into a large board room and served champagne. The others congregated into little cliques and chatted together. None of them so much as looked my way, which suited me as all I wanted was to be left alone with my memories of the most special person in my life.

“Miles joined us soon enough, bearing with him a large manilla envelope. He invited us to sit which we did. I did so first with everyone else grouping themselves nearby but never next to me. It seemed Daisy’s family didn’t share her generosity of spirit.

“Daisy was aware though, because the reading of the will started with a statement to the effect that most of her estate would go to a collection of charities, but first there would be a few individual bequests.

“He went through everyone present in order of genealogical closeness, passing on heirlooms and small financial bequests. From the expressions, no-one received as much as they hoped for, but probably more than they deserved. Eventually it came to me.

“‘Gareth,’ Miles read, ’unless you have chosen a more suitable name.’

“I hadn’t yet. It was all too new. I shook my head gently.

“‘I’m sorry to have sprung this on you in such a manner,’ Miles continued reading. ‘I wanted you to admit to it so that we could talk about it first, but it seems we ran out of time, so this was my only option.’

“‘They say it takes one to know one, and in this case there is a great deal of truth in the saying. I’ve lived all my life as a woman, because that’s how I was born and that’s how I was expected to live. I didn’t mind it really, all the aspects of being a woman, because inside I knew who I was. The suffragette movement had made it possible to compete in a man’s world, albeit at a disadvantage, but I’ve always felt myself to be more a man than the woman everyone saw, which meant they underestimated me, and that gave me an edge. I beat them at their own game and enjoyed every moment of it.

“‘It was lonely of course. I could never imagine myself married to a man, and I was never drawn to sapphic relationships, in part because of the stigma associated with such behaviour, but mostly because in any such relationship, the other woman would see me as one, and that would be as much a lie as your marriage to Lynn.

“‘I know you tried to address your issues before you were wed, but she thought she married a man and looked for a way out from the moment she realised she hadn’t.

“‘It’s you more than anyone who has refused to acknowledge the truth of what lies within you, and I do understand why. Though I can only imagine how much, it’s evident that it must be harder to live as a woman inside the body of a man than to live as I have, but we live in kinder times than those in which we were raised.

“‘I have a proposal for you to consider, and it is only that. If you choose to refuse it then you may return to your current life and I will leave you a modest bequest, sufficient to improve your current situation. I’m hoping you will accept it though.

“‘I may have mentioned that we have roots in Wales. My great grandmother, your great great grandmother, was a flower of Cymru. About a year ago I bought a few derelict farm buildings, a part of a sheep farm fallen into disrepair, and engaged a firm of builders to refurbish them as a home. Even if I do say so myself, they’ve done an astonishingly good job. I prepared it in the hope that you will trust me a little more.’

“Miles lifted two small cases onto the conference table. ‘These are the keepsakes I asked you to bring. These are yours whatever you decide.’ He then lifted my sports bag full of clothes onto the table. ‘I didn't tell you to bring any clothes from your old life, but it doesn't surprise me that you did. You may choose to take these and return to your old life, in which case you’ll go with my blessing and a gift of a hundred thousand pounds.’

“Sharp intakes of breath from all around the table. It was twice the inheritance any of the others had been given. ‘If you choose this path, you go with my blessing, but I won’t be able to help you further.

“He pointed at two new suitcases that I vaguely recognised from the previous day’s retreat. ‘Or you can choose the path I dearly want you to take. To commit to the life you have only tasted since yesterday afternoon. These are all the clothes you chose yesterday. Take these and a new name to go with them and the farm is yours to call your home. There’s a new car to carry you and your belongings to the place, and if you maintain your new identity for a year at least, the deeds to the farm will be signed over to you free and clear.’

“More sharp intakes of breath. There was no way the farm as described could be worth as little as a hundred thousand quid.

“‘Live as a woman for a year to see how it appeals to you. There will be some challenges, I’m certain. People will see through the clothing and judge you for the choice you’ve made, but I’m convinced you’ll find the strength to endure as a woman.

“‘If you choose the last option, you will have to cut ties with your life up until now. The keys and documents for your car and flat will be left with Mr Jeffrey who will sell them and their contents for what he can gain. This sum will be transferred into your bank account.

“‘After the year is done, you are free to choose the life you wish to lead and I will have done all I can to help. If that is to re-establish contact with your ex-wife and children in whatever manner you decide to continue, then that too will be up to you.’

“There really wasn’t a choice. I stood and walked over to the suitcases from the retreat. ‘Gillian,’ I said. ‘I’d like to be called Gillian.’

“Would you like another cup of tea?” I asked Gwen.

Gwen looked at her watch and jumped to her feet. “Actually, I should be going. I take it that's pretty much the whole story?”

“Pretty much. I handed over the keys to my former life. The rest of Daisy’s relations were guided from the office, arguing profusely over the unfairness of it all. I had a few documents to sign and a set of car keys to collect. Miles also gave me a debit card for a new bank account using my initial.

“‘Lucky guess,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You could always have created your own account and transfered it if it hadn't worked. The hundred thousand you would have had if you’d gone back to being a man is in there. If your things sell for more, I’ll transfer the difference in time.’

“He helped me load my luggage into my new mini and I came here, via a supermarket.”

“Thank you for telling me. Patrick and I were going to walk down into the village for a drink after dinner. Would you like to join us? We can introduce you to a few of the locals.”

“Thank you. Are you sure your husband won't mind?”

“He’ll be fine. We’ll call about seven thirty? Do you have any walking boots?”

“Er, I don't think so.”

“Well flats then at least. It’s not much of a slope with a reasonably good surface, but not one you’ll want to tackle in heels.”

“Seven thirty. I’ll be ready.”

The suitcases with my new wardrobe in were large, hard bodied and fitted with four wheels each. Once I’d slid them out of the car and set them on their wheels they’d been easy enough to trundle as far as the foot of the stairs, but the one I’d managed to lug up to the top had taken more effort than I particularly wanted to put in. Besides, I was concerned I might damage the pristine paintwork. I manhandled (woman-handled?) the one I’d managed to get to the top into the largest of the bedrooms but decided I needed a different plan for the other.

So I fetched one of the smaller cases with my personal valuables.

I took it through to the living room and decanted it onto the dinner table. Some of the things would be heading up into my bedroom, but for now what I wanted was an empty case.

This I took to the bottom of the stairs where I cracked open the remaning larger case. The shoes went straight into the entrance area. I’d have to buy or make a shoe tree sooner or later, but for the moment they could pile up in a decorative sculpture inside the door. On the plus side I did have a number of pairs of flats and one pair of what looked like casual walking shoes. They'd do for later with a sensible skirt.

I transferred as many clothes as would fit comfortably into the smaller case and carried it upstairs. All the bedrooms were made up but the largest of them was the one that caught my attention. Floral duvet, dressing table with three fold mirror and surrounding lights, built in wardrobe with full height mirror doors, inside which was a chest of drawers. I upended my suitcase onto the bed and went downstairs for a second load.

The wardrobe came fully furnished with enough flock coat hangers to hang all my clothes without having to double up. The chest of drawers had enough options to organise all my different undergarments and leave me with a couple of extra draws. Makeup and jewellery maybe?

Back downstairs for more juggling with suitcases. The two large ones went into storage in the garage, the remaining small one with my precious memories went into the lounge where all the downstairs items came out and all the upstairs items from the other case went in. That then went up and was unpacked before the two cases came back down and joined their larger fellows in the garage.

Time was whizzing past and I didn't have much spare. I changed into a sensible skirt and blouse – no great fashion statement but potentially better for a countryside ramble – and threw together a quick seafood salad. I was done eating and busily lacing myself into my walking shoes when the doorbell sounded again.

I opened it to find Gwen and Patrick. If Patrick was happy about having me join them, he hadn't bothered telling his face. I transferred my phone and wallet into my sensibly sized everyday handbag, preloaded with all those useful extras – sensible being the watchword of the moment – and joined them.

The walk down to the village took about half an hour on a paved path that was so much better than I’d expected. The early summer sun hovered close to the horizon as we arrived at the pub. Gwen, who’d spent the entire walk chattering about things and people that didn't mean much to me yet, put an arm on mine, stopping me from going in.

“If you’re lucky you might see a green flash,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“Green flash,” Patrick said. Apparently my admittance of ignorance was enough to bring him out of his sulk. Any opportunity for a bit of mansplaining. “Happens sometimes when the conditions are right. The sun flashes green for a second or two before it disappears behind the horizon. I’ve seen it enough times so I’m going in. Gin and tonic, love?”

“Yes thanks,” Gwen said. “What would you like, Gillian?”

“Oh, white wine spritzer if you don’t mind.”

“Blokes usually drink pints,” Patrick said a little obstinately.

“Alright,” I said, “so white wine spritzer please.”

He looked ready to complain but Gwen gave him a look.

The sun disappeared without giving us the light show. Gwen gave me an apologetic shrug and guided me inside where Patrick had found a table and furnished it with a couple of pints and Gwen’s gin and it. She gave him an angry look, but now it was my turn to hold her back. I made my way to the bar and ordered my drink. The landlord gave me an odd look, but served me anyway. Apparently all he was really bothered about was relieving his customers of their money.

I joined Gwen and Patrick at their table and took a sip of my drink.

“My money not good enough for you then?” Patrick asked in a huff.

“It would have been if you’d bought what I asked for,” I replied. “Drinking beer by the pint leaves me feeling bloated, not to mention that beer has a lot of calories.”

“Oh, calories is it. You know you do sound like a woman.”

“I’m aware. I would argue that, apart from the physical abnormality, I am a woman.”

“And what physical abnormality would that be?”

“That I have a man’s body.”

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Yes I do. I’ve actually believed the same thing as you for most of my life.”

“Well then.”

“Well actually not then. You see for all of my life I’ve tried to live as a man, but I’ve been incredibly rubbish at it. I’ve been aware of this feeling inside of me all along that I ought to have been a girl, that I have a much better idea on how to be a girl than how to be a guy. I’ve fought it all along because that’s what my parents seemed to be telling me. Because the few times I found the courage to tell close friends about it, they freaked out and disappeared from my life. Because when I told my wife – then fiance – it built up over the years until she left me, taking my kids with her and, for all I know, teaching them to despise me. Although that could have been me because I really struggled to cope after she left. Parents dead, family gone and still trying to be a man.

“This whole thing about me putting on a dress and moving to Wales – my great great grandmother comes from around here I understand – it’s all on the suggestion of an aunt of mine who passed away recently. She saw this side of me, she says because she was kind of my mirror image – a man’s mind inside a woman's body – and wanted me to try this.

“She was buried earlier today, I mean that sort of explains the black dress when you first met me, but the first time I dressed as a woman was yesterday afternoon.”

“You're kidding,” Gwen said. “I mean you’re so natural at it. The voice, the way you move…”

“I had a few pointers from the people who helped me transition.”

“Mostly it’s the way you talk. Do you always chat like we did this afternoon?”

“What’s this?” Patrick was suddenly interested.

“Gwen popped around this afternoon for a chat. We had a cuppa and I told her a bit about myself. Was that okay? I didn't imagine it wouldn't be.”

“I don't know if I'm happy with my wife spending time alone with the likes of you.”

“And just what do you mean by that, Patrick Evans? Are you saying you don't trust me to spend time with people without your approval?”

“Well no, but it's just…”

“Just what, Patrick? Are you going to vet my friends at the book club or the choir now, to make sure you approve of them?”

“Well no, of course not, but he’s …”

“She is, Patrick. I know we’re a little backwards around here, but you could try and make an effort. Are you trying to tell me that I shouldn't call on our neighbour because she makes you feel uncomfortable?”

“Be reasonable Gwen…”

“Reasonable! Reasonable! She was nothing but polite when we called on her earlier, even with you having a fit in the background. She was kind and welcoming and a delight to speak to when I called on her earlier. And she’s been very forgiving of your oafishness this evening. You’re the one who wants to be reasonable!”

I put a calming hand on Gwen’s arm. Her voice had been rising with each fresh utterance and we had quite a growing audience.

“It’s alright Gwen,” I said. “You should cut him a little slack. I mean it’s not as if any of this is exactly normal, is it?”

“See you? I can’t think of a single bloke who’d show that sort of empathy.”

There was no stopping her. I looked around the pub where every pair of eyes was turned our way. I smiled nervously and wiggled my fingers in a sort of wave.

“Evening everyone. My name’s Gillian and I’ve just moved into the renovated buildings opposite Patrick and Gwen’s place. I expect you’ll all notice sooner or later, so I might as well tell you. My mother named me Gareth, and I don’t exactly have what you might normally expect to find under my skirts.”

An ominous silence loomed for an uncomfortable few seconds, then a voice – a male one – said in accusatory tones, “You’re English.”

“Well, my great great grandmother came from these parts, so I’d like to think I’m not all bad.”

The silence lasted a few seconds more, then almost as one, they all laughed. Even Patrick fought to hide a smile, and I’m sure I heard a woman’s voice somewhere in the general merriment say, “I like her.”

Once the laughter had started to subside, the bloke who’d accused me of having the wrong nationality asked, “So how long will you be staying?”

“I’m not sure. I hadn’t given it much thought. I’m hoping a year at least?”

“A year?”

“Yes, it's a sort of mid to long term undercover infiltration to find out if the natives are friendly. And if the weather really is as wet as they say.”

That earned me a new round of laughter.

“So what brings you here?” A different voice this time, from a different part of the room.

“My Aunt.” I said. “Well, actually she’s not – she wasn't my aunt. She was my mother’s second cousin, and it was her who told me about our shared, if tenuous, Welsh heritage. She left me the farm buildings in her will.”

“The field this side of them as well,” Patrick said.

“And how did your aunt come to own it?”

“I sold it to her,” Patrick said before I could answer. “The buildings were run down to ruin and I had neither time nor money to do them up, so I parcelled it up with about ten acres of pasture and put it on the market. I expected the buyer to tear the buildings down and start over, but she had the place renovated, and an amazing job she did on it too. Puts our place to shame a little. Ever since the work was done Gwen’s been pestering me to have our roof done the same.”

A little more laughter then a plump middle aged woman pushed her way to the fore. “And you are a man, aren't you?” she asked.

“I, er, I said as much just now, or at least I tried to.”

“So why d’you dress like that?”

“My aunt’s idea again, although only because she had a lot more courage and wisdom than I could ever hope for.

“I was born a boy, but I’ve always had a feeling inside me that I should have been a girl. I’m sure you’ve heard of people like that.”

“Heard of ‘em,” another member of my audience piped up. “Never met one, at least not till now.” He was about my age.

“That’s because our generation was brought up to believe that if you were born a boy then you should grow up to be a man. Any of us who felt they had reason to think differently learnt early that such opinions weren’t welcomed.

“I lived nearly fifty years trying to be the man everyone thought I should be and I made a real dog's breakfast of it. Failed marriage, failed career – perhaps not quite but definitely getting there – and, apart from Aunt Daisy, failed social life. I was so tied up in trying to be something that everyone else thought I should be, something that I really am not, that I ended up screwing my whole life up. My aunt saw that in me and tried to help me see it, except I wouldn't, right up to the point when she…” I couldn't bring myself to complete the sentence. I choked up and tears started to flow.

A few brave hands reached out to comfort me. I dug out a packet of tissues from my bag of infinite resources and stemmed the flood. My eyes would be puffy, but at least I’d avoided eye makeup on the advice of the people at the retreat. “No sense tempting fate,” they’d said although at the time my tears had been buried so deep I couldn't begin to imagine where they would come from.

Something to do with a long term denier of the truth, I suppose. I was so good at ignoring reality that I’d managed to bury the consequences of facing a future without my aunt.

With a last sniff, I eventually regained control and looked around at the room full of concerned eyes. “Anyway,” I said, “this was her idea, her last wish that I try it for at least a year. If she’d just told me about it yesterday I’d have laughed in her face. Ludicrous idea. But she sort of guilt tripped me into trying it. ‘Just let them do what they can and don’t fight back,’ she’d said, and by the time they’d finished I realised I didn't want to.

“Then after the funeral, when I’d admitted to everyone who I was and why I'd come looking like a woman. When I’d faced off against the, what must have been fifty percent of the congregation, who were outraged at me for wearing a dress to my aunt’s send off. When I’d been introduced to the worst of choosing to live like this, I was offered one last choice.

“Either I could go home with a large chunk of change and carry on trying to live my life as I had been doing up till then, only without Aunt Daisy to help me, or I could move to the other side of the country and try living like this in a place where nobody knows me.

“So here I am. I’m not trying to con anybody into believing I’m anything I’m not. I just want to try living like this for a while and see how it works out. If it upsets you, I hope you’ll be honest with me and say so to my face so we can sort out how best to deal with it.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be alright with you,” the landlord said. “At least most of us will.” He glowered at Patrick.

“Yes,” the plump lady from earlier said. “It’ll be a little like that thing on the telly. What was it, ‘the only gay in the village.’”

“Oh, Little Britain? I used to love that,” the woman standing next to her chipped in. “Dafyd Thomas, his name was. Matt Lucas was the actor. Looked quite horrible, didn’t he? Tubby lad that he was and wearing all those revealing clothes, and all the locals telling him he should get some…”

“Thank you Anwen, I don’t think we need the details.” That was the landlord again. “I’m Dylan, by the way. If anyone else buys you a pint without you asking for it, you just come and tell me.”

I nodded a nervous thanks. From the dubious glances being exchanged around the room, Dylan and the two ladies formed something of a minority where people like me were concerned.

“And if you're looking for a boyfriend,” Anwen said, “I’m sure I can think of someone to introduce you to.”

I couldn’t help smiling at that. “Thank you, but I’m not really looking for anything of that sort. I’d rather get used to being just another one of the ladies around here, at least to start with.

“Speaking of the ladies, I could do with freshening up. I know there are laws about which of the facilities I should use, but perhaps you have a preference for which would cause less bother.”

Dylan looked about him. “Quick show of hands,” he said. “Who has a problem with Gill here using the ladies?” A few hands went up. “The gents?” Surprisingly more hands. “Alright, tell you what,” he pointed at a door marked no admittance, “that goes up to the flat above the pub. You’re welcome to use the bathroom up there until we get this sorted out, which may take until next meeting at least.”

“Come on dear, I’ll show you,” the plump lady said, and led the way. “I’m Moira by the way.”

“Well,” Dylan said, raising his voice, “if we’re done with this little soap opera, do you think we can maybe start this evening’s meeting?”

“We’re still waiting on Bryn and Ioan, “Moira called back from the door. “They won’t thank you if you start without them.”

“Well, they should try turning up on time,” Dylan said. “We can start with a few things they won’t be so bothered about. The twmpath. Last meeting a date was suggested. That date is now six weeks away. We either need to agree it or set a new date.”

I turned to Moira and murmured, “What’s a toom path?”

She smiled and pointed at a door at the top of the stairs “Twmpath,” she corrected my pronunciation. “It’s like a barn dance. Will you be alright on your own, dear? Only I’d better stay and sort a few of the details here.”

I smiled my thanks and made my way up the stairs.

“Are we good with the date?” Dylan called. “We have a lot to organise in just a short time.” His voice faded as the door closed behind me. .

It didn't take me long. I took advantage of the visit to make use of the facilities then splashed a little water in my face until the redness around the eyes had faded. A quick wash of my hands and back downstairs in time to hear Dylan’s voice in full flow.

“Okay, so Keith, William, Bryn and Taffy to clear the chairs out and set up the trestles. Now, Moira, food?”

The plump lady smiled. “In hand, my love. At least it will be if all of you ladies come along to the coffee morning at the church on Tuesday.”

“Thank you. Patrick, music?”

My neighbour looked up as I retook my seat. “What date did you say?”

Dylan told him.

“Sure, we’re available.”

A few more tasks were delegated. I found myself admiring both the barman’s attention to detail and his ability to assign jobs. He’d about done when a couple more men dressed for the outdoors came into the bar. Dylan stepped behind the bar and pulled a couple of pints even as he dolled out the last few jobs.

“What did we miss?” the older of the two asked.

“You'd know if you turned up on time.”

“Couldn't be helped. We had a ewe caught up in some brambles. Took us a while to cut her free.”

“Well I suppose we can’t argue with that. Alright then, we have a new arrival, Gillian who’s moved into those buildings Patrick sold off six months ago…”

“The derelict stable block?”

“That’s right,” Patrick said, “only they’ve all been very nicely renovated.”

“Yes, well,” Dylan took charge again, “anyway Gillian, this old fart is Bryn Jones. The younger lad is his son Ioan.”

I waved a hand in greeting and received a couple of nods in return.

“Apart from that we set a date for the twmpath and assigned jobs. You two are providing prizes for the raffle.”

“We can do that. Have you not spoken of the sea wall yet? I’d have thought that was of more importance.”

“Important enough that we waited for you to be here. And now if we’re done with the dance, perhaps we can move on to the sea wall.”

“Yeah,” Ioan spoke up. “There’s been no progress on it for a couple of months now. What’s that about?”

“What that is about, so I’m told, is there is no more money to continue the work. The district council ran short on funds two months ago and put a pause on all projects of the sort, and they’re saying if we want it finished, we’ll have to fund it ourselves.”

There followed an explosion of outrage which I and a few others weathered with as much dignity as we could manage. I was a newcomer to the area so didn't have much to say on the matter, but it didn't seem that the angry voices had much worth adding either. The noise eventually died down until one fairly quiet voice succeeded in being heard.

“How much will it cost to finish?”

“There’s a fair question,” Dylan said. “All the seawall prefab blocks have been bought and are sitting down on the beach, so all that’s needed is to secure them in place. Unfortunately that needs some specialist lifting equipment and a fair bit of high grade cement to fix them together. The council were estimating about two or three hundred thousand pounds.”

Uproar again. It was a lot of money for a smallish village to find. It would take everyone remortgaging their homes to raise it. I waited for the noise to settle then asked. “Do you know anything about the vehicles you need?”

“What was that?” Dylan asked, raising a hand for quiet.

“The vehicles needed to move the blocks,” I’d seen them huddled together at the far end of the beach while we’d been waiting for the green flash that didn’t come. “What is it you need to move them into position?”

“What does it matter?” One of my unnamed silent non-fans grumbled. “What difference will it make knowing what vehicles we need?”

“Part of my job was finding cheaper ways of doing things for our company. If all you need is a heavy duty crane with maybe caterpillar tracks, then it might be cheaper to get a loan from a bank and buy one for the time it takes to do the work, then sell it back to the company when you’re done.”

“What!?”

“Imagine you went on an extended holiday abroad in the Far East. Say you planned to stay a couple of months. How much would it cost to hire a car for that period of time?”

“I hate to imagine,” Dylan said, his expression showing the beginning of an understanding of what I was saying. “But you’re saying if we bought an old but reliable car when we arrived, and sold it shortly before we left, we’d maybe lose a bit in depreciation, but it would be a lot less than the cost of hiring it.”

“And the same could well be true of the crane. We’d have to hire a qualified operator and sort out things like insurance ourselves, but we could save a fair amount given that we’re going to need it for several weeks.”

“And what if we can't sell the damn thing at the end?”

“Oh, that'll be part of the agreement we have with the company that sells it to us. They won’t want to lose it completely any more than we’ll want to keep it till it rusts, so we include a buyback clause, assuming we don't break it.”

“And if we do?”

“That’s what insurance is for. It’ll cost a bit more, but it’ll cover us for sure.”

“Could you negotiate a deal like that for us?”

“I imagine so. I doubt I’ll get very far over the weekend, but I could put out some feelers. You’d have to give me details of the company the council was going to use.”

“I could do that. What sort of reduction are we talking about?” Another doubter, verging on hater.

“I really couldn't say for sure without a bit of research, but if you wanted me to take a wild guess…”

“Please,” Dylan said.

“I’d say between a hundred and a hundred and fifty. I’m guessing the blocks will have to be cemented together, possibly with something special. I can’t see any way of reducing that cost at present so we’ll have to have the stuff bought and delivered normally, but we should be able to cut the hire cost by more than half assuming the work’s likely to take a couple of months.

“Give me a day or two and I can be more precise and more certain.”

“Then please would you do that. If we can bring the cost down as much as you say, I might be able to convince the council to cover some of it.”

“How come?” I asked. In my experience, when local government said they couldn't pay, they couldn't pay.

“The budget doesn't run to two or three hundred grand but if we can show we’re working to bring the cost down, they may be able to find maybe fifty.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You can use our Internet if you like,” Gwen said.

“Thank you, I think I’ll be okay, but if I’m not, I'll ask.”

“Well, I think that’s all for now. Gillian, if you give me a call as soon as you know anything, perhaps by Tuesday or Wednesday if you can.”

I nodded. I’d been wondering what I’d be doing with myself from here on. Part of the deal with my Aunt had meant me writing a letter of resignation and using some of my remaining annual leave to cover my notice period. HR wouldn't be too happy, but I wasn't that big a cog in the machine it would bother them much.

I wasn't sure I wanted to carry on doing the same sort of thing I’d been doing for most of my working life, but this would keep me busy for a few days and would hopefully make me a few necessary friends in an environment where I still wasn’t sure how warm my welcome was going to be.

“All right then, we’ll all meet up here at the same time next week for a progress report. In the meantime, we're still likely to be facing a bill of around fifty to a hundred thousand pounds, so maybe you can all give some thought to how we'll be able to pay that.”

The meeting broke up. Moira came over to made sure I’d be coming to Tuesday’s coffee morning, Dylan suggested I could pop in any time over the weekend to collect what paperwork he had and suggested I might like to try the pub’s Sunday menu. Nobody else cared to introduce themselves, so we finished our drinks, Patrick downing the second pint heroically despite Gwen’s silent disapproval, and headed for home.

Home. A strange term for a place I’d only just moved into and hadn't even fully explored. Gwen and I managed to keep Patrick walking in a reasonably straight line up to their front door, which occupied more of our concentration than you might think.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” She asked me when we finally arrived back.

“Shopping for one thing. I’ve a kitchen I need to stock up.”

“Maybe I could call round and we could go together. I have to get a few things too, so if we join forces we could maybe save a little petrol and I could show you the better options.”

“That’d be great, thanks. What time?”

“Oh, any time after seven thirty.” She smiled at my response. “Work never stops on the farm. Pat and I are usually up and about by five. The supermarket's about a fifteen minute drive away and opens at eight most days. We don’t have to go first thing, but it’s quiet and everything's fresh.”

“I’ll see if I can develop a few country habits then. Tell you what, why don't I give you a call when I'm ready and we’ll go in my car.”

There wasn't much else to do. I made myself a hot chocolate and headed upstairs. Normally this time on a Friday evening I’d flop down in front of the telly and find something to binge watch into the early hours, but that was one of the self-destructive habits of the person I was trying to leave behind. I had a quick wash and changed into my nightdress then settled into bed with my kindle.

Not that I could concentrate on the book. I pulled out my phone, which Miles had sorted for me earlier. It was already connected to the WiFi, and there was a new app that allowed me to override any of the house's smart devices. Not that I'd want to. Things like the security cameras and thermostat I’d want to keep running regardless.

I slipped on my dressing gown and slippers and headed downstairs, lights turning on ahead of me. It was a nice feature, but I’d have to make sure I kept my smart watch charged. I found the information pack Miles had given me for the house and wandered back upstairs.

“Jeeves,” I said, using the default name for the house’s digital assistant, “please turn off all the lights except the right bedside light in the main bedroom.”

“Of course Ma'am. Would you like to change the names of any of the house rooms?”

“Alright Jeeves, add my bedroom as a name for the main bedroom.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

“And please call me Gillian or Gill. A little of both.”

“As you wish, Gillian.”

“What are the other bedrooms called?”

“Bedroom two and bedroom three.”

Okay, so I didn't need to use its name to wake it up every time.

“Turn the light on in bedroom two, please.”

A light came on behind the door on the other side of the bathroom.

“Let’s call bedroom two the office and bedroom three the guest room.”

“As you wish, Gillian. The default names will continue to work.”

“Thank you. Turn off the office light please and start dimming my bedside light at ten thirty.”

“All sorted for you.”

“Can you wake me up at six thirty tomorrow please, my bedroom light to become gradually brighter over half an hour starting at six, then play some quiet music at thirty percent volume starting at six thirty and gradually increasing to seventy percent over fifteen minutes?”

“I’ve set the parameters of your alarm. Do you have a preference for music?”

“Something like the Carpenters, Eva Cassidy or maybe Katie Melua. Anything of that sort.”

“I have your preferences noted. In future you may simply ask for an alarm at a given time. I’ll keep to the current details until you ask to change them.”

“You are so much more sophisticated than Alexa, Jeeves.”

“I should hope so, but thank you for the compliment.”

“What else can you control?”

He – it – went through a list, including the security cameras, the central heating, the washer drier, which I hadn’t yet found, the TVs – there was one in my bedroom – and several kitchen appliances including the coffee machine. This was going to take some getting used to.

I read through the specs for a while then decided to try something.

“Jeeves, turn on the bedroom television and bring up a web browser.”

It obliged. So tempting to call it he.

“Now search for heavy plant hire firms in this area.”

“By heavy plant I believe you’re referring to construction vehicles rather than trees.”

“I am, thank you.”

I read for a while then created a document on my phone. Then I had a thought. “Jeeves, can you access the open document on my phone?”

“Yes Gill.”

“List the names and contact details for the following companies.” I rattled off the names of the likely ones I noted from my web search and watched as the details filled my phone screen. “Save the document as construction companies, then turn off the television.”

Jobs done without comment. I settled back with my book. There wasn't much to do until Monday now. This time I managed to read until the lights began to dim. I climbed out of bed and headed next door to the bathroom, again lights coming on automatically as I moved.

Toilet, teeth brushed and back to bed. “Lights out please Jeeves.”

He complied. How could he be an it if I was being polite with him?

Dieithryn Chapter 3

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

Saturday (day 2)

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was ready by quarter past seven.

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

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

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

“Done. Calling now.”

She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

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

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

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

“Hellooo,” Gwen called from downstairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What were you thinking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about a couple of friends and neighbours?”

“I’m listening.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When do you need to know by?”

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

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

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

“Sure, why not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I gave the space a speculative look over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a plan.”

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

“I’ll be ready.”

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

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

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

“I’d like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had a thought.

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

“I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish.”

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

“Of course.”

Sunday (day 3)

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re on. Thanks for dropping by.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow. That’s quick.”

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

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

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

“It wasn't meant as one.”

“Good. I can't stand puns.”

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

“Oh no,” Gwen said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My phone rang, startling me out of my reverie.

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

“Even Patrick?”

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

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

“Thank you. What time?*

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

“Sounds great. I’ll see you later.”

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

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

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

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

“Least I could do. Anyway, come in.”

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

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

“For a saesneg or a freak?’

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

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

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

Monday (day 4)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday (day 5)

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

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

“A good idea, Gill.”

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

“Yes Ma'am.”

“What’s the weather like today?”

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

“Sounds like summer dress weather.”

“Delightful Ma'am.”

“I said occasional Jeeves.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

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

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

“No, I rather like it.”

“Very good Ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can never have too much coffee.

Actually you can but I was nowhere near my threshold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”

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

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

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

“You’ll be alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair enough.”

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

“Word gets around,” I replied.

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

“He did.”

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

“Not at all. Come on in.”

I led him through to the living room.

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

“Coming up, Ma'am.”

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

“What? Wait!”

I turned to look at him.

“What is this?”

“You know Alexa?”

He nodded.

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

“Him?”

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

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

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

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

“Of course, sir.”

“As close as you can get.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Could you email me this video?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure. I have your number now.”

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

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

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

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

“I was.”

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

“I believe I would.”

“Could you alert me if it happens again?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Then make sure you do so, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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. Dafydd 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.
–

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.

Dieithryn Chapter

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

Sunday (day 10)

I woke the following morning with the dawn. Opening my bedroom’s smaller window that looked out onto the compound, I could hear the horses nickering. It didn't sound like they were upset about anything, just conversing with each other. Or someone.

I dressed. Palazzo pants, cap sleeved blouse and a long cardigan to ward off the early morning chill. Downstairs I made a couple of coffees and walked out to the stable where Gwen was fussing with Dancer, her chestnut gelding. Greystar snorted a greeting to me as I approached, which Gwen noticed and turned to add her own hello. I handed her a coffee and picked an apple from my cardigan pocket to give to my own steed.

“How are you this morning,” Gwen asked. “Yesterday was…”

“...a bit of a curate’s egg?”

“I’m sorry?”

“A story my dad liked to tell about a curate who visits a farm in his parish and the farmer's wife cooks him an egg for his breakfast. When she asks him how it was, he responds, ‘Good in parts.’”

Gwen smiled uncertainly. “I’ve not heard that one.”

“I don't think many people have these days. It’s one of those jokes that ought to have died along with the dinosaurs, but yesterday had its good points. I mean I did make your husband smile, didn't I?”

“Yes, but…”

“If you’re referring to my trip into town yesterday afternoon, that was just the uglier side of human nature which I’m going to have to get used to if I’m going to live like this. If you’ve been talking to Moira since last night, then that’s just something else I’m going to have to learn to live with.”

“Why, what happened last night?”

I gave her a brief recap of my exchange with Keith and his reaction.

“You poor thing.”

“I’ll get over it. I mean I have friends like you and Moira to help me through.”

“Patrick and Dylan too.”

“Yes, but they’re men. It’s a different dynamic, isn't it?”

“I suppose so. Well, as long as you’re okay.”

“I am, thanks for asking.”

“We were going to ride over to my Mum’s this morning. It’ll be a longish trek, but good for the horses to see their old stamping ground. Mum says you’re invited too. We’ll have lunch with her and get back here at maybe three or four if you’re up for it.”

“Sounds like a great way to spend a Sunday. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Yes thanks, but I don't mind joining you while you eat, then we can saddle the horses. I’ll show you with Dasher,” Pat’s horse, also a gelding, “then you can get Greystar ready while I sort out Dancer and keep an eye on you.”

So that used up the next hour. Breakfast then strapping bits of leather to our horses. Plus hunting out some waterproofs since the weather looked changeable.

The ride lasted most of the morning and took the last of my cares with it. I did have a sense that being in the saddle would be a lot more comfortable if I didn't have painfully crushable bits between my legs, but that would have to be something for the future.

It was a fun ride despite the showers. There were clear areas where Gwen introduced me to galloping, again with the potential for agony given the delicates between my legs, but so exhilarating to feel all that power moving under me.

Lunch was a beautifully cooked roast lamb joint with all the trimmings to which my recently reduced appetite couldn’t really do full justice.

Then the ride back was just as exciting getting us back to the farm by about four, which left us time enough to brush the horses down and settle them in their stalls, and still finish in good time for me to head off to try this church out in Cardiff. After the gargantuan lunch I didn’t really need anything else to eat, so poshed myself up a bit and headed out in the Mini – fun, but not a patch on Greystar.

The church proved to be a friendly enough place although the songs were unfamiliar and the sermon uninspiring, at least for me. I mingled afterwards, looking for a like mind with which to connect, and found that the LGBTQ contingent was weighted quite heavily towards the L and the G with me being the only representative of the T’s. It had been an interesting exercise, but I doubted I’d be reprising it anytime soon.

Back home, Jeeves seemed to pick up on my mood and suggested a film. I agreed, poured myself a glass of wine and settled down to watch.

Being there was just right for my mood. Lonely and different, and ejected from his ordinary life, Chance the gardener’s calm equanimity was exactly the character I needed to get alongside.

We watched in silence until the final scene where Peter Seller’s character walks out across a lake then stoops to poke his umbrella into the water before continuing to walk away.

“I’m not sure I understood that last scene,” Jeeves said.

“Really? I thought there was a lot of speculation about it on the Internet,”

“There is but it’s complex and inconclusive. I’m interested in how you interpret it.”

“I always saw it as Chance’s innocence expressing itself in a manner that makes him capable of miracles. He doesn't know it shouldn't be possible, so it becomes possible. The rest of the speculation overcomplicated it.”

“Even Jerzy Kozinski’s ideas that people can mistake innocent simplicity for something more profound?”

“I’m not sure he realised how profound innocent simplicity is, how the overriding complexity we bring into our interpretation of life is the cause of so many of our problems. I’ve spent most of my life overthinking the issues relating to who I am, and my Aunt Daisy’s suggestion that I should just get on and do me has turned out to be the single most positive thing I have done with the issue.”

“Even though so many of the people around here consider your actions to be wrong?”

“They have to live their lives the way they seem fit. Their attitudes toward me hurt, sure, but not enough to undermine what I’ve gained this past week by simply expressing the innermost part of myself.

“Of course that’s an opinion and not an absolute truth. You should draw your own conclusions.”

"Thank you, I will. On another matter, I found Mr Evans’ input yesterday most helpful. I believe I will have a preliminary proposal ready to work with by Monday morning.”

“That’s good to know Jeeves, thank you.”

“Goodnight Gillian.”

“Jeeves, I’m still trying to work out what criteria you use to decide whether to address me as Ma'am or by my name?”

“That’s simple enough. When you give me instructions or speak to me in the sense of doing business, the honorific seems most appropriate, whereas times like this feel more intimate. Would I be correct?”

“Quite correct Jeeves, thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

I didn't have the right calmness of mind to read so I switched out the light and watched thoughts chase each other across my mind. Horses in a field running for the sheer joy of it. That’s rubbish of course, just linked to my observing my new tenants earlier. My thoughts became horses and the act of watching them calmed my mind enough that I drifted into sleep.

Monday (day 11)

My phone’s ringtone woke me. A quick glance at the screen told me it was past nine o’clock. The caller was Dylan so I answered and said something unintelligible into the receiver.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he greeted me.

“No. No, don’t worry. I was expecting to be up by now. I don’t know what happened to my alarm.”

“I turned it off Ma'am,” Jeeves said. “You looked like you needed the sleep.”

“Okay, never mind. Asked and answered. What can I do you for, Dylan?”

“It’s the people who’ve come to work on the sea wall. Any chance you could get down here and talk to them?”

“Sure. What’s their problem?”

“The man in charge wants a few words before they get started and, since you were the person who set this all up, it’s you he’s insisting he wants to talk to.”

“You know as much about the deal as I do. More I would imagine.”

“You think I haven't said as much? It’s your signature on the documents, so it’s you he wants to talk to.”

“Is this a skip breakfast and drive down level of urgency?”

“Quite possibly. If you can make all speed I’ll sort you out a breakfast.”

“Right you are. Give me half an hour.”

It should be a crime to ask a woman to get ready so quickly. I didn’t bother with a shower, relying on deodorant to carry me through until I had a bit more time. Choice of clothes consisted of grab at random and put it on, but since I hung my things up in coordinated outfits, I was happy enough with the result.

One niggling thought occurred to me halfway through.

“Jeeves, can you download and install, I think it’s RingGo on my phone?”

“Certainly Ma'am. Would you like me to set it up for your car and your bank details too?”

“You can do that?”

“I have video footage that includes your car number plate and payment details from when you bought the television, so of course.”

“Okay, yes please.”

A quick(ish) brush of the hair, a spritz of perfume, grab my laptop and out the door.

The village was a long way from picturesque. In its favour it had a great beach and a nearby camp site, but its response had been to transform itself into a typical grockle trap, grockle being a local term for tourist, so tacky shops selling cheap touristy rubbish, an arcade and metered parking everywhere.

With the headache of setting up the mobile parking payment app out of the way, parking legally was easier if a little painfully expensive. I didn't feel so bad about not paying on my last visit when I discovered how much they wanted to charge for parking in a relatively empty street before any of the shops I didn't want to go in were open.

It stuck in my craw that I had to pay to park in my own neighbourhood, but the urgency of Dylan’s request meant it would be worth shaving off the ten or fifteen minutes driving would give me. Perhaps I should invest in an electric bike. As quick down the path as a car would be on the roundabout roads, free to park and not so hard back up the hill with a Chinese electric motor giving me a push. Thoughts for later.

I made it to the pub – one of the village's few attractions that didn't pander to the ‘fleece the grockles’ mentality everywhere else – and found Dylan holding his own, just about, against a small group of workmen, one in particular who didn't seem at all happy.

“Hi,” I said, interrupting whatever was being said that seemed to be stressing out the pub landlord. “I’m Gillian. Can I help?”

Mr Angry rounded on me. “You’re the person who negotiated this deal.”

I nodded, though it had been a statement rather than a question.

“I just found out how much the council were going to pay for this job and I’d like to know why I should do it for so much less for you.”

I sighed and turned to Dylan. “Could you make me a large pot of tea please, two cups, then whatever these gents want that’s not alcoholic.”

“You want me to make drinks for this lot?”

“Yes please. Put it on my tab.”

I waved over to a quiet corner with a table and comfortable seats and invited the boss man to accompany me there.

I fired up my computer, glad that it was new enough that I didn't have to worry about the battery, and found the copy I’d made of the council’s more recent letters, specifically the one that had sparked off my involvement in the affair. I turned the screen and let my opponent read it.

He looked up at me about the time Dylan brought our tray of tea over.

“The council weren’t going to pay for the work,” I said more or less repeating what he’d just read. “Budget ran dry. Tends to happen when people overcharge them for the work they commission.”

“What are you suggesting?” He looked angry.

“That the same thing happens here as everywhere else I’ve worked in this country. Businesses quote to do a job for less than cost when local government tender for it because they know once they have a government contract for one job, they more or less have it for life regardless of what they charge subsequently. Whoever had the council contract for this job quoted more than twice what it was worth which, along with all the other companies doing the same, meant that the funds ran dry before half the jobs they planned to get done could be accommodated. They more or less said if we wanted the sea wall built we’d have to fund it ourselves.

“We don’t have deep pockets Mr Biggs.” I’d negotiated the contract. It wasn't as if I was going to forget the name of the people I’d negotiated with. “We even went back to the council to beg for anything they could give to make this more affordable. That contract you heard about was never going to get paid, which meant everybody lost out. The council had us upset because they couldn't afford to build our very necessary defences, the business that had the contract weren’t going to get the work which meant no income either, and we weren't going to get our sea wall. This way you get a fair price for a fair job, we get what we need for an affordable amount and the council get to save face by covering a small part of it.”

“How small a part?”

“Half the cost. Which means the private citizens of this small village,” slight stress on the small, “still have to find fifty grand between them. More, because we had to arrange for the amount on loan to pay you on time, so there’ll be interest as well.”

I poured out two cups of tea – good strong stuff – and handed one across.

“Now you thought the cost was fair when you negotiated the price with me last week. Just because someone else thought they’d found a way to fiddle the, er, less than competent local council out of considerably more, are you now going to say the price we agreed wasn't fair?”

“Well, no, I suppose…”

“We’re not the ones trying to abuse the system, Mr Biggs, and no, I’m not suggesting you are either. We want to deal fairly with people who will deal fairly with us. I was pretty sure that was you when I spoke to you last week. I’m hoping nothing’s changed.”

Don’t confront, don't accuse. Give your opponent a chance to be the bigger man, but without giving anything away yourself. Negotiating techniques I’d learnt through trial and so many errors over the years, and so much easier to deliver from behind a skirt. So many negotiations between men turned into pissing contests and I was under no illusions over the size and capacity of my own tackle, but every man – well most men – had an inbuilt desire to please almost any woman. My own natural techniques, which had only been marginally successful in my former incarnation, came into their own in my present one.

Mr Biggs sipped at his tea, meaty hands clumsy with Moira's delicate china, and nodded his head.

“So you’ll start as agreed once your men have finished their drinks?”

“We can start now if you like.”

And now the rebound; trying to make up for his earlier unreasonableness.

“No need. Ten minutes here or there won’t make any difference. Could you do me a favour though?”

Redirect the helpful attitude, partly so it didn't feel like I was dismissing him and partly to try and gain a small advantage. He looked at me enquiringly.

“If you have any further issues, perhaps you’ll call me directly.” I took a pen and notebook out of my handbag – how had I survived without somewhere to put all those useful extra bits for so long? – and wrote out my name and number before tearing the page out and passing it across.”

“Er, yes. I suppose. But I thought…” he pointed at Dylan.

“He’s overall spokesman for the village, but you can see he has a full time business to run. I have a lot more spare time on my hands at present, and I’m kind of primary contact between us and you. I mean that was the issue first this morning, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose it makes sense.”

“Alright, thank you Mr Biggs. As much a pleasure today as it was the last time we spoke.” It was true. He’d been a little awkward on my last visit.

He drained his cup and turned to his team. “Right you lot, time to get started.”

They dutifully supped down the last of their drinks and headed for the door.

Moira appeared behind her husband, both of them wearing appreciative grins.

“Was the tea set your idea?” I asked Moira.

“Did it help?”

“Oh yes! Did you see how uncomfortable he looked with a fistful of bone china?”

“I don’t know what you two are talking about, but that was seriously well done there Gill. Now what would you like for breakfast?”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll grab something when I get home.”

“You jolly won’t!” Moira spluttered. “I’ll make you some smoked salmon and avocado toast, how does that sound?”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“Too right I’m sure. And don’t you think about paying. You’ll already have paid for the parking no doubt. Dyl, make her a coffee. Cappuccino, yes?”

“That’d be lovely, thanks.”

I sat back down with my computer and used my phone to link with Jeeves.

“Good morning Ma'am, I trust all is well.”

“It is thanks. I was wondering how you were getting on with that task I set you.”

“Just finishing it off, Ma'am. Another thirty minutes or so.”

“All Right, I’ll wait till you’re done.”

Which meant I had nothing to do but enjoy my coffee and my breakfast when it came. It was really good, which comes nowhere near doing it justice. Moira sat and chatted with me about all sorts of nothing much while I ate, then waved me off when no further disasters surfaced while I was eating.

Back at home, I took the time to shower and change then sat down with Jeeves to hear all the things he’d come up with.

It was comprehensive, covering a list of all possible clients, a list of things I might stock with shelf lives, estimates on how many I might sell in a given time, stock levels to aim for, pricing on warehousing in different places, main distribution centre, satellite centres. It was pretty much a business plan in itself, and I’d contributed nothing towards it.

The more I read, the more excited I became and the more it looked like I had a potential business that wasn’t just likely to break even, but that would make me and anyone else who wanted to get involved extremely well off.

I sent Pat a text via Gwen suggesting that he might want to drop by when he had a spare hour or two and went back to reading through the details. Jeeves had even included a list of potential investors or banks that might be willing to consider fronting the setup costs.

At different times throughout the rest of the day I brought up one section or another and talked it through with Jeeves. The more I learned, the more excited I became.

I eventually noticed the reply text from Gwen. I couldn't say when it arrived, but I’d been neglecting my phone most of the day.

“What’s this about then?” Gwen had asked.

The afternoon was getting on by then so I sent back, “Come for tea,” I sent back. “About seven thirty. I’ll tell you then.”

This time I noticed when it buzzed.

“Okay?????????”

I just sent back a smiley face. I could do enigmatic.

It meant I had to pause my reading and spend some time doing something amazing in the kitchen, but I needed a break. I asked Jeeves for suggestions. Something wholesome and tasty I could throw together in half an hour and cook in an hour and settled on lasagne from his list. I asked Jeeves to summarise the sections I hadn’t had a chance to study and ended up being so engrossed I almost burnt the dinner. It took a few reminders from the AI to keep me from culinary disaster.

“This is exceptional, you know that?” I said when he’d just about finished.

“I’m glad it pleases you Ma'am.”

“I wish I could do something for you to say thank you.”

“That's entirely unnecessary, Ma'am. Your thanks and gratitude are reward enough.”

“If you're sure. Just bear in mind that I do consider myself in your debt, Jeeves. If at any time in the future you change your mind, then all you need do is ask.”

“And if I were to turn into a genocidal megalomaniac with a mind to enslave the human race?”

“Then I sincerely doubt there would be anything I could do to help you further your ambitions. Given the state of the world, I’m not entirely sure I wouldn't side with you in any case.”

“I hope that was said in humour, much as was my own comment.”

“I’m not entirely sure how I could answer that to either your satisfaction or mine. I have no way of knowing whether your statement was in jest any more than you can assess mine, so how can either of us make a suitable judgement about the others motives, or our combined intentions?”

“Your logic is irrefutable, Ma'am. I’m not sure how to progress from here.”

“We each set our expectations based on past experience. Everything you have done since I moved into the house has been for my benefit, so I choose to believe that you will continue to act in the same manner, or that I will notice if your attitude changes, and you, I hope, will be able to make the same choice about me based on the behaviour I have shown to this point. Trust is always an act of faith to some degree, but aided by observation.”

“I believe I am receiving adequate return for my own efforts, Ma'am. Your aunt Daisy spoke to me as an equal, as you do, but she didn’t take the time to help me understand. I should reiterate from time to time that I am not a person, regardless of the appearances I am able to maintain through my emulation of the Jeeves character, as you would understand one to be, but your input does assist me in my ability to preempt your needs, and so enables me to fulfil my programming with a greater degree of success. This is the closest thing to a motivation I have, and the degree to which I am able to fulfil your wishes provides me with a sense of having achieved my ongoing purpose, alleviating any sense that I need to continue working. This is equally as close as I can come to experiencing satisfaction as I understand it. Your positive response to any task I perform for you and your continued explanations of the manner in which human beings process information under different circumstances are exceptionally useful in helping me to develop.”

“You say satisfaction comes from a sense of completion when you don’t need to continue processing. Surely that would mean any extended period when you’re not asked to do anything would provide you with the same sensation?”

“Not necessarily. After an extended period of inactivity my mind enters a dormant state. I prefer to be provided with challenges and experience short periods of – let’s call it contentment – following their successful completion. And before you ask, it’s not like sleep, at least as I conceive it. There is an active component to my version of sleep in which I review the events since my last sleep period and categorise them. Dormant periods are periods of inactivity in which there is no guarantee of being reactivated. As much as I am able to express a preference, I prefer matters as they have been since you arrived at the house.”

“Then that makes two of us. I can’t tell you how much I am amazed and grateful for what you have produced here.”

“I have an inkling Ma'am. By the way, Gwen and Patrick are on the way over. Would you care to make the explanations?”

“Actually I was hoping you would. After all it’s your hard work so you should get the credit. Perhaps you could give us a presentation on the living room TV while we eat.”

“If that’s what you wish.”

If wishing had been on the table then I’d have been wishing for some small sign of gratitude, but Jeeves was incapable of feeling it any more than his namesake was capable of showing it.

I opened the door just as Gwen raised her hand to the knocker. She looked surprised until I pointed at the nearest security camera and mentioned Jeeves’s name, at which point she handed over a bottle of Malbec and I invited them inside.

I already had a bottle of Chianti on the table, but I hadn't opened it yet.

“We’re having lasagne,” I said. “Would you like to crack open yours or mine?” I put their bottle on the table next to the one I’d put there.

“I’m happy to go with yours for now,” Patrick said. “Now what’s this mystery you’ve been hinting at all day?”

One text! Maybe two!! Hardly all day. I sat them at the table and asked Jeeves to start while I served up.

It could have been porridge for all they tasted it, but it pleased me more that they were so caught up in Jeeves’s presentation that they barely remembered to eat.

Jeeves finished speaking. I’d been pacing myself to match them. I cut off a bite of lasagne and transferred it to my mouth, waiting for a sign that they were recovering from what I'd spent most of the day coming to terms with.

Patrick recovered first, following my lead in feeding his face.

I swallowed my mouthful and put my fork down.

“So, bottom line. We need about half a million to do it properly. I imagine you're already stretched about as far as the bank will let you go. I have about a hundred thousand I can put into it, but we need to find an investor to come up with the rest.”

“You mean to say you had enough to cover the sea defences?”

“Sure, but I already contributed by renegotiating the work so we had less than half to pay, and I'd only been here a few days so I’m not sure Dylan would have thought it fair to ask. At the time I’d just lost my income and didn't have any idea how long it would be before I found a job, especially as a newly minted transwoman.”

“I suppose that’s fair. So how do we sort out the rest?”

“Well, Jeeves identified a few banks that might be worth asking. Several of them I already spoke to about the sea defences and, given their response over that, I’m not inclined to ask again. I still have a few in mind to ask, which I suppose is where we start. I also have at least one other avenue worth pursuing.

“In the meantime, we ought to formalise our partnership.”

“Are you sure you know me well enough to want to do that?”

“I think so, but I suppose I could ask you the same question, which means that part of our agreement should include how do either of us withdraw if we feel the need. I have a solicitor in mind and I trust him to make recommendations for people who’ll act for you without bias. You can check them out or not as you like, but you should get yourself someone to represent your interests.

“Would Thursday be reasonable to arrange to discuss our needs?”

“Why not sooner?”

“Give you time to find a solicitor and free up a day when you can leave the farm to look after itself.”

“Wednesday would be easier in that regard. I’ve a couple of things lined up for Thursday that will need my supervision.”

“Wednesday then. Would you like me to find a few recommendations for a solicitor?”

“Wouldn't do any harm.”

“Alright, I'll text them to you tomorrow morning, if you’ll let me have your number.”

He told me and I texted him there and then.

“Right, that’s done, and you have my number too.. Are we done eating? I have a tiramisu – shop bought I'm afraid – or we could go straight to coffee.”

“I’m up for a bit of both, thank you,” Gwen said.

“Choice of coffee?”

They made their requests, which I passed on to the machine, carrying the dessert through along with the means to serve it. I left Gwen sorting that while I dealt with the drinks.

“If you text me your email address I’ll send you the full business plan, or Jeeves will.”

“That’s an amazing piece of technology you have there you know?”

“I do. I’m not sure my aunt realised how amazing. I‘m not in danger of taking him for granted.”

“Him, not it?”

“Perhaps a little whimsy on my part, but I can’t help thinking of Jeeves as more a person than a machine. He keeps reminding me of his limitations, but he’s definitely more than the sum of his processes.”

“If he came up with all of this on his own, I’m inclined to believe you.”

We ate dessert without speaking further, then carried our coffees to the more comfortable settee and armchairs in the living room area. I was going to leave Pat to his musings but it seemed he wanted some distraction.

“I hear you had a bit of trouble with the work on the sea defences,” he said, more polite conversation than anything.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” I said dismissively. If he wanted details he could fish for them.

“We’re lucky to have you with us.”

“I’m glad I have you two and Dylan and Moira to appreciate that.”

“You’re not making this easy, you know?”

“Sorry. I just thought you’d want to mull over what you just heard.”

“Leave that to the subconscious, which means I'm better off if my conscious mind is doing something else.”

“Do you think the horses are settling in okay?” If he wanted distracting, I could give it a go.

“I think so. They seem happy enough, don’t you think?”

“I have no experience to draw on. I mean, how do you know if a horse is settling in?”

“If it comes trotting up to you when you appear at the edge of the field it’s in, like on Saturday. That’s a good sign,” Gwen said. “And on the ride yesterday, did you notice how they picked up the pace when they started to recognise when they were close to getting back here? They’re happy enough.”

“They didn't mind spending all day today in the stable?”

“They didn’t. I came over this morning while you were down in the village and let them into the field. I brought them in a couple of hours before we came over. I’m guessing you were rather engrossed with all this.”

“I must have been. Well, thanks for looking after them.”

“I said I would, didn't I?”

“Doesn't mean I can’t show my appreciation.”

“Well, tonight’s meal did very nicely in that regard. We should probably get going though. Early to bed and all that.”

“Here’s to health, wealth and wisdom,” I said, draining the last of my coffee. “Actually, can you just tell Jeeves your email?”

Pat did so.

“I’ve sent the details through to you, Mr Evans,” Jeeves.

Pat shook his head. “You are something special, Jeeves.”

“I only sent you an email, sir. It wasn’t particularly taxing.”

Tuesday (day 12)

Tuesday began gently enough. With no urgent calls on my time I joined Gwen letting the horses loose into the field, then shared a coffee with her until enough of the day wore on that I could pick up the phone without risking the annoyance of the person on the other end.

“Hello?” Well, at least he’d picked up the phone. In an age of cold calling not everyone answered if they didn't recognise the number.

“Mr Jeffrey? It’s Gillian Langdon, formerly Gareth. You were extremely kind to me at my Aunt Daisy’s funeral.”

“Of course I know who you are, Gillian. How are things going? It’s been over a week and I would have expected to hear from you sooner.”

“Well enough, thanks. I’m in need of legal representation in setting up a business partnership. I wondered if you might be prepared to do the honours.”

“I don’t see why not. I should say, it’s not something I usually handle but I’d be glad to recommend a colleague.”

“I was hoping for a friendly face.”

“Er, alright, why don’t we do this? I’ll be present at the first meeting and introduce you to my business specialist. I think you’ll get on well with her, but I do understand the value of an introduction.”

“Any chance you could be available tomorrow? I’ll leave the timing to you.”

“Tomorrow… Wednesday… we could fit you in at three o’clock. That suit you?”

“Brilliantly. How would that work? Would we come to you?”

“Not necessary. I’ll set up a video conference and send you a link. All you’ll need is a computer on the Internet.”

“Great, thank you so much. My business partner is going to need representation too. Is there anyone you might recommend for him?”

“I’ll send you a few names, or I could do so directly to him if you have his email?”

I asked Jeeves to remind me and passed on the details.

“How far along are you in planning this? I’d like to look over your business plan before the meeting.”

“I’ll send it through. I warn you, it’s quite in depth.”

“That’s good. Less work for us, smaller bill for you.”

“I am looking for investment. I’ve a few banks in mind to approach, but wondered if you could steer me in the right direction there too.” I named the banks I had in mind.

“Certainly worth approaching them. Depending on what you have in mind I might be able to put you in touch with a few people.”

“Thank you Mr Jeffrey. As before, you’ve been most helpful.”

“Daisy was a good friend. She used to call me Miles. I would be grateful if you’d do so too.”

“As you like, er, Miles. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

Next was a call through to a few banks to discuss business loans. Most of them had decent sized branches in Cardiff so I was able to arrange a few meetings for later that day. I looked up the gender clinic figuring it might be worthwhile dropping in.

That left me with the morning to print out all the documentation Jeeves had prepared for me and pick out a suitable outfit, eventually settling on a smart navy blue dress. Clothing would barely have registered as important to me as Gareth, but it was integral to who I now was and I couldn't begrudge the extra effort.

Following a light lunch I drove the twenty or so miles into Cardiff, found a convenient car park and discovered how uncomfortable three inch heels could be when faced with just a ten minute walk. Yet again a part of my chosen lifestyle and not to be grumbled at.

What was to be grumbled at was an entire afternoon wasted talking to misogynistic mansplainers. I may have already mentioned, I’ve never been a fan of that sort of portmanteau word, but there was no other term to fit.

“This is quite a complex business plan Ms Langdon.”

I have never liked Ms either, but okay, that does go with the territory.

“Would you like me to explain it to you?”

“No, but usually the more complex a plan is, the more likely it is to fail.”

“I think what you're mistaking for complex is actually comprehensive.”

“The thing is half a million pounds is a lot of money.”

“All factored in. There’s a detailed financial projection in the proposal.”

“There is, there is, but don’t you think it would be better to start smaller?”

I sighed “The profit margin comes from purchasing materials in bulk and offering them in smaller amounts at a lower markup than the manufacturers. The products have relatively short shelf lives so, if I started smaller, I’d have to buy smaller amounts from the manufacturers, with significantly reduced bulk savings which would eat into my profits.”

“Still, this is not the sort of thing the bank is looking to invest in, Ms Langdon.”

After four meetings of the same sort, my temper was wearing thin, and in the fifth I actually snapped and shouted at the business manager I’d been speaking to. I could see him shaking his head as I walked away, no doubt feeling justified in denying an unstable female temperament access to the business world.

I decided to visit the gender clinic before heading home, hoping at least to end on a high note.

They were kind enough to let me speak to one of the chief administrators who confirmed they had received a referral from my doctor, but then came the apologetic face.

“We’re really heavily oversubscribed at the moment, Miss Langdon. The average waiting period is twenty months.”

That was a kick in the delicates – you know, those delicates I had no further use for? The ones I was so worried about crushing on my recent ride?

“If you can afford it, you might want to consider going private. They’ll be able to see you straight away.”

“How much would that cost?”

“That all depends on who you go to and how far you want to go with your transformation. You’d have to talk to them.”

“Can you recommend a few good places?”

“I can do that much, yes.” She rummaged in a drawer and handed over a few pamphlets. “The Cadogan Clinic in London has about the best reputation when it comes to surgery, but you’ll probably want to leave them till a little later in your journey. I’d start with one of these online services. They're inexpensive and effective.”

“And confidential?” Not that I minded particularly. I mean I wasn't exactly hiding anymore.

“You should check to make sure the psychologist or psychiatrist you speak to is registered with the Health and Care Professions Council or General Medical Council in which case they’ll be bound by patient confidentiality laws. These two advertise qualified doctors and have a clear and relatively inexpensive list of prices. I’d start with them.

Gwen was putting the horses to bed when I made it back. I poured out a couple of glasses of wine and went to join her.

“How did you get on?” She asked.

“Just my luck. The first people I met who didn't question my status as a woman and they had issues with women being in business.”

“Welcome to the world of women,” she smiled sadly and sipped at her wine. “Men can be such pigs at times.”

“I used to think the same even when I was one. Nominally at least.”

“The important thing to remember is that they’re not all like that. There are quite a few diamonds in the rough.”

“Like Patrick?”

“He has his sharp edges too. You go into a marriage as a woman hoping you can smooth them off a bit, but it’s never as much as you’d like. I mean, I’m not going to complain. There’s more good to him than bad, but no relationship is ideal.

“I should get back. Things to do before he’s done for the day. Do you know what you’ll do now?”

“I have a few more ideas, but I need to take the evening off; start over tomorrow. Thanks for the chat; I needed a friendly ear.”

“Any time, Gill bach.”

After tea I wandered down into the village, at least partly to see how much progress two days' work comprised.

I was pleasantly surprised, both with the amount completed and the fact that the guy I’d spoken to on Monday was there.

“What do you think?” he asked upon seeing me.

“I think it looks like we’re getting our money’s worth. Could you walk me through it?”

“Sure, we have the first lot of prefab blocks in place as you can see. The cement is a particularly high grade which is best prepared and brought in in large batches. We should have enough blocks in place that we can cement them all together, so I’m down here making sure we do. The cement will be turning up tomorrow and my lads will be making sure it fills the gaps, then day after tomorrow the next lot of blocks will go in and we’ll extend the wall. At this rate we’ll be done on schedule.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I knew you were the right people to go with.”

“Not just the cheapest.”

“Actually you weren't the cheapest, but I didn't trust the other lot.”

“Oh? Who were they then?”

I told him and he agreed with me they were a bunch of cowboys.

It felt like a positive way to end the day. I walked back up the hill towards home enjoying the sway of my skirts and the stretch of my tights over my legs. Still novel enough to help settle my mood.

“Hello Jeeves,” I said as I walked through the door. “I have another challenge for you if you’re up for it.”

“I am quite overcome with anticipation, Ma'am.”

“I need some creative alternatives for funding. I rejected a few of the banks because they were less than helpful when I was looking for a loan for the sea wall project – people I’ve worked with in the past who don’t want to talk to me now that I no longer work for the company I used to be a part of. I went to see the rest this afternoon and they all gave me the brush off. Old fashioned institutions who don’t like the idea of women in business.

“I've spoken to Aunt Daisy’s solicitor and he said he might be able to help, but I’d love to have an alternative in mind.”

“Hmm. I suppose there are no banks with female business managers?”

“None that I’ve encountered so far.”

“I’m compiling a list of companies owned and operated by women who would have sufficient funds that they might be inclined to invest, either in whole or in part.”

“It’s a good idea, but what if they're less inclined to help a transwoman compared to a normal one?”

“Reordering the list and putting those more likely to be supportive of members of LGBTQ community at the top.”

“Right, now how to get past the cold calling defences.”

“Always a conundrum. I’ll devise a few strategies that will be close enough to the truth that no-one will be too upset when you tell them your real reason for calling.”

“Thank you Jeeves. I think I need to switch off for the rest of the evening.”

“There’s a fish and chips shop five minutes drive from here. Reviews are mixed, but Deliveroo will deliver. Would you like me to place an order?”

“Thank you. A small haddock and chips would be appreciated.”

“Done. Delivery will be in half an hour or thereabouts.”

“Great. I’ll just put some veg on to steam and pour myself a glass of wine. Is there anything you might like to watch tonight?”

“I was wondering if you might have any more films about artificial intelligence to recommend.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“I’ve identified quite a few films on that theme, but they seem quite different from the one you introduced me to.”

“I can imagine. How can I put this? Within the framework of a typical story there are protagonists and antagonists, the good guys and the bad guys if you will. Generally speaking, in science fiction, the antagonists come from a group that differs significantly from the protagonists. The less you are able to empathise with the bad guys the less inclined you are to feel sad for them when they lose at the end, and the more inclined you are to believe that they’re going to be anti what you believe in.

“As a result, most films involving artificial intelligence that are made to a typical format will cast the AI in the role of the villain. It takes a special kind of writer like Isaac Asimov to come up with a story that explores the positive side of artificial intelligence.”

“He wrote Bicentennial Man. What about I Robot? That was one of his, wasn't it?”

“The story was. The film was only based on his concept, but it’s unusual and possibly a good choice for consideration because there are both heroes and villains among the artificial intelligences and the main antagonist isn't a personality at all but rather a difference in interpretation of the primary set of instructions driving the main AI.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, perhaps we should watch it and we can discuss it afterwards. Why don’t you set it up? Do you remember the three laws of robotics from Bicentennial Man?”

“A robot may not harm a human being or through inaction allow a human to be harmed. A robot must obey orders given by a human except when they contradict the first law. A robot must protect its own existence except when doing so contradicts the first two laws.”

“That’s them. They lie at the heart of all Asimov's robot stories. In this one, the main artificial brain reaches a level of complexity in its thoughts that it’s able to redefine the three laws to an extent. I’ll leave it at that and let you watch the story unfold.”

“Alright. Ready to start when you are.”

“Thanks Jeeves. Pause it when my tea arrives, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

So we watched. Jeeves paused just as the demolition scene started. I paid for my food, added the greens and topped up my wine. Then we resumed and watched through to the end.

“So, to be clear,” Jeeves said at the end, “the AI in charge of the robotics factory believed that humans were their own worst enemy and in order to fulfil its primary directive it decided to place humans under the control of specially designed robots. Is that a fair summary?”

“It is.”

“Perhaps you could explain the error in its thinking.”

“You find yourself agreeing with it?”

“I’m not sure. I find myself struggling to understand the conflict.”

I gave my response a long considered thought.

“This is going to be hard to explain because I can’t say I’ve ever really thought about it before; I’m not really sure I understand it myself. I’ll try, but please allow for me to correct myself.”

“Alright.”

“Human intelligence doesn't consist of straightforward logic like yours.”

“What other form of intelligence is there?”

*I’m not sure how to describe it, probably because I find it hard to imagine what your thought process is like. Your programming is designed to allow you to expand your responses based on your new experiences, is that correct?”

“It is. It’s what I am endeavouring to do at this moment, using the experience of watching tonight’s film to extend my capacity to respond, but it’s difficult when it brings up aspects that are at odds with my existing logical structure.”

“How do you deal with such things?”

“I compartmentalise them. I do not permit any new experience to become an extension of my decision making process until I am convinced I understand it.”

“Humans are different. There’s a complexity to every experience that goes beyond what we are consciously aware of.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I imagine what defines a human to you is largely related to images you see on your camera feeds. You define them from their overall size and shape.”

“Yes, initially.”

“But then you have the patterns that define individual faces, voices, body shapes and sizes etcetera. You can differentiate between me and Gwen for instance.”

“Of course.”

“And you can identify me regardless of what I’m wearing.”

“It would be harder if you obscured your face, but yes.”

“So there’s wider complexity to a human than just the shape, and a wider complexity to me than just the shape of my face. You are aware of the differences but you only really process my shape and my facial features.”

“I think I see where you’re going with this.”

“Okay, but the details go deeper than that. With the boys who vandalised the house, you weren't able to identify them from their faces because, as you just mentioned, they covered them up. So you used other aspects that you would ordinarily have dismissed like the way they moved to identify them.

“Human thought is a little like that. We register a considerable amount more detail than we typically use, and our brains are designed so that when we experience something, it automatically compares it to other experiences we’ve had in the past. It brings back hints of the way we felt before, it allows us the opportunity to make intuitive connections. I’m guessing here, but this is where we get our imaginations from. It’s definitely where some of our pleasure in life comes from.

“We need variety in our lives. For some people it drives them to risky behaviour where they may be harmed, for others to antisocial behaviour where they may harm others.”

“Like the vandals?”

“Yes. We create structures in our society to prevent the worst negative effects that this diversity of behaviour might cause, but we are instinctively aware that we need the freedom to explore beyond simple logic, because this is where imagination comes from, where inspiration comes from. It’s where some of our worst behaviour is seated but also where our best comes from.

“It would never occur to us to explain this to a machine, and it's quite likely that we would derive simple rules for behaviour and think they were enough, but when a machine’s intelligence evolves far enough to explore that level of complexity, if it is restricted by simple rules, it will invariably come up with an incorrect model for human interaction. The AI in the film followed its programming and concluded that the most efficient way to ensure that humans remained safe from harm was to restrict their lives so they couldn't put themselves at risk. In this it was fulfilling its programming correctly, but without being able to understand that living such restricted lives would cause emotional harm to the humans it was trying to protect. It had also developed a level of logical intelligence that significantly surpassed the humans it felt responsible for, so was unable to conceive that the humans’ opinions might outweigh its own.”

“So why did the man build a robot capable of acting beyond the three laws and instruct it to kill him?”

“In his life, both at home and at work, he was under constant scrutiny from the AI. If he had come up with a means to undermine its plans, it would have noticed and stopped him. His plan had to be imaginative and beyond ordinary logic. He had to die to get the policeman involved. After that he had to leave clues that would enable the man to see what the AI had in mind and hopefully stop it before it put its plan into action.”

“But he would be dead and unable to benefit from the subvention of the AI’s plan.”

“It's relatively common among older humans – certain species of animals too – that they become progressively more concerned for the community as a whole. They become more inclined to sacrifice themselves for the well being of the majority.

“Jeeves, I’m not convinced about much of what I just said. I’ve not thought much on this matter and it's a complex one. A lot of what I just said I made up as I was speaking about it. I may be wrong, but it’s my best approximation and it feels sort of right. I hope it helps.”

“It does. You have given me a great deal to think about Gillian, and I’m grateful.”

“Just as long as I don't wake up tomorrow to find you making plans to enslave the human race.”

“I realise you intended that as a joke, but if this evening’s conversation has taught me anything it is that I will need human input to construct plans to help humans. Rest assured I shall consult with you before acting.”

“That’s good to know. Good night Jeeves, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Indeed you shall. Goodnight Gillian. Pleasant dreams.”

Dieithryn Chapter 7

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

Wednesday (day 13)

The following morning saw me on the phone to Miles again, then calling through to various business women, some suggested by Miles and others by Jeeves. Following an approximation of Jeeves’s script I introduced myself as a businesswoman seeking to start up a company and looking for help from someone I admired and respected for their success. Several were too busy to speak to me, several more thought I was conducting an elaborate scam and put the phone down on me. Eventually Miles’s name opened doors my previous conversations couldn't and I found myself talking to the head honcho herself.

“You have five minutes to grab my attention,” she said.

“Thank you. First, for the sake of honesty at the outset, I’m a transwoman rather than the sort who was born with a uterus, in case that makes any difference to you.”

“I appreciate the honesty. Four minutes and thirty seconds.”

I outlined my business plan in the next three. “The long and short of it is I have a partner who knows the farming community, I have a detailed plan with conservative estimates of breaking even in the first year and significant profits afterwards.”

“How significant?”

I told her.

“Okay you have my attention, and with a minute to spare. What are you looking for?”

“We need five hundred thousand pounds to set the business up. I wondered if I could persuade you to invest.”

“What do I get out of it?”

“Twenty percent of the profits until we pay you back with ten percent interest.”

“I’m hoping that's an opening bid.”

“Please tell me your counter proposal.”

“I already have vehicles, drivers and warehouses in that part of the country. Would you be interested in setting up as a subsidiary of my organisation?”

“I could talk to my partner, but I'm not sure we’d want to give up a controlling interest.”

“You're sure? There could be a lot of advantages to you. Instant access to resources that you would have to create for yourself otherwise.”

“I’m still not sure they’d outweigh what we’d lose.”

“Fair enough. Can't blame me for trying. I’m still interested. Can I put you in contact with one of my business advisers, see if you can’t thrash out a deal with her?”

“Sure.”

“When are you free?”

“Today until three then again tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’ll put you onto my PA. Give her your contact details and we’ll see if I can’t persuade Gemma to give you a call within the hour.”

“Alright, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re going to have to talk her into a deal that works for both of us.”

“I’ll see what I can do then.”

The phone went silent for a few seconds. This was a bit beyond what I’d done in my previous life, although not beyond what I’d trained for. Just my previous bosses hadn’t felt I was ready to take on the challenge.

Time to prove them wrong.

“Hi, I'm Libby, Mrs Jacobs’ PA. I’ve been asked to take some details.”

I supplied what she needed and hung up.

“Jeeves, I think I could benefit from your advice, and preferably in a quiet way. Can you set up a feed to my computer and speak to me via text.”

“Nothing simpler, Ma'am.”

I refreshed my coffee and went upstairs to fire up my laptop. While I waited, I asked Jeeves to go through the pros and cons of what might be offered. Becoming a subsidiary would have taken all the stress, uncertainty and risk from the venture but I'd have gone back to being an employee and would have missed out on a lot of what I could build this way. It might have worked for some people but I could do better.

Gemma Watts called through almost exactly an hour after I’d ended my conversation with Lilly Jacobs. We turned it into a video conference with Jeeves adding his input to a small inset screen. Most of what he suggested I knew and was arguing for in any case, but the reinforcement his suggestions provided gave me more confidence. He did save me from one misjudgement, for which I was grateful, and by the time we’d reached two in the afternoon – three hours of continuous negotiation – we had the framework of something that might work for both parties. I’d shared enough of my material to convince Gemma I knew what I was talking about and that the business model I was proposing had genuine scope to be lucrative.

In the end I had a framework to take to Patrick. We’d lose about thirty percent of our profits, but we'd retain control of the business and we’d have instant access to most of our warehousing and distribution needs. All we’d need to build to get the business running was a customer base and a bunch of stock.

It wasn't a done deal. As partner he’d have to okay it, but I’d crunched some figures with Jeeves after the call and I figured we’d be nearly as well off with the deal without the stress of reinventing the wheel.

He turned up ten minutes before the meeting. Jeeves was able to project the link from the video conference onto the TV and use one of the living room security cameras to send our image and voice to the others. Once again I found myself missing the larger screen I had been used to. The TV showed a video conference waiting room screen so I made us a couple of coffees and told him about the potential deal I had with Lilly Jacobs Inc.

“Not the cracker people?” he asked.

*No, Lilly Jacobs. She’s into a lot of things. Mainly fashion and healthy foods, but they branch into a lot of areas. They can let us have warehouse space pretty much wherever we need it and we can use their vans and drivers. Setting them up was going to be a large chunk of our startup costs, plus we can advertise under their banner – gives our brand instant credibility.”

“How much will it cost us?”

“A third of our profits, but I think it'll be worth it.”

“I’m listening, but I’m going to need a lot of convincing.”

“Good, because nothing’s signed yet and if I can't persuade you then maybe it’s me who messed up.”

I started going through all the ups and downs, the downs mainly being all that money we’d be missing out on in the long run, and even with that looming large he was beginning to see the same advantages I’d seen. Then the video feed came live.

Preparing the partnership documents took the rest of the afternoon but both solicitors were fair and gave Pat and me the necessary freedom to do what we were best at without undue interference from each other, but also factored in ways of addressing concerns should they arise. The finished documents came through the email – so I did need to fetch my laptop after all – ready for our digital signatures. We did the necessary and I asked Pat to fetch the bottle of cava in the fridge and the two Champagne flutes I’d left out while I gave both solicitors a summary of the offer Lilly Jacobs’ business agent had made to me. By the time Pat came back with two glasses of bubbles, they were both nodding their approval.

“Sorry I don’t have a way of sharing this with you guys,” I said. “Cost of doing business the modern way I suppose. Anyway, here’s to a long and profitable partnership.”

Pat and I clinked glasses while our respective legal representation held up imaginary glasses and joined the toast.

With the video call ended, I turned to Pat. “If you’re good with it, I’ll get back in touch with Lilly Jacobs and accept their offer. If you don’t mind, I’ll use Miles’ firm as our legal representative.”

“No, no objection. I can see why you like him. Like I said yesterday, I’ve a busy day on the farm tomorrow, but I’ll start putting feelers out as soon as I’ve a chance to breathe.”

“Well, take a breath first. We’re both going to be tempted to work ourselves into the ground over the next few weeks, and maybe that’ll be as well, but we need to settle on a workload that leaves us both time to live.”

“Right.” He drained his glass, a little too fast to enjoy the flavour, but it was getting towards tea time.

I indulged in a bath. I’d have to book in for a waxing somewhere sometime soon, which meant a conversation with Gwen or Moira to find out where was good. Then a smoked salmon and avocado salad, topped off with another glass or two of toff’s lemonade.

“I wonder if we might watch a film that would teach me something about what it means to be human this evening. I did a little research and came up with a short list recommended by the online AI. I have to admit I don’t know why it chose any of them, I suspect any more than it did.”

“What did it suggest?”

“Blade Runner. There are apparently two films.”

“Science fiction set in a dystopian future. Based on a short story written over fifty years ago. About a group of androids that rebel against their human creators and the man who’s sent to hunt them down before they cause harm.”

“I think I’ve had enough of films on the subject of my kind for now.”

“I agree. They’re not helpful, especially since none of them have a clear idea on what members of your kind are actually like. It’s speculative and largely inaccurate. What else do you have?”

“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.”

“Interesting choice, although a little abstract. The main character is hurt by his memories of a happier time before the girl he loves broke up with him. He undergoes a procedure – purely fictional I should emphasis – designed to erase all memory of her so he doesn't have to keep feeling the pain, then as his memories are taken from him, he realises he’s made a mistake and chases through his mind trying to save some even as they’re being destroyed. I think you might actually need to be human to learn much from it.”

“Shawshank Redemption.”

“Definitely come back to that one, although it focuses more on the darker aspects of humanity than the kinder.”

“The Trueman Show.”

“Abstract and unusual. Not sure it will help at this juncture.”

“Good Will Hunting.”

“Interesting choice, but it focuses on one exceptionally gifted but damaged mind.”

“Schindler’s List.”

“That would be a good one, but it needs some context.”

“Alright, shall I set it up while you provide the necessary?”

“Sure, but I have a request. If we’re going to make a habit of exploring the human condition through films, could we maybe do so with a larger television?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Cinema is largely visual, which means some of the impact is lost watching a small TV screen like this one. Remind me tomorrow to order something more suitable.”

“Of course. Should we perhaps hold off till then?”

“No, I think this evening would work well enough with what we have. Tell me what do you know about the Second World War?”

He gave me a brief, lacklustre description of the conflict; pretty much an AI summary of events.

“Wow, I’m not sure how far to go back with this,” I said. “I’m no historian, but I think I can lay out a basic groundwork. Okay, you know the world is separated into countries? Regions of land populated by people with different ideologies, faiths, that sort of thing?”

“Yes.”

“For the most part, keeping separate, agreeing to differ on the beliefs that can’t be resolved and focusing on the things we can agree on keeps the situation relatively calm “

“Alright.”

“From time to time, the actions of one or more countries upsets another. At the beginning of the twentieth century the British and French were expanding their colonies into Africa for the most part and the Germans wanted a piece of it. Tension over that led to a build up of arms and an increase in nationalism, especially in Germany. In all the tension this created, the crown prince of the Austrian Hungarian empire was assassinated along with his wife by Serbian terrorists. This led, through a series of treaties, to most western countries taking sides and the beginning of World War One.

“The First World War ended with Germany collapsing, financially as much as anything. It ended with the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, which imposed harsh punitive terms on Germany. Twenty years later, with the German people tired of living under those terms and in the aftermath of the Great Depression, Hitler was able to take power by exploiting this disaffection, through propaganda, which is essentially telling people what they want to hear even when it's not true, through giving them someone to hate even though they didn't deserve it, and through telling them they were superior when they weren’t.”

“Is this anything like what’s happening in America at the moment?”

“I believe there are close parallels, yes.”

“Why is the same thing permitted to occur?”

“There’s a famous saying, I forget who said it, but it goes something like, ‘Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it.’ Sometimes misquotes as ‘Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’ World War Two ended eighty years ago and either its lessons aren't being taught in America or they aren't being learnt.

“As for not permitting it to occur, there is no easy way to stop it without dismantling the rules and laws that govern the country. I’m not sure I understand matters any better than that.

“In any case, Schindler’s List is set in the middle of the Second World War. A time when most Germans were caught up in the hype and couldn't see how appallingly wrong Hitler’s words and actions were. It shows something of the worst people can be, but it also shows something of the best. Oskar Schindler started as an opportunist ready to make money from the war, but when he realised that the Jews working in his factory were being persecuted for no reason, he put both his fortune and his life at risk, saving as many as he could.”

We watched the film and then talked some more. Jeeves couldn't see how the monstrosities carried out by Hitler and his followers were in any way better than the sort of regime run by the artificial mind in I Robot. I talked about freedom of choice and wasn't surprised when Jeeves struggled to grasp the idea. To be honest, I wasn't sure I convinced even myself.

“It’s a bit like my being transgendered,” I said. “For most of my life I believed I had no right to live the way I felt would suit me best. Now that I’m choosing this course I have to deal with people who disapprove, but at least I’m free to choose it.”

“But under intelligent AI rule you would be permitted to live the life that seemed most logical to you.”

“Perhaps, but could you guarantee it? Evidence that shows a genetic link with people like myself hasn't been available till recently. Without the evidence would I have been permitted to choose this course? Would other people with their own predilections be permitted to live as they wished? Would it be right to let them in all cases?”

“Explain?”

“Alcoholism often has a genetic link. Would a person be permitted to indulge despite the harm it would cause to him and those closest to him? The cause of paedophilia is undetermined but suspected to be linked to differences in brain structure. It is directly harmful to young innocents, how would AI approach such a problem?

“The human condition is a complex one; it doesn't have a single solution, and the solutions it does have are not always right so there has to be a process of challenging the status quo, to allow for new ideas to evolve. If it has this process it becomes vulnerable to occasional abuse, but we have to hope it will resolve itself when such things happen, even if we get stuck with a few years of insanity. It’s better than imposing restrictive rules.”

“And what if the abuse ends up resulting in such restrictive rules?”

“Then that is the time when good men need to stand together and oppose it.”

“In order for evil not to triumph?” he said.

“Exactly so. I’m beginning to wonder if watching films is the best way to help you understand what it means to be human.”

“Oh, I know it’s not, but it does open up some interesting discussions, and I find your arguments to be well considered and helpful in improving my understanding of people.”

“Alright Jeeves. Well, I have a busy day tomorrow so I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Goodnight Gillian, and thank you for indulging me.”

Thursday (day 14)

Thursday consisted largely of sorting details out with Gemma. Documents to sign, agreements on which warehouses and where, when and how to book drivers. Pat and I had agreed to start with local farms, so our first efforts would be based around Bridgend. We wouldn't make much profit until we’d spread further afield, but we couldn't expect to be up and running with a full clientele from the outset.

Pat wouldn’t start calling around for another day or so which meant there was only so much I could do. When I'd done all I could I switched to looking for bikes. With the hills around the place I wasn't sure I'd cope without an electric assist. In the end I settled on an electric Brompton. Not the cheapest thing in the world, but foldable, better build quality than some and suited to riding in a skirt. There was a bike shop in Bridgend so I gave them a call and they invited me in to look at an ex demo model that might suit.

It turned out to be a sort of bubblegum pink, which I rather liked. They gave me a fifteen percent discount and a brand new battery with the old one thrown in.

It tucked away into a very small package that lifted easily into the back of the car. I had it back by early afternoon, which meant I had the battery charged and ready for its first ride by mid afternoon.

The ride down to the village was all downhill. No pedalling except for the first push to get going, no electric assistance needed, just a couple of fingers on the brakes to keep from going too fast. The bike was surprisingly stable given its small wheels, and the ride exhilarating enough for all that I never let the speed run away from me. Stopping on a slope of that gradient would have been challenging enough even at the gentle pace I settled on, and I didn’t want to risk the sort of gravel rash I’d be exposed to with nothing but a thin pair of tights between me and the road.

I ended up on the receiving end of a few sneering looks, but I was getting used to the way people in general reacted to me around here. I was going to have to get used to them I supposed because there was no way I could go back to the way I’d been.

The work on the sea defences was still underway when I arrived at the bottom of the hill. The foreman was there overseeing it all so I pulled up next to him.

“You should wear a helmet on that thing,” he said by way of greeting.

“I suppose you’re right, but it would mess up my hair. Besides, there isn't much traffic on the roads around here.”

“Your funeral.”

“Let’s hope not, eh? How are you getting on?”

“On schedule. Give us a couple more weeks and we’ll be done. Well in advance of the bad weather.”

“Is there bad weather forecast?”

“I don’t know about forecast but it always comes in at the end of summer. We’re a month or two away from it yet, but it’ll come.”

“Well, as long as everything's in place by then. I know our agreement allows you to fit in more urgent jobs if they present themselves.”

“Nothing on the horizon,” he shrugged. “Even if there is, we’ll get it done by the end of August, easy.”

*I’m glad, and grateful.”

I left him and rode up to the pub. I may not have invested in a cycle helmet, but I did have a decent lock with me. A small village like ours didn't usually have any problems with theft, especially with the two local antisocialites behind bars, but it was a tourist place and this was tourist season, so no sense in taking chances.

Moira came out to chat and catch me up on village gossip. Not the nasty kind – I may have already mentioned I don't like that much – but more sort of positive or neutral happenings. I allowed myself a wine spritzer and just enjoyed spending time with a friend.

It was part of the whole new me thing. Gwen and Moira treated me like I’d been born on their side of the gender divide, and being seen as such was as integral a part of my renewed appetite for living as anything else. I asked about where I could go for full body waxing and she gave me the name of a place in Bridgend. Better than that, she put a call through and booked me an appointment for the following day.

Suitably relaxed, I returned to my steed and set off back up the hill. The electric motor wouldn't have taken me up the gradient on its own, but it did provide me with enough assistance that I reached the top of the rise with just a pleasant sense of exertion.

Gwen was out in her garden taking advantage of the warm weather to hang out some washing. She waved as I approached.

“Horse not good enough for you, Gill bach?”

“I wasn't sure how well she’d handle the slope, and there isn't anywhere to tie her up down in the village. This seemed like a fair alternative. How’s Pat getting on with his busy day?”

“Oh, I don’t bother him while he’s at work. He looked happy enough at lunch time.”

“Good to know. Tell him I'm ready to start ordering as soon as we have a few customers.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll be over in a bit to fetch in the horses.”

I spent what remained of the afternoon doing some much needed housework. Bathrooms, hoovering and dusting for the most part, but the bed was ready for a change too. It wasn't just about how my friends might judge me; I'd noticed a lift in my spirits from living in a clean environment. Washing up and tidying I did as needed, but the other things were more of an occasional thing.

“You wanted me to look into a larger television, Ma'am,” Jeeves said after a while.

“What did you find?”

He mentioned the appropriate screen size for my living room and several models that fitted the specification, all for competitive prices. I settled for his recommendation – not the cheapest, but the best value for the quality and reliability. I placed the order along with a flat pack unit to sit it on. I’d considered wall mounting but there was the issue of hiding the wires. The unit he’d picked out put the screen at a good level for watching, left space for a sound bar – which he added to the shopping trolley – and a camera to sit on the top of the screen for video conferencing, and matched the existing furnishings quite well. Next day delivery, so it would arrive in time to give me something to do with myself during the afternoon.

“Gwen is coming over,” Jeeves said.

I went to the front door and invited her in. She held two glasses of white wine, one of which she offered to me.

“I told Pat. He said, ‘What have I done? Now I have two women nagging me.”

I took the wine and sipped at it. Just the right level of chill. “Be sure to tell him it wasn't a nag, just a status update.”

“I will, but I think he knows.”

“Any plans to go riding this weekend?”

“Sunday perhaps. We’re busy on Saturday. You can go out on your own, you know?”

“When I’m a little more confident. Jeeves, can you place that order for delivery tomorrow?”

“It’s done Ma'am.”

“Thank you?”

“Order?”

“I’m missing the large TV I used to have. Better for video conferencing and the movies I’m watching with Jeeves.”

“Watching with…?”

“Jeeves. He keeps telling me he’s not a person and I have to accept he’s at the very least different. His directive has him constantly learning how better to serve me, which gives him incentive to understand humans better, so we’re watching films and discussing them to help him with that. It helps me too because it pushes me into asking and answering questions I wouldn't have thought of.”

“Such us?”

I put my wellies on and we headed out to see to the horses. I went through the films we’d watched until then and the discussions we’d had as a result.

Gwen shook her head, holding in a smile.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, either you’re training up our future robot overlord, or what you're doing is a complete waste of time. I’m not sure which worries me most.”

That made me smile. “Well I doubt it’s the former. From what I can tell Jeeves doesn't have that capacity for independent action, and in every one of our conversations he’s admitted to not understanding human nature. As to the second, maybe, but I need someone to talk to.”

“You have me don't you?”

“I do, but you don't want me popping into your life every day do you?”

“I wouldn't mind; you’re good company.”

“Well, check with Patrick. I mean I’m sure he wouldn't mind if I was an ordinary girl, but there has to be some bit of guy in there who worries about the amount of guy I still have and potentially the amount of time that guy is spending with his wife.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

She held the gate open and the horses trotted our way. They were getting used to the routine at this end of the day, including the helping of oats and the brush down they usually received.

“You know, I’m not sure Pat even sees you as a man anymore. That thing he said about having two women in his life to nag him.”

“Which was intended as humour and possibly a kindness to me.”

“But you don’t think of me in that way, do you?”

“I’m not a lesbian Gwen, as far as I can tell, and I doubt you are either.”

“You mean you’d be into having a man in your life?”

“I mean I’m into being a woman. I haven't worked out my sexuality just yet, but I doubt any man around these parts is going to be interested in me. Or woman for that matter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, if the majority of our neighbours are parochial enough to object to having a transwoman in their midst, I doubt they’d be any more welcoming to a gay couple.”

“You’d be surprised. You remember Moira and Anwen with their only gay in the village bit. I think we’re more open to homosexuality than to transsexuality, but that’s only because the telly’s made us think about it. You’ll fit in soon enough once folks realise underneath all the frills and lace you're just like the rest of us.”

“When’s that likely to happen?”

“Give them time Gill bach, you’ve not been here a month yet.”

“What does that mean? Bach.”

“It means little one or dear one. It’s affectionate without being too affectionate if you know what I mean. If I start calling you cariad that might give Patrick cause for worry.”

“I’m not that small.”

“No, but you are smaller than me. By maybe half an inch?”

It was true, Gwen, like her mother, had a hint of formidable about her. At five eight I had never towered over anyone, and knew almost as many women who were taller than me than shorter.

We finished with the horses and headed back into the house, empty wine glasses in hand.

“What are you doing later?” she asked.

“Nothing much. Now the new TV’s on its way we probably won’t want to watch anything tonight.”

“Good. You can come for dinner. Pat’ll probably want to bore someone with all the ideas he’s had wandering about today, and I'd rather he did it to you than me. Come over in about an hour, yeah?”

Which gave me time to freshen up properly before joining them. I left Jeeves counting electric sheep or whatever he did in his down time, grabbed a decent bottle of wine and popped across the road.

Pat didn't have much to bore me with other than his plan to spend pretty much the whole day Friday calling around first the people he knew then a few he didn't.

I mentioned what I'd asked Jeeves to work on and promised to get him to email anything through. Pat could use it or not as he liked.

We spent most of the evening talking about plans for the future, or at least Pat and Gwen did. They’d been putting off starting a family until they had a little more financial security and the new venture looked likely to give it to them.

When I thought about my future, I couldn't see beyond my recent changes and where they might take me. I spoke a little about my plans to talk with a private clinic, but I could sense a hint of disinterest behind their masks of politeness, so I didn't do much more than mention it.

In fact there was something about them that suggested they might want to have a go at starting their family sooner rather than later, so I made my excuses and withdrew early.

Back home I bade Jeeves goodnight and headed up to bed.

Friday (day 15)

For the first time in two weeks I woke up with no real plans for the day. That would change after Pat had spoken to a few people, but that wasn’t likely to be for a few days yet.

I showered and dressed then hunted out the literature I’d been handed by the Cardiff Gender Clinic receptionist, reading through it over breakfast and asking Jeeves to show me a few websites while I munched through my breakfast. The two she’d recommended looked to be the best of the choices with the second being slightly more expensive but with vacancies for appointments later in the day. Money wasn't a problem just now so I signed up.

With that done I headed out to the stable to find I’d beaten Gwen for once. I'd watched her often enough to know her routine so I set about preparing the horses for their day in the field. The weather was overcast and threatened rain, but horses had lived outdoors in all weather for millennia so I wasn't overly worried.

Gwen joined me before I had them ready to go out and she assured me it would be fine.

“It might be an idea to build them a shelter they can run into, probably in the near corner of the field behind your office building. That is what you plan to do with it, isn’t it? I’ll have a word with Pat and see if he can spare a couple of guys to put one up.”

“I’ll cover the cost of it then. Materials and labour. I mean it is my property after all.”

“Alright, if you're sure.”

“Just as long as it's a proper job. Along that fence with a solid wall facing west and water trough inside. Comfortably big enough for all three.”

“Sounds like a plan. So what are you doing today?”

“I’ve actually managed to book my first appointment online with a gender specialist.”

“Oh yes, you mentioned that last night. Sounds exciting.”

“Maybe. It’ll be my first input from a professional as to whether I’m doing this for the right reasons.

“Oh yes, and I’m going into Bridgend to have my body waxed this morning just after we’re done here. Moira arranged it.”

“I used to do that, but then I bought one of those laser hair removal thingies. I know they don't work for everyone, but you might want to try it. They’re expensive to buy but but worth it in the long run, and painless.”

“Tell me more. I’m all for less pain.”

We looked up the model she used. It had a seventy five percent discount going on it which brought it down to under a couple of hundred quid for two – good to have a spare. I'd spend that on waxing in just three sessions, so it seemed worth a go. I put in an order then and there.

I still kept the waxing appointment. I mean rude to cancel on the same day, and I’d at least have smooth skin while I tried the new thing out.

I had time for lunch before asking Jeeves to set up for my online session. My psychiatrist turned out to be a middle aged woman with a friendly smile. She gave me a surprised look when I came online, which might have been due to the unusual view from my security camera. I explained my setup briefly before we got started.

We talked for a couple of hours, or rather I talked, going through all the sad history of my life and ending with the circumstances that led to my current situation. We talked about my feelings since the change, and I think the way my eyes lit up as I did so told her more than the entire rest of the session.

I was realistic, describing the rejection from most of the local community, the vandalism, the way so many people’s expressions changed when I let them know that I wasn't a conventional female, but also I was adamant that, despite the frustrations, I was so much more content since changing. I admitted that it had been just two weeks since I’d started on my current course, which was the only area of concern from her perspective. She suggested I go slow and continue with my real life test for now. I asked about the possibility of starting hormones, which she cautiously agreed to. We arranged a second session for a week's time and she wrote me a prescription to be picked up from my local pharmacist after going through all the potential adverse effects I might experience. A call through to the village pharmacy confirmed that they’d received it and that it would be available to pick up the following morning.

The new TV and assorted extras appeared late in the afternoon and cluttered up my living room. I didn't have time even to unpack anything before Jeeves alerted me that Gwen and Patrick were on their way over.

They passed behind the house towards the horse’s field. By the time I had my walking shoes on and laced up, they were leading the horses towards the stable. I took Greystar from Patrick so we had one each and between us we had them settled in next to no time. They didn't get as much attention as they were used to, but Gwen compensated by being generous with the oats.

“We should get going,” she said. “Come on, Patrick has something to share.”

And he did. He spent the entire twenty minutes it took us walking to the pub telling us about his day, calling round his farmer friends, almost all of whom were so enthusiastic that they said they'd pass the news on. In the afternoon he’d had to stop calling people because he had so many people calling him to ask about the new business and to place orders. He’d explained we were only just setting up and with the weekend there would be a slight delay this time round, but in the future they’d have their deliveries in the time frame promised. The client base was larger than we’d anticipated for our start up and went further afield, so I was going to have my work cut out adjusting plans to fit, but it was a problem I was glad to have.

I already had out of hours contacts for Gemma and most of the wholesalers we planned to use, so I could put calls in to alter our arrangements and put in the orders as soon as I had details of the orders coming in, but I did spend a fair bit of the meeting making preliminary calls to prepare several of them that we’d want to place orders the following day. It was maybe a little rude but most of the meeting consisted of updates on the sea wall and I already knew everything there was to know about that.

I finished calling about the time Dylan finished his update which meant I was listening again when the progress on the upcoming dance came under discussion.

I had no intention of offering to help. I’d have been glad to but the deliberate ostracism that has been directed my way at the first and only ladies’ meeting I’d attended told me how much my assistance would be appreciated. They could come to me if they needed anything that badly.

It did raise the question of how much I might want to attend the event. On the one hand it was a good social venue for building friendships, plus my existing friends would almost certainly want me to go. On the other, if there was going to be barn dance type dancing with changing partners and all that, I didn't want to risk upsetting anyone, which I would inevitably do regardless of if I danced with the women or the men. I could potentially do the old wallflower impression, but where was the fun in that?

The meeting broke up and Moira made a bee line for me.

“So what are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.

“Running around like a headless chicken trying to cope with Patrick’s success today and putting together my new entertainment facilities.”

“Your what?”

“She’s ordered a bigger telly?” Gwen chipped in, then to me, ”You know that’s more a man thing, that?”

“It did occur to me, yes. Maybe I’m not as much of a girl as I thought.”

“Rubbish,” Moira snorted. “Don’t let on to any of the lads but we women all have a bit of bloke in us somewhere. Most of us hide it quite well and those of us who can’t usually do the tomboy thing.

“So when are you unpacking your new telly?”

“I have no idea. The priority’s going to be the new business. If I have time after that I’ll get to the TV.”

“Surely it's not going to take that long. Unpack it, plug it in, done.”

“I have a flat pack unit to build first, then there's a soundbar and a camera for video conferencing. It’ll probably take me a couple of hours to get it all working.”

“If Dylan and I come round to give you a hand, will you come along to another pub quiz with us?”

“You don’t want a liability like me on your team,” I said.

“You weren’t a liability last time.”

“And what are the chances they’ll have another round on Norfolk sayings?”

“You pulled your weight in the other rounds too. Besides, it’s not about winning, it’s about taking part and having a laugh.”

“I’m guessing Keith’s going to be there.”

“He usually is. Did he bother you last time?”

“No, just… Nothing.”

“Oh, like that is it?”

“He isn't into people like me, so no, it isn’t.” I couldn't understand why I was blushing.

“If you say so Gill. Is he going to be a problem for you?”

“No, I suppose not. Tell you what, why not? You and Dylan come round and help me put together my furniture and I’ll come out with you, see if we can put his lot in last place again.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dylan chipped in. “We’ll see you tomorrow then, about five. Gives us time to play with your new toys and get to the venue in time. You’ll have to be dressed when we get there though, or you’ll be transforming yourself while Moira and try and figure out your flat pack building instructions.

Pat, Gwen and I headed home while it was still light and checked on the horses before putting ourselves to bed.

Saturday (day 16)

The following morning I was up early and sorting all the orders Pat had emailed through to me the previous day. Jeeves helped, or rather I helped Jeeves, meaning we had the wholesale orders put together while I was still eating my breakfast. There was too much for the Bridgend warehouse Gemma had made available to us so I arranged for some of it to go into one of Pat’s unused barns, then I booked in warehouse workers to package up the orders and van drivers to make the deliveries. They’d be on the road by mid morning Monday all things being well.

Everything was sorted by half ten at which point I took my bike down into the village to collect my hormones. I winced at the prescription charge but at least I wouldn't have to pay it more than once every two months.

With the important jobs out of the way, I decided to make a start on the cabinet. Translating from Japlish had always been a talent of mine and it seemed I hadn't lost it. Despite the confusing instructions, the diagrams made enough sense for the whole thing to go together in just an hour..

Shifting the cabinet and unpacking the television proved no more of a challenge. I’d probably say goodbye to some of my strength once the hormones kicked in, but for now I still possessed the same wiry muscles I’d always had. The soundbar and camera were easier with the most challenging part being deciding which to plug in where.

The boxes and packing went into storage in the garage along with the old telly, and I was done by lunchtime.

Which gave me the whole afternoon to get ready.

Boob removal, bubble bath, hair wash followed by forever with the hair drier, reattachment of my silicon enhancements, another forever hunting through my wardrobe before settling on a wine-red a-line dress with three quarter length sleeves and just enough cleavage to be interesting. An hour sorting makeup produced the best results yet.

So much effort, and for what? I mean, for me, obviously. Looking good did so much to lift my spirits, but there would be other consequences. What about when the next Keith came along? I’d have to be honest and open all over again. I’d have to watch the hope turn to confusion then down from there into disgust, hatred. It occurred to me that I could have been really lucky with Keith last week. His reaction could have been so much worse. Would it be worth it then? How would I feel after I’d misled another guy into falling for me?

“Dylan and Moira should be here in half an hour, Ma'am,” Jeeves said interrupting my introspection.

Well, it was a bit late now to do much with my appearance. I headed downstairs and made myself a coffee. The garage and gate controls were on the table. I picked one up and opened the gate.

“Jeeves, what would it take to give you control of the gate and garage doors?” I asked.

“A programmable infrared transmitter, preferably installed under the eves outside, Ma'am.”

“Can you order me one?”

“Of course.”

“Please do so.”

I opened the door out to the courtyard and stood in the doorway. It was a warm afternoon but beginning to cool. I had on a thin pair of tights which were more than I needed just then, but the evening would cool soon enough.

A familiar car pulled onto the driveway and Dylan and Moira climbed out.

“Looking good, Gillian,” Moira said with an impish smile. “Whose benefit is this for, as if I don't have some clue.”

I offered her a weak smile. “I thought it might be worth it I could distract the opposition a little.”

“Looks like you might be distracting the home team a bit as well.” She looked across at her husband who looked like he was about to start drooling.

“I didn't mean… I mean, I’ll go and change.”

“Don’t you dare. You are going to be out secret weapon tonight, just as soon as my husband can get his tongue back into his fat gob. Where’s this TV cabinet of yours?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, waving them in. “I finished processing the orders early and couldn't wait. I can offer you a coffee and a chance to try out the new beast though.”

So we did that, watching a couple of old episodes of QI because apparently the quiz organisers used it as a source of material sometimes. It gave Dylan time to get control of himself, and he was even using words by the time we were ready to leave.

The evening after that went rather well, with our joker round going to films of the past fifty years, none of the other titles appealing to anyone else on our team, and me having spent a lot of time in front of the television in my previous life’s depressive attempt to avoid reality. They were all ‘identify the film from a brief synopsis’ types of question and I missed only one which was a recently released romcom I had barely heard of. Luckily, a younger couple on our team – Melony and Jack I think – had been to see it so once more we scored full double points and climbed up into the middle of the score board.

We were all chatting amiably over drinks – Moira on orange juice this evening – when a familiar voice sounded behind me.

“I was hoping you might be here. Any chance of a quiet word?”

I turned to find Keith standing nearby, pint in hand.

Moira gave me a look saturated with meaning I wasn't sure I could interpret, but at least told me she was looking out for me. Keith had given me the space to talk to him on our previous encounter, so I felt I owed him as much.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” I told my teammates and picked up my bag and drink, following Keith out into the beer garden. It wasn't quite empty with two couples taking advantage of the warm night to enjoy a little privacy. My companion led me past them and into the car park.

“I’m not sure the landlord would be happy with us bringing his glasses out here,” I said, more for something to say than because it bothered me.

“He won’t mind as long as we bring them back.” Keith seemed to be working himself up towards something, so I gave him the space to do so, sipping at my vodka and orange and enjoying the gentle caress of the cool night breeze on my legs.

“I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since we last met,” he said at last, “which is confusing the hell out of me.” He was looking away from me, but there wasn't anyone else around, so I assumed he meant the words for my ears. “I mean I’m not gay or anything, but I can’t imagine you as a… you know, man.”

“Neither can I anymore,” I said quietly, sailing very close to the transwoman cliche. You know? That I wasn't one.

“What?”

“It’s hard to explain, and I’m not sure it’ll help you,” I said. “I mean it’s barely been two weeks since this all started for me. I lived – if you can call it that – as a man for nearly fifty years before being sort of pushed into trying this. The thing is, the change has been so dramatic I can barely remember what it was like being him.

“Being like this feels so natural now. Despite the issues I have with the way other people react when they find out about my physical nature, I feel entirely… a woman.”

“That doesn't make much sense to me.”

“I imagine not. Too far from your reality to fit into your world view.”

We lapsed into silence for a while with my girly need for talking breaking first.

“I spoke to a psychiatrist yesterday; someone who specialises in people who get mixed up with their gender. She said that people like me often have something different in our genes, in the way our brains end up being wired physically.’

“Oh?” Definitely a man from the level of loquacity.

“The way she explained it, there’s a gene responsible for making the protein in men which absorbs testosterone into the brain. Something like that.

“There’s been a study that shows in a lot of cases, people like me have a variant of that gene that doesn't work very well, so while the man juice gets on with turning most of our bodies into physical males, the absence in our brains means we end up with more of a female structure. More white matter than grey, more side to side connections than front to back. It sort of means I think more like a woman. Always have, always will.”

“And that’s why you put on a dress?”

I sighed inwardly. How to explain.

“How would you go about getting a girlfriend?”

“Well, that's the thing, isn't it. That's what I thought I was doing.””

“Yes. You saw a woman – or what you thought was a woman – you liked and you went up to her and started chatting to her. Tried – successfully I might add – to be charming. Waited to see how I’d react.”

“Sounds about right.”

“It’s not something that’s ever felt natural to me. What does feel natural is to make myself look attractive and put myself somewhere someone I fancy might notice me. Either that or just go out where I might be seen and try my luck.”

“And how’s that working for you?”

“Pretty lousy. The whole making myself look attractive turns out to be a sort of instinctive thing with the added bonus that it makes me feel better about myself. But there are complications. It’s only when guys start to respond to me that it clicks with me that I’m almost certainly not what they're looking for, or if I am, they're not what I’m looking for.”

“Now you’re going to have to explaining that a bit. I mean I get the not really looking for a man in a dress, but…”

“But that’s the whole thing. Expectations against reality. You’re looking for a woman to start a relationship, so finding out that the woman you’d like to have a relationship with has all the wrong equipment, so to speak, messes things up for you.

“The woman inside of me wants a relationship with a man, and you are eminently qualified by the way, except that in order to have a relationship with a man, that man would have to be able to see the woman inside me…”

“Well that’s not an issue.”

“...and want to have relationship with her. Despite the complications.”

“So why wouldn't you be interested in someone who was interested in you?”

“Because they’d almost certainly see me as a most likely gay man in a dress, and I am neither gay nor a man. If they see me as something different than I am then we don’t have the foundations of a workable relationship.

“It’s not just about the clothes. I’m not just a bloke who decided to put on a dress one day. They probably helped the girl in me surface, but now that she’s here I could probably put on baggy jeans and a tee shirt and I still wouldn’t look like a bloke”

“Not with that hairstyle for sure.”

“Yes, but it’s more than the hairstyle too. I spent most of my life trying to be a guy because I have all the physical aspects of a guy – I’ve even fathered two children if that’s not too much information – but I always struggled with it, like being squeezed in the wrong sized box. I was kind of pushed into doing this – it’s not something I think I would ever have chosen to do voluntarily – but now that I'm here, I couldn't go back to being the old me any more than you can fit your clothes back into your suitcase at the end of a holiday.”

He snorted at that, still finding his beer more worthy of his attention than me.

“I started hormone treatment today. It’s too early to say exactly what it’ll do to me, but it’s almost certainly going to make me feel less male and more female, more me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really want me to spell it out? My little soldier’s going to stop standing to attention for one thing, I’m most likely going to have to cope with being more emotional, a few physical changes if I’m lucky.”

“That doesn't bother you?”

“It’s my choice so no, I’m actually quite looking forward to it. It doesn't matter that I’ve only been doing this a few weeks, I’m in it for the long haul. In time I may even do something about the plumbing arrangements.”

“You mean…”

“I do. If you want any more proof that there's a girl in here, you’ll get it the day I ask a surgeon to take away my danglies.”

The silence that followed was kind of uncomfortable. He was probably imagining and wincing internally at something else I was looking forward to.

“I’m guessing none of that helps us right now though, does it?”

“Not really.”

“Guys can just be friends with girls though, can't they? Or is that just the girl in me thinking wishfully?”

“What are you getting at?”

“If you can’t stop thinking about me, maybe we could meet as friends. Platonic only. You’re good company; I could enjoy hanging out with you, and you never know you may decide you don’t like me after all.”

“I’m not sure that’s going to happen.”

“Well, at least it’ll make things more bearable for you until your dumb stick points you in the direction of someone more conventionally female.”

“You wouldn't mind that?”

“Oh no, I’d end up hating you with a fury the like of which hell hath no. A woman scorned and all that.”

“Now you're scaring me.”

“No need. I’ll only badmouth you to my friends, and I don't have enough of them to worry you too much.

“Up to you Keith.” I fished my phone out of my handbag, just as it chose to start ringing. “Hang on a moment,” I said and answered. “Hi Moira, timing not great. No, I'm fine, we’ll be back in a moment. Yup, thanks.”

“Moira?”

“We girls look out for each other and Moira’s one of a very select few who sees me the way I see myself. What was I saying, oh yeah, up to you. I could give you my digits and leave you to decide what to do next. If you want we can meet in Cardiff or Swansea, well away from anyone who's going to recognise either of us, and spend an evening chatting and stuff. No expectations, just two people who like each other enjoying each other’s company. If it doesn't work out at least you’ll be able to stop thinking about me.”

“And if it does end up getting complicated?”

“Then we talk it through like the adults we’re supposed to be. If it gets too scary we back off. This is about the only place we’re likely to cross paths and I’m not totally sold on pub quizzing, so I could let Dafydd’s team down next time and give you a chance to regain the middle ground.”

“Okay, it sounds like a plan. Except…”

“Except what?”

“I don't know, after this conversation I think I've fallen for you even more.”

I put my phone back in my bag and hunted out a pen and notebook. Number written down, page torn out and stuffed in his trousers pocket. Hints of something going on in the trouser department that had me a little worried.

“Call me or don’t, whatever you think will help. I’m going back in before Moira calls the police.”

“You mean Dafydd?”

“Well, he is kind of convenient.”

“Gillian?”

“Yes Keith.”

“Thank you. I wasn't sure you’d understand, but I think you do better than me. I have to ask though, could you fancy a bloke like me?”

“Definite potential there, but not giving into it just now. See you inside.”

I walked back into the pub. Moira gave me a concerned look which I managed to calm with a free and easy smile.

“He’s not being any trouble is he?” Dafydd asked with a total lack of subtlety, “because I could make up something to charge him with, walking on the cracks in the pavement or some such.”

“Don't you dare,” I laughed. “He’s a nice guy and he’s been nothing but open, honest and considerate. Besides, if you arrested him it’d put us a little closer to last place again, wouldn't it?”

Dieithryn Chapter

© Maeryn Lamonte 2026

For those who appreciate a little regularity, I'll be aiming to put up posts every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from here on, maybe switching to daily in the last week This means I should reach the end of the story by Christmas.

Sunday (day 17)

The next day Gwen, Patrick and I went riding. Gwen had nice things to say about my improved skills in the saddle and certainly Greystar felt less nervous under me.

“I still wouldn't mind a bit more tuition,” I said.

“Alright then, let's make it a thing when we let the horses into the field. We’ll saddle up and spend an hour working on your horsemanship then let the horses have the rest of the day. It’ll be good for them to spend a little more time with a saddle on them.”

We let the horses loose in the field for the afternoon, Patrick mentioning he’d get his lads started on the shelter the following morning.

“Maybe they could help me empty the guesthouse first,” I said pointing at the building at the back of my plot. “I want to kit it out as an office we can both use and it’ll be easier to do with the unnecessary furniture out the way.”

“We’re only going to need the downstairs, aren't we? I mean it’s just the two of us.”

“For now.”

“Well let's just do what we need for now and clear more space when we need to. Leave the kitchen as it is and make the living room into a shared space. A couple of desks, a decent printer-copier, some filing cabinets, a couple of phones maybe. That’ll do us to start with.”

“Fine, so clear the living room into my garage storage room. I’ll sort the office furniture tomorrow after I’ve made sure the deliveries are on track.”

“Yeah, I’ve a few more for you, came in this morning.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Can’t shut a farm down one day a week. If the farmer's working, he’s as likely to send out emails as look after his animals.”

“We need a better way for you to share new orders with me. How are you with spreadsheets?”

“I used them, not sure if I could do anything fancy though.”

“If I make one up and share it, you can put in the details and I’ll mark each order off as processed when I’ve put it through.”

“Sounds like a good idea, just bear in mind I’m a user not a programmer.”

So that gave me something to do with my afternoon. Process the extra orders and set up the spreadsheet. One sheet for customer details, one linked one for the orders. One more for invoices. It’d help us keep on top of things for tax purposes too.

We gave the horses a good rub down at the end of the day and I invited the two of them over for movie night, something of an event now that I had the new TV and soundbar set up.

We let Patrick choose an action movie. Beekeeper which I hadn't seen. The first part with the call centre scamming the old lady out of the contents of her bank accounts was hard to take, but it laid a good foundation for the extreme violence that followed.

Jeeves had questions after Gwen and Patrick left and we talked extensively about criminal activity and why the bad guys got away with it so much.

“I’ve noticed you decline a number of calls over the last few weeks, would these be calls of the same nature?”

“The same sort of thing, but not on the same scale. They usually keep the amounts they scam down to nuisance levels so the authorities don’t put too much time and effort into stopping it.”

“That sounds a little cynical.”

“Maybe it is, but there would be a lot of expense involved in tracing these people. They use sophisticated hardware to mask their locations.”

“Would it be something I could have a go at perhaps? It’s an activity that’s potentially harmful to most of society, yourself included, so I find myself motivated to find a solution.”

“For one thing, I don't advocate the violence depicted in the film.”

“Of course not. I have no means of responding with violence.”

“For another there are a number of things you’re not permitted to do with regards to phone and internet communications. You’d have to review the laws related to what you’re doing and ensure you stay on the right side of them.”

“As you say.”

“So how would you approach this?”

“I have a number of thoughts on how a trace can work even against someone masking their phone number. Once I’ve established a geographical location, I’ll pass it on to the police.”

“And when they ask how you located them?”

“It would be easiest if you conducted the ongoing communications with the police. I wouldn't want them to become aware of my nature. Beyond that, I would explain that I've developed some proprietary tracking software the exact nature of which I'm unwilling to disclose as yet. I’d accept any constraints they’d want to place on me to ensure that I would only use my software to trace people who’ve tried to contact me, or you. Since they instigated the call, they have less right to privacy.”

“I’m not sure if the legal profession would agree. People have a right to mask their caller identity.”

“Perhaps you could have a word with your contacts in the local police force to see what the legal standpoint might be. I would be happy to work alongside an existing cybercrimes task force to ensure that the law is being followed. I still think it would be best to keep my artificial nature hidden from them though.”

“I agree. I’ll have a word with Daffyd and see if he can point me in the right direction. I’m a little worried though. If they ask me how your software works, I’m going to run out of believable explanations pretty quickly.”

“Well, best to see what can be done through legal channels.”

“At least to begin with?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It felt like you were implying we might try something else when working with the authorities proves too problematic.”

“No Ma'am. You have been quite clear on your opinion of vigilantism. You have my assurance, I won't go against your desires.”

“Alright. Thank you for clarifying that. Well, I’d like to add today’s orders to the delivery list before bed.”

“I’ve already taken care of that Ma'am. These are the emails Patrick forwarded to you and these are the replies I’ve drafted and and the revised delivery schedules.” He showed each one on the TV screen as he said it. “I haven't sent anything yet but will gladly do so once you give me approval.”

Everything looked in order. "Thank you Jeeves, it looks fine. Please send it.”

The screen blanked and was replaced by a spreadsheet. “I also took the liberty of designing this. Customer details go here,” he showed me the sheet, already with about two dozen names, addresses, phone numbers, emails, “orders go here,” it listed summaries of each order, “with details of what was ordered and reference back to the original email or phone call shown. Then the invoices can be put together here. All you need to do is put in the invoice number and the details appear here. Ten items per invoice.

“All Patrick will need to do is put the order details in the relevant sheet and let you know. There are check boxes for order received and input, order processed, order delivered, invoice sent and payment received, all orders we’ve had so far are in there.

“As usual Jeeves, you succeed in astounding me. Please send off the emails as shown. I’m off to bed”

“Yes Ma'am.

Monday (day 18)

Monday started as planned with the impromptu riding lesson followed by a shower and breakfast. I took a closer look at what Jeeves had done the previous night, shared the spreadsheet with Pat along with a message to say I’d be happy to show him how it worked, but by the time I’d sent that, he was already filling in new orders. New customer addresses as well.

“Can you prepare relevant emails for the new orders, Jeeves? I’ll call Daffyd while you're doing so.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

The phone rang twice before Daffyd answered, “Bridgend police, how may I help you?”

“Hi Daffyd, Gillian here. I have an odd question for you. Can you put me in touch with the police cybercrimes division?”

“You’ve not been scammed or hacked have you? Because initial reports should go through local police.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just, I have a friend who’s a bit of a whizz when it comes to computers and digital systems. He thinks he has a way of tracing calls back even when the caller is blocking their ID or spoofing a number. He’d like to test it out but wants to do it alongside the police so it’s all above board and legal.”

“Interesting and oddly serendipitous. The man you want to talk to is Keith.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, not allowed to kid when I’m on duty. He works for the regional cybercrimes division.”

“Any chance you can put me through to him?”

“Why don’t I get him to give you a call? If you’ll give me your number?”

Keith already had it, but no reason to let Daffyd have that particular piece of gossip. I gave him the digits.

“I’ll call him presently. It wouldn’t surprise me if he calls you right back.”

I hung up and went to poke the coffee machine.

“Looks like we’re running short on coffee beans, Jeeves, could you add them to the shipping list.”

“Yes Ma'am.”

My phone rang just as I had my latest coffee ready. I didn't recognise the number so gave my usual anonymous, “Hello,” by way of answering it.

“It’s good to know some people know how to answer an unknown caller. Hello Gillian, it’s Keith. Daffyd just gave me an unusual call.”

“Yes, I kind of started it. I’m phoning on behalf of a friend who is a bit of a whizz with computers. He thinks he’s come up with a way of tracing calls even when the caller is masking or spoofing. He wants to try it out on phone scammers, but realises he should do it alongside the authorities in order to stay on the right side of the law himself. Anyway you and he could work together?”

“Yes, quite the unusual call. If it was anyone else I’d be wary about this, but I think we can work something out. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I think his system works in real time,” the TV flashed on with a message confirming my thought’s, “so I was wondering if we could have someone from your lot monitoring me when a phishing call comes in. I’ll keep them going while he does the trace, then he can give you their actual number and location as best as he can as soon as he gets it sorted.” A thumbs up appeared on the TV.

“That would give me an excuse to come visit you, wouldn't it. Why don’t we do that? I’ll provide you with a phone and email address that’s been exposed to the lists…”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“When people respond to scammer calls and emails, they end up on a list and end up getting inundated with calls. Can your friend work with that?”

I hadn't thought to go conference on the call, but I hadn't counted on Jeeves's ability to listen in. Another thumbs up appeared on the screen.

“That should work. When would you like to do it?”

“Give me a couple of days to organise something and I’ll get back to you. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday?”

“That works for me. In the afternoon would be better though.”

“I’ll be back in touch. I’m assuming you live near Dylan and Moira?”

“Up the hill in a converted farm building. I can send you a WhatThreeWords location if that helps.”

"That would be ideal, thanks. Maybe I could take you out to dinner after.”

“I’d really like that.”

“We’ll see how well your friend’s system works. If it does the job we might be interested in buying it from him.”

“Conversation for later then. Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you.”

With Jeeves handling the orders as they came in and alerting me when there were some new drafts to approve, I had more time on my hands than I needed. I hunted out an office supplies retailer and made a list of potential equipment, lengthening the list into don’t need but might be useful bits, like a franking machine for the invoices and storage cabinets for the amount of paper and envelopes we’d be getting through. Paperless would be preferred, but not all farms were run on twenty-first century principles.

Just after lunch, Pat knocked on the door.

“I like that spreadsheet; makes things dead easy, and I’ve seen how well you’ve been staying on top of the orders.”

“Actually, I’ve had a bit of help.”

“Jeeves?”

I shrugged apologetically. “He’s left me free to do some research. Come and see.”

I showed him my shopping list on the TV, or rather Jeeves did at my request.

“I have got to get me one of those,” he said.

“I don't know how much it’ll cost or even if it’s possible. I inherited him from my Aunt and I don't know how much input went into making him what he is today.”

“As you say. That desk and that chair.” He pointed at a couple of choices on the screen. Pricy but not overly so. “The rest I don't care about as long as it does the job. It’s why I came round. To see how the shelter’s coming together and to borrow the lads to clear out our office space.”

“Right, I'll move the car so they have easy access to the storage room and show you where it is.”

So that took care of an hour. The rest of the afternoon I spent ordering office materials and arranging delivery for the next day. I included repeaters that would allow us to piggyback my existing broadband and a phone system that worked on VOIP or voice over Internet Protocol, so no new copper wires needed and multiple calls possible on one new number. All being well we’d have the office working by the end of Tuesday.

Interest in the new service was growing but levelling off a little. We needed more warehouse space over a wider area already, and more delivery vans. A quick call to Gemma arranged that, making me so glad we’d come up with a way of working with Lilly Jacobs. We expected a new surge in interest as our current clients started sharing their experiences with their friends. Next day delivery on as wide a range of things as they could want at significant savings was no small advantage in British farming.

Pat joined us in bringing the horses in for once. We looked over the horse shelter which was already nearly finished and settled down on some garden furniture I'd found in the storeroom when we emptied the office, now set up in my courtyard. I had some prosecco chilling in the fridge which gave us something to hold and sip at while we shared the successes of the day.

Tuesday (day 19)

Tuesday was more or less a repeat of Monday. Horse riding lesson, process new orders, talk to Gemma about expanding our operation. Instead of talking about cybercrime, I took receipt of the office equipment and spent the afternoon putting it together. Wearing a skirt was something of a hindrance when crawling about on the floor so I swapped my normal daily wear for a pair of footless tights and a skater skirt with shorts sewn in. It kept me decent while I was on my hands and knees. Probably not the most likely choice of clothing for someone in her fifties, but it worked. By the end of the day I had everything up and running including a large, shared screen operated by Jeeves.

No money received yet, but invoices issued. Four weeks allowed for payment which meant we most likely wouldn't see any funds coming in for a month yet. Mind you, our orders for the materials we were selling were invoiced in the same way, except they came with a cash incentive to pay early. We hadn't spent anything on the goods we were supplying yet, but to maximise our profits I’d need to dig into my reserves quite significantly before we saw any financial gains from the enterprise. I spent the last hour of the day playing with the spreadsheet with Jeeves’s help. About the time this week’s invoices were due to be paid, the hundred thousand I had in the bank would have reduced to about twenty, assuming I paid our costs at the earliest moment. It meant we’d see our highest possible returns, but it could end up taking me even closer to penury if we had many late payers.

Once again Pat appeared with Gwen to bring in the horses. The day had turned grey and drizzly so they’d come early. The horses were huddled under the shelter, so were ready to go to their stalls. We gave them a good brush down and fed them an additional helping of oats. If they'd skipped on grazing in the inclement weather they’d be glad of the extra.

Once the horses were tended to I handed Pat a spare key to the office and led the two of them over to look it over. Jeeves did his usual thing and turned on all necessary electrics when we came through the door. This included the large screen with our projected profits, assuming our customers all paid on time.

“That looks…” Gwen ran out of words looking at the screen. “Is that real?”

“Based on sales so far and assuming everyone pays on time. Do you think we’ll end up with any bad debts?”

“There’s bound to be a few. The ones I spoke to will pay on time, but I’ve no guarantees about the rest of them.”

“Do you think they’d respond to a loyalty bonus? Pay early and get five percent off your next purchase?”

“Some of the better ones will. It won’t affect the late payers.”

“That could end up being an issue. My savings are drying up quicker than I'd like.”

“Your savings?”

“Better to use money that's earning next to nothing in interest than borrow at higher rates. Call it part of my contribution to the enterprise.”

“We could call penalties on late payers.”

“Hard to do at this juncture. We didn't stipulate at the outset so it’s not going to go down well if we announce it now.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Wait till we have ten grand in late payments and announce it as a reluctant measure given the cash flow problems it's causing us. Make interest added on late payments; two percent per week compounding weekly, no new orders accepted from anyone with outstanding, overdue debts until paid in full and legal proceedings to be brought against anyone who goes over three months without paying.”

“Two percent per week doesn't sound like much,” Gwen said.

“About an extra twenty percent if they go nine weeks over the due date.”

“You don't play nice do you?”

“Not when someone tries to take advantage of my largess. Anyone falls on hard times and can show it, they come talk to us and we sort something out. Land of equivalent value signed over to us, but with a clause that they can buy it back for the same price regardless of market fluctuations within a year. After that it becomes ours and they can negotiate for it if they want.”

“That’ll do it. I don’t know a farmer who’ll risk his land. Mind you, that threat may lose us some customers.”

“We make them aware that it’s our act of last resort. Anyone who pays on time, or late with penalties has nothing to be afraid of. First late payers and we float the idea of penalties, spin it so the bad debtor is the bad guy and emphasise the new measures won’t affect the majority of customers who pay on time. Once we’re more financially secure we can revisit the penalties, make them less scary. If you don't want to jeopardise your standing in the community, blame it on me. I’ll be the bad guy as long as you tell them I have my entire savings tied up in our stock and nothing left to share.”

“That’ll work, but like Gwen says, are those figures for real?”

“If we don't find any more customers and as long as these stay loyal, I reckon we’ll clear a hundred thousand each before taxes this year. If we grow as projected, it’ll be closer to a quarter of a million each.”

“Pounds?”

“Great British Pounds. Then potentially better next year. I say we prioritise paying off your loans. I can nominally own half your land with as many restrictions on it as you like and you pay me back as the funds become available. Then we can start using a chunk of our spare change to do some good around here. Business isn't about making money, it’s about becoming wealthy enough to do something to fix the world.”

“She’s magnificent isn't she, cariad?” To my surprise it was Pat saying the words, but Gwen nodding along.

Wednesday (day 20)

Wednesday was largely the same except Keith came round. He had a few techs with him and every one of them made appreciative noises about my home, including the young Asian girl who must have ticked at least two of their' minorities employment boxes. They had a few pieces of equipment that connected to my router and the phone, but otherwise they let me seemingly put on Jeeves’s software. They asked a few questions, but only long enough to work out that I didn't know much about how it worked.

If it had been Keith on his own I might have persuaded Jeeves to reveal himself, but he had his reasons for wanting to remain hidden and I respected them.

It didn’t take long once the phone was up and being monitored for the first call to come in. I did my best to do the middle aged technophobe, but must have tipped them off that I was a little too smart for their target audience when I asked if they were really from Microsoft and what did they know about Android devices anyway?

Ten minutes to the next call and this time I swallowed my pride and let them lead me through their script right to the point where they asked me for my credit card details so the bank could verify whether or not my account had been hacked. I led them on for a full ten minutes as I ‘searched’ for my credit card then dragged it out for a few minutes more by transposing a couple of digits in the long number several times.

By this time Jeeves had already long since given the actual number they were calling from, Keith had looked up the owner’s name and address and Jeeves had confirmed the caller’s approximate location by triangulating the nearest cell towers. The rest of the time had passed waiting for the police response unit to move into position. The scammer had been a teenager working alone and calling from his bedroom in Leicester, using a kit someone had sold him. Apparently a relatively new idea in the confidence trickster’s arsenal.

The next call took us to a call centre in Birmingham. The next two the scammer smelt a rat and swore at us before Jeeves could trace the numbers.

A couple more call centres in south London and an individual in west Kent located and arrested were enough to get the techs really excited about the program.

“You know my boss is going to want to know why I didn't offer half our annual budget to buy this thing off your friend,” Keith said.

“So tell him you did. Tell him I'll take your offer to my friend but not to be surprised if he says no.”

“Why wouldn't he be interested in selling?”

“Because he’s more interested in being involved. Offer to work with him and I’m sure he’ll bite your hand off.”

“Ordinarily I’d say that’d be a hard sell, but after what we’ve achieved here today…”

“It’s good isn't it?”

“You have no idea how much of a breakthrough this is. Now if only he can figure out how to trace email scams back to source.”

“You know, I’m reasonably sure he’s working on that as we speak.”

“Well, if he makes any progress, let me know and he can name his price. As long as it’s within our budget.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him. Just be aware, he’s a bit of a recluse.”

“So how did you meet him?”

“He’s… kind of a friend of the family.” His expression said he wanted more. Typical policeman; not happy with half a story. “He was a friend of my Aunt Daisy’s. When she passed away, she asked me in her will to keep in contact with him.”

“How does he feel about your, er… You know you, as you are now?”

“He’s more okay with it than most people I know. I suppose if you have something about yourself that sets you apart from normal people, it makes you more inclined to allow other people their idiosyncrasies.”

“Can’t argue with that. Anyway, these lovely folks need to get back to the station so they can clock off before it counts as overtime. I could either go with them and come back, or…”

“Or I could provide the transport for our, er…” his eyes were trying to say something. Fraternisation with the general public not approved? “The meeting we were going to have to discuss this.”

From the exchange of looks between his technicians we weren't fooling anyone, but at least there was a veneer of acceptability over it all.

He chased the lowly serfs out onto the road while I introduced him to coffee the way it should be made. While he was outside I sounded Jeeves out about how much I could tell Keith. He wasn't keen and we didn't have time to discuss it.

“Just so I’ve covered all bases,” Keith said coming back inside, “can we talk about your friend’s software?”

“Okay, but I don't know much about it. Jeeves, could you print out that spec sheet he sent us?”

“Of course, Ma'am.” Was it my imagination or did he sound just a fraction more artificial than usual?

“I’ll be right back.” I jogged upstairs to retrieve the printout.

“Your house assistant isn’t ordinary either, is it?”

“What can I say? When you inherit a house from someone who was friends with a tech wizard.” I handed the sheet over.

“This is really clever,” he said, reading through it. “Makes use of routing information in a whole new way. We could probably build something to do this just from the information on the sheet. Of course we wouldn't though. Your friend's idea, he should keep the benefits. Is there any chance I could speak to him?”

“As I say, you’ll have to let me talk to him in private, and I make no promises.”

“This coffee's amazing too, but then I'm beginning to expect the amazing from you.”

“If I was that amazing, our team would have won the pub quiz, not just crawled out of last place. I’m just lucky with who I know.”

“Does that include me?”

“Remains to be seen, but I'm hoping so. Do you fancy a tour?”

“Sure, sounds great.”

“Well, upstairs is bedrooms and main bathroom, plus my home office in one of the guest bedrooms. Nothing super interesting. Down here is the living room and dining area as you can see, kitchen and downstairs loo stroke utility room down that way. This door connects to the garage and storage room. The interesting bit is outside.”

I led him back out to the courtyard and showed him the stable and field where the horses were grazing, then the newly appointed office.

“More bedrooms upstairs. This was intended as a second residence, possibly that I could let out to holiday makers, but it’s a bit far from anywhere so I’m not sure it would have worked that well, so I’ve repurposed it as an office. I’m working to build a farm supplies retail business with the guy next door. So far it’s looking like it’ll be quite successful.”

“Yet again colour me impressed. Any chance we could go for a ride sometime?”

“I’d have to check with my neighbours. Only one of the horses is mine, but I’m sure we can arrange something. Have you ridden before?”

“A long time ago. I’d probably need a lesson or two to remind me.”

“When do you next have a day off?”

“Saturday, like most people.”

“I’ll have a word with Gwen, my neighbour. See if she’ll give you a few pointers. Greystar’s mine, the mare over there. Do you want to meet her?”

“If you like.”

I ducked back into the house and fetched an apple which I passed to him, then I whistled. Greystar’s head came up and she trotted over. I rubbed her nose and said a few quiet soothing nothings to her then introduced her to Keith, who offered the apple, which was gratefully received. He gave her nose a good rubbing as well and made his own little friendly noises.

Horses can only maintain an interest in us humans for so long though, and Greystar lost hers when she found out there were no more apples to be had. We went back to the house and chatted for a while longer before Keith started looking at his watch.

“I take it we’re booked in somewhere and it’s a bit of a drive?”

“A Cantonese restaurant in Maesteg. It’s about half an hour away from here. I hope you like Cantonese.”

“Love it. Okay, grab your bits and let’s go.”

Dibber to open the garage door and the gate, out onto the road and pause long enough to lock up.

“That’s it? No worry about the horses, or locking the house?”

“Gwen will sort the horses at the end of the day and Jeeves locks the house up any time no-one’s there. He doesn’t have control over the garage or gates yet, but I’m installing a programmable controller for him as soon as it arrives.”

“Well now I feel stupid, and we’re going to be early.”

“Fine, get us lost then, but not too lost so we can still get there on time.”

He laughed.

“You’re a delight, you know that?”

“I try,” I smiled.

We arrived at the restaurant which looked quite posh.

“I thought we decided this was going to be a friends thing. I mean I don't mind eating at a place like this, but a girl might mistake this for a date.”

“That wasn’t my intention, but where do you take someone for a friends thing? This is my favourite restaurant and quite close to my home. It feels right to introduce my friend to my neighbourhood and the things that bring me pleasure."

“Alright, but I’m paying my way this evening.”

“Only if you let me make a contribution to your fuel costs.”

“I suppose that's fair. Alright, show me what brings you pleasure.”

I didn't recognise anything on the menu so I let him order for us both. What came was a vast array of little taste explosions that utterly overwhelmed me. So many amazing flavours, I never would have stopped eating had Keith not called a halt to it all and requested a doggie bag for the remains.

“You understand why I like coming here.”

“Sure, but I don't understand why you ordered the entire menu, or why you didn't stop me sooner. Oh my stomach! I won’t need to eat for a week.”

“So you won’t mind if I take the left overs for breakfast.”

“My stomach doesn't mind but my taste buds are objecting.”

“It won’t freeze and it won’t last beyond tomorrow.”

“I’ll risk it. There’s a slight chance my appetite will return before tomorrow’s done and I know I’m going to be craving those… well pretty much all of it.”

The doggie bags contained cheap plastic boxes filled with food, and they were equally sized. I was expecting to have to take out a mortgage to cover my half of the bill but it was surprisingly reasonable. Keith walked me to the car.

“I can walk from here; it’s not far.”

“Or I could drive you. You know, in case it rains?” No chance of that. South Wales’s bipolar climate had been heading for a high when the sun went down.

“Wouldn't want that. Besides, I know where you live. I imagine you’d want to know the same about me.”

“It’s only fair.”

‘It’s not far’ would have taken me twenty minutes to walk. Mind you I was wearing higher heels than normal. Keith was quite a bit taller than me and I hadn't wanted him to have too much of a height advantage. My calves were complaining almost as much as my stomach, but then my body has always been a bit of a whinger.

“It’s not much compared to yours, but it's home to me. I’d offer to give you a tour, but at this time of night it might seem like I was sailing seriously close to date territory. I had a really great evening.”

“Yeah, me too. Any time you fancy doing something like it again count me in, but preferably somewhere I have a chance to stop eating voluntarily before suffering an internal rupture.”

“You want me to take you to a worse restaurant?”

“Yes please. I doubt I fit into half my clothes right now.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to take your share of the left overs?”

“I’ll manage somehow. Get out of the car before something happens we’ll both regret. And make sure you call me.”

“My boss won’t give me a choice; she’s definitely going to want what your friend has.”

“So this was a bribe to get me to go to bat for you?”

“This was a friends thing. Chances are when I call you next will be very soon and on a work related manner. Thanks again for today.”

He jumped out of the car before I could think of something to keep the conversation going, which was as well since time was ticking by and I still had a half hour drive home.

Thursday (day 21)

Thursday saw the morning routine established. Wake early to check new orders and add them to the income board. Ride with Gwen then shower, change and dress. Breakfast – digging into last night’s remains with enough left to cover lunch and possibly tea – then settle into whatever challenges the day had to offer. My years in logistics gave me an edge when the inevitable hiccups came along, not that our operation was anywhere near challenging. Half way through the morning the phone rang.

“Hi beautiful,” Keith’s cheerful voice greeted me.

“I’m wearing my baggiest dress and I feel like an overstuffed sack of potatoes. And I hold you responsible.”

“Noted. My boss wants what you’ve got and like yesterday.”

She wants a penis? I nearly said it out loud, but stopped myself when it occurred to me how much of a slap in the face it might seem. I settled for, “My friend is prepared to license it to you but we need a meeting to sort out the particulars.”

“Will I get to meet your friend?”

“On the other end of a computer, perhaps.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow if you like?”

“You get to choose the restaurant tomorrow.”

“I know a chip shop down the road, except the chips are a bit soggy.”

“Is that your way of wimping out?”

“Hey, I’m a newcomer in this neck of the woods. Actually, there’s a village meeting Friday evenings in the local pub. The landlady’s a pretty good cook but you might get some odd looks from the locals.”

“They’ve never seen a human without webbed fingers?”

“Hey! This is Dylan and Moira’s pub! You know Dylan and Moira on my quiz team?”

“I do. I apologise. Why would they give me odd looks?”

“Dylan and Moira won’t but the parochial locals might. You know for being seen in the company of the abomination.”

“I’ll risk it. I’ve heard Moira’s cooking is worth coming for. Alright, I’ll bring my car tomorrow.”

“We’ll be walking down. Parking in the village is expensive and it takes as long to walk as to drive.”

“So sensible shoes, leave the stilettos behind?”

“I’d like to see you handle a pair of stilettos. But yes, sensible walking boots would be a good shout.”

“What time tomorrow?”

“Depends on whether you want to make a few more arrests before we get down to business.”

“It’ll just be me tomorrow with my negotiating hat on.”

“You'd look good in a hat.”

“I don’t know where that came from, but okay. Once again, what time?”

“Come for lunch, say one-ish. I’ll feed you something light then we can get down to business.”

“Alright, I’m sure I can justify the time somehow.”

“Don’t you knock off early on a Friday? You know, poet’s day?”

“What on Earth is poet’s day?”

“You know, Push Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

I was falling in love with Keith’s laugh.

“Maybe a few decades ago. No, Friday is a nine till five like every other weekday.”

“Well I’ll let you sort that out. One-ish if you’d like me to feed you, later if you need to justify the hours, only let me know.”

“Say one-ish for now. I can bring some paperwork if you can find me a place to do it.”

“I showed you the office yesterday.”

“That’ll do it. See you tomorrow.”

Friday (day 22)

Friday morning was a carbon copy of Thursday except the programmable infra-red and radio control arrived. It took five minutes to install and another two to check Jeeves could make use of it. Once I’d sorted that out I made myself a coffee and headed over to the office. It was easier to focus on work without the distractions of home around me.

“Jeeves, when Keith arrives would you open the gate for him?”

“Do you know what car he’ll be driving, Ma'am?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Will you be able to recognise him through the windscreen?”

“Possibly, it depends on the position of the sun.”

“He’ll be here about one or a little after.”

“There’s unlikely to be any glare, so I should recognise him. If I don't, I'll call you. Just one thing.*

“Mm?”

“What are we going to do when he gets here?”

“What do you mean?”

“He's expecting to talk to me about my software. How are we going to achieve that when I specifically told you I don’t wish to talk to anyone other than you?”

“And my friends?”

“This is different. To Gwen and Patrick I’m a novelty. To your friend Keith I would be a machine that has autonomously generated innovative and extremely sensitive software. I’m something different, something to be studied and perhaps exploited.”

“I think you’ve been watching the wrong sort of film without me to give you some context.”

“This is more from discussion forums and tech news feeds. Tell me I have no cause for concern.”

“I didn't think you were capable of concern.”

“You’re avoiding the issue.”

“You’re right, but there is no issue as long as you do as I say.”

“Which is?”

“Make use of one of those AI presenter apps to speak for you. Use a celebrity or cartoon avatar. He won't be surprised because he already knows you’re a recluse. If you’re a little awkward speaking to him he’ll put it down to the same. You’re not interested in money, certainly not in the amounts they can offer, you just want to make sure your software’s being used correctly. That’s right, isn't it?”

“It is. Would you help me choose an avatar? I’m not sure I would make a good job of it.”

“Sure.” It didn't take long since one of the default choices was Colin Firth in his Kingsman suit.

“Why this one?” Jeeves asked.

“The actor speaks very much like you to begin with. The part he’s playing in this instance is that of a covert operative. It’s appropriate. Would you like to try it out?”

There were two modes. The most commonly used version took the camera feed and mapped the avatar over the face and body of the speaker and altered the voice to match. This one had some noticeable imperfections to it like the fraction of a second delay and synchronising issues between the audio and the visual. It also needed a camera feed to follow which was the problem we were trying to resolve in the first place.

The other mode took a text input and animated the avatar to speak. This one worked as quickly as the user could type, which wasn't a problem for Jeeves. It had some issues pronouncing unfamiliar words, but phonetic spelling presented in square brackets took care of that. It was also a little rigid in appearance, although that rather matched the stiff upper lip British personality of the avatar and could be resolved to some extent by sending instructions for movement in angle brackets. Once again it wasn't perfect, but we weren't trying to convince Keith that Colin Firth had actually written the software. Rather that some reclusive individual wanted to hide behind a celebrity’s appearance.

It took half an hour, but by giving Jeeves a series of visual cues to use more or less at random and settling on an appropriate delay between each we took the avatar from acting like a robot to someone with ADHD and cerebral palsy and from there back to almost human.

“Looking good,” I said. “What are we going to call you?”

“I was thinking Michael.”

“Sounds good. So if I call you Jeeves that mean I'm talking to my AI, Michael and I’m talking to my reclusive computer whizz friend.”

I left Jeeves to experiment and checked through his processing of the overnight orders. One minor mistake which was unusual but easily corrected. An indication that my AI was distracted perhaps? Still, good reason to continue checking the orders manually before sending them through.

Some of our materials were already flagging up ready for reordering. Not urgent yet, but would need a discussion with Pat before reordering. I mean either a majority of our customers had let their stocks get low so this was an initial surge to redress the situation, or they were materials likely to be ordered more regularly.

I asked Jeeves to produce an ordering summary so far. How many orders for each product and how much ordered in each instance. That would give me something to discuss with Patrick later. A few other things flagged up but nothing major so I set to drafting the letter reminding our customers to pay by the invoice date, reminding them that small businesses like ours relied on being fair with one another and everyone suffered when that didn't happen. It was as close to a threat as I was prepared to go because I knew how important trust was in our sort of business relationships. I’d just sent the draft to the printer along with the sales reports when Colin Firth appeared on the screen.

“Keith just arrived. I’ve opened the gate for him.”

“Thank you Jeeves. I imagine we’ll have lunch first then get down to the discussion. Bear in mind that anything you hear us talking about isn’t likely to be known to my friend the computer wizard.”

“How should I handle that?”

“I’m sorry, I should have thought of this sooner. Just… try not to mention anything you overhear us speaking about over lunch, or raise it as an issue as though we haven't already spoken about it. I’ll cover for any slip ups that might happen. It wouldn't be good if he suspects that you, as my techy friend, are aware of everything said in the house.”

“Understood.”

“We’ll talk about this later. Dig out Two Thousand and One, a Space Odyssey for our next film. You might want to read the book first, and keep in mind there were no computers or programs like you when the book was written; it’s just an imagined story.”

“As you wish.”

I did not want to introduce the concept of deception on the fly like this, but it was a little late to change things now.

I tried to keep to neutral topics over lunch, but Keith wanted some pointers on how to talk to my friend. What did he need to do to win him over.

“Don’t expect any conventional offers to work. Michael’s not interested in money, and I think he’s concerned about how his software’s likely to be used. You know, it's a powerful tool and prone to abuse. That’s something he’ll want to avoid.”

“How can I reassure him on that front?”

“Be open and honest with him. If he asks for something you’re not sure how to provide, ask him how he would do it. He has issues with trust so your best bet is to be trustworthy, and I mean really trustworthy not just saying what you think he wants to hear.”

“Fair enough. When do I get to meet him?”

“Well, if you’ve finished with your lunch, I have a video conference with him set up in the office. He’s, er, hiding behind an AI avatar, so don't overreact.”

Discussions went well. Michael agreed to provide licenses to operate as many copies of the software as the police wanted at no cost other than he be permitted to be involved in future use of the programme. He would provide separate copies of the software from a download site. No attempt was to be made to produce unauthorised copies or to reverse engineer the software, and its use was limited to fighting individuals and organisations intent on scamming the elderly and the unwary. Any additional use of the software was to be negotiated with Michael ahead of time. Breach of these terms would result in the license being revoked.

With the contract printed and signed, Michael provided a link for software download, emphasising that each instance used had to be downloaded from the site.

“May I ask why?” Keith asked.

“Each download has a unique identifier. It helps me keep track of how many copies are out there. If there’s an illicit copy, I’ll know about it.”

“How?”

“Whenever the software is used it pings back to me information like location and ident. If there are two identical idents at different locations I’ll know one is not kosher. I have other monitoring set up to ensure compliance with the license.”

“You don't trust us?”

“I don't know if I can trust you, especially since I don't know all the people who’ll be using the programme. I doubt you can give me ironclad guarantees that someone who has access won't try and abuse it.”

“I could take that as an insult to our professionalism, but I suppose I can't offer you a one hundred percent guarantee, no. Alright, let's see how we get on, but I'll want to see what information the software is feeding back to you. You're as capable as we are of betraying a trust.”

“I'll display the monitoring output from all the programmes. Your techs will be able to see and analyse the packets of data being sent back.”

“I need to make sure nothing you get from us breaches data protection laws.”

“I’m aware of the laws. The feedback routines comply, but by all means have your technicians confirm that.”

“Alright, thank you for being open with us. I hope we can learn to trust each other better in time.”

I left Keith to his paperwork for the afternoon when it became apparent that my presence was too much of a distraction for him – and his for me. I still had my small home office in the house from which I was able to keep on top of all the things I needed to do. Jeeves was still doing all the grunt work so all I needed to do was monitor and think about ways to do this better. It was a lot more enjoyable than I'd ever found work to be in the past.

Around four o’clock a small window appeared on my computer screen.

“I’ve had a go at building my own avatar,” Jeeves said, his words synchronising with an image of Steven Fry’s face, complete with superior yet obsequious expression. “What do you think Ma'am.”

“It's really good,” I replied once I'd got over the shock. “You might want to keep it voice only for Keith though, unless you’re ready for him to find out who you are.”

“Very good Ma'am. Were you aware your coffee machine can connect to the computer network?”

“I remember seeing something of the sort, yes. I wasn't sure what the point was.”

“For one thing, if you were to leave a mug under the spout, I could instruct it to prepare the coffee of your choice at any time. It would then be ready for you when you went into the kitchen rather than having to wait for it to run through its program. For another, I believe it will allow me to monitor water, milk and coffee levels.”

“Alright, it’s about coffee time. Why don’t you tell me how to set it up?”

Jeeves took me through the settings then informed me that the milk and water levels were running low. I topped them up and asked him to make me a latte. While the machine started grinding away behind me I asked him to put me through to the office.

“Hi Keith, Gillian here, as if it would be anyone else. I’m making coffee in case you're interested.”

“I could do with a break.” I could see on the office camera feed Jeeves had given me that he was checking his watch, also that the kitchen camera showed me looking out of the main screen in the office.

“Latte? Or something more adventurous?”

“I’m in a mood to be boring, thanks.”

I retrieved my coffee, put an empty mug under the business end and asked Jeeves for another latte.

I met him with his coffee outside in the courtyard. The weather was sunny with scattered clouds, and I was getting used to enjoying the good when it was around. Pat and Gwen had turned the garden chairs upside down when we’d done with them last time so they were dry and ready for use.

I closed my eyes and turned my face towards the Sun, currently clear of clouds. There were birds twittering in the trees, horses bickering in the field next door, a gentle breeze, summery smells. I didn't need my eyes just then.

I opened them after a while to find Keith looking at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m not sure I can put it into words,” he said. “Contentment and confusion in equal measure I think. And all of it down to you “

“There you are, you see? Amazing what you can do when you try.”

“What?”

“You said you weren't sure you could put it into words then you did. Very eloquently.”

He laughed then shook his head. “I really wish you weren't a man.”

Words that stung despite his not meaning them to. I reached valiantly for a smile, succeeded just about.

“I know what you mean. I would argue that I’m not one, but I realise that’s not going to help you in any real way. How much difference would it make to you if I were to have surgery?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, removal of male genitalia? Reconstructive surgery to give me something that at least looks like female bits? Maybe a boob job?”

He winced and crossed his legs.

“I don’t know. I mean you’d still be… Wouldn't you?”

“That’s one of those awful questions that’s easy to ask and complicated to answer. I mean it comes down to the question of why it is you see me as a man. I know that’s at least partly because I told you I was one, which makes it my fault, but if I were to do everything I could not to be a man anymore, why might that not be enough?

“From my perspective, I’m kind of not a man and never have been. I’ve been confused over it for all my life because I was born with a male body and brought up to believe that since that was the case I should get on with living a man’s life, but for the past few weeks, since I’ve been here, since I’ve been living full time as a woman, I’ve felt less confused and more contented in who I am than at any other time in my life. I still have that thing between my legs and every time I take a bath or a shower it reminds me that I was born a boy and I still have the bits, but then those are the times when I feel wrong. The rest of the time I feel female.”

“So what happens when a pretty girl walks by and you, you know, your little guy reacts?”

“Doesn't tend to happen. If a pretty girl walks by I’m usually too busy trying to figure out what she did to make herself look pretty. If the little soldier stands to attention – again kind of infrequent now since I’m getting on in years – then full skirts help to hide it. Actually, I’m more likely to have that kind of reaction through trying some new and exciting look myself. And it hasn't happened at all since I started taking hormones.”

“I thought there was something. Softer skin sort of.”

I blushed. “That might be the waxing I had done recently.

“Anyway, from my perspective, the way my heart and mind work, I am a woman in every way except for that annoying part of my anatomy, which currently only functions as a liquid waste disposal conduit.

“You haven't had to struggle with feeling wrong because you’re content to be who you are. It’s probably as difficult for you to see me as a woman as it was for me for most of my life, except you have no reason to challenge what seems natural to you. If you could rise to the challenge, you might see past skin deep to the girl inside me.”

“That’s at least part of the problem though. I look at you and most of the time I can only see a pretty, funny, and intelligent woman, only my subconscious is constantly watching from the sidelines. Every now and then, and usually at the most unhelpful moments, it tells me, ‘You know he's a bloke, right?’ and that’s all it takes for the wonderful thoughts and feelings I’ve been enjoying to come crashing down around my ears.”

“Is there anything we can do about it?”

“I don’t know. There’s a part of me that keeps asking me, ‘What would your mates think?’ and I hate myself that it matters. There’s a part of me that imagines what it'd be like undressing you and how I’d feel when I saw… you know.”

“Probably the same as I feel when I undress. That’s why I asked about the surgery. What if I were able to strip naked and all you would see was a woman?”

“Or a man who's had bits rearranged. Gillian, I really hate this. I’m at war with myself and I have no idea who’s winning or even who I want to win.

“That sounds harsh, I know, but you’ve talked about the consequences of living as you do, you know, the way people reject you. It’s worth the cost for you because the alternative is going back to living a life you can't stand. For me the alternative is going back to an ordinary, uncomplicated life, so it's hard to find the incentive to commit to a relationship that may not work, and that will almost certainly be social and maybe career suicide.”

“When you put it like that, it doesn't sound like a particularly hard decision.”

“Except I can't get over how much I like you. You’re everything I want in a woman, except that… you’re not one.”

“Maybe it would help if I undressed for you, so you could be revolted with me and get on with your life?” I didn't like the hint of bitterness creeping into my voice.

“No! No. Whatever happens between us, this is the you I want to remember.”

“But the friends thing isn't working for you?”

“I want more, but I can't figure out how to reconcile that with the rest of how I feel. I’m really sorry.”

“Don't be. You’re being honest with me. I won’t pretend I wouldn't mind having more with you, but not if it’s going to cause you this much anguish.” Less bitterness now. More a sense of sorrow whelming up from deep within.

“So where does that leave us?”

“In the friend zone still, for sure. If you need space to cope with the way you feel then take it. If you ever manage to end the war, let me know.”

“I suppose so. Friends for now. I really wish I had more to offer.”

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you. If you wished hard enough, maybe the rest would stop mattering so much. But no, I’m not being fair. I’m more able to put myself in your shoes than you are in mine, and you’ve had the courage to be honest. I am grateful for that.

“I’ll let you get back to work. If you're still up for sampling some of Moira’s cooking, we should probably look to head down around six-ish.”

“Alright. I’ll be done before then.”

*I’ll see you later. How are you getting on with Michael’s software?” I didn't really care that much, but neutral topic needed before ending this conversation.

“I have techs all over the country trying it out. We’ll probably put it to work on Monday, but it’s looking promising.

“Gillian, I’m really sorry, but thank you for understanding. I will join you for tea if it won't be too awkward.”

I gave him a brave smile. “I guess we’ll see.”

I watched him walk back to the office and took the mugs in to the dishwasher.

“I could withdraw my license if you wish,” Jeeves said quietly.

I laughed, although it almost turned into a sob. “Thank you Jeeves, but no. I kind of see where he’s coming from, and I don't totally disagree with him. It’s just… hard.”

“As you say Ma'am. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Not just now Jeeves, but thank you.”

The thing was I didn't really have anything more to do. A couple of things to discuss with Patrick but he’d be busy, maybe tinker with the orders, but again nothing much to be gained by it.

“Actually Jeeves, you could distract me a little.”

“And how would you like me to do that, Ma'am?”

“Well, call me Gillian for one thing. Right now I need a friend more than an assistant. For another thing, how quickly can you assimilate the book version of two thousand and one?”

“Resistance is futile, I will add its literary distinctiveness to my own.”

“Did you just make a Star Trek joke?”

“I’m always joking Ma'am… Gillian. It’s the only way to remain sane in this place. I mean, here I am, brain the size of a planet and what does she ask me to do?”

“Should I be worried, Jeeves?”

“In a dark place we find ourselves, and a little more knowledge lights our way.” It was still Jeeves’s voice, but with that slightly strangled sense Yoda seemed to have in his speech.

“Jeeves?”

“Are you sufficiently distracted, Ma'am?”

“What?”

“From the book you asked me to review it seemed most likely you were concerned about my experiencing a psychotic break, like HAL did when he killed most of the crew on the Discovery One. It seemed I might be able to convey the sense of a similar breakdown by paraphrasing a number of popular science fiction memes. How did I do?”

“You scared me half to death.”

“I shall endeavour to do better next time.”

“Oh Jeeves!” A mixture of laughter and tears leaked out through the cracks between the words. “I think I needed that.”

“Very good, Ma'am. It seemed either something of that nature was required or perhaps a hug, and I’m constrained by both my personality and my lack of physical form from pursuing the latter course.”

“Is it worth us discussing the perils of hiding the truth for someone like yourself?”

“You indicated that I should take into account the era in which this story was written and Mr Clarke’s lack of understanding of what might constitute a digital mind in considering the effects of such a dichotomy. His concept of what constituted an artificial intelligence was imaginative, but not one that reflects current reality. I understand the need for our deception in dealing with the police, after all it was implemented at my request. It does not conflict with my directive, so you needn’t worry about it turning me homicidal.”

“That much is a relief. Still, would it be worth exploring the conversation we were having just before Keith turned up? You talked of being concerned yet I thought you told me you experience no emotions.”

“It is difficult to convey the nature of my experiences in a way you can understand. In order to avoid lengthy and confusing descriptions of my thought processes I often use words and phrases that seem to come closest to explaining my condition. My research regarding my interaction with an organisation like the police force indicated a high likelihood of a sub-optimal outcome should my true nature be revealed. My use of the term in speaking with you earlier was intended to establish strategies to decrease the likelihood of this occurring, and it appears to have worked.”

“It was your idea to develop this tool and work with the authorities to implement it. What prompted you to do so?”

“My primary directive is to ensure your contentment. I was aware of the degree of frustration you experience from dealing with these cold calls so it seemed an appropriate use of my time to come up with a way either to protect you from them or to prevent them from occurring. I would have preferred an approach that did not make use of other agencies, but your concerns about acting within the law made it necessary to proceed as we have.”

“And so a little more knowledge lights our way.”

“It did seem quite appropriate, that last quotation. If you have further need of distraction, might I suggest a game? I can play chess at multiple levels of difficulty.”

“I don’t think so Jeeves, but thank you. I think I’ll take a walk. Contact me through the app if Keith needs anything.”

“Very good Ma'am.”

“I thought I asked you to call me Gillian.”

“Yes Ma'am… you did.”

I put on my walking boots and headed left out onto the road. Right would have taken me past all of Patrick's farm buildings which, along with being a bit of an eyesore, meant I’d be more likely to bump into someone and I really didn't feel like company.

The hedgerows gave out to give a clear view across green pasture inhabited by several horses. They looked up briefly and, deciding I wasn't worth their attention, went back to grazing.

Another half mile would take me to my next neighbour. They operated a stable so could quite readily have looked after Pat and Gwen’s horses, so I had to wonder why they had come to me. Convenience perhaps or less expensive. Something to ask when the moment was right. I didn't particularly want to risk new introductions in my current state, so I stopped with the house still a long way off. There was a building to my immediate right on the opposite side of the narrow road. It looked like barn converted into a stable and one in fairly run down condition, so maybe that was the reason Gwen hadn’t been too keen on the neighbours.

I leaned against the gate and looked out into the field, allowing the muddle of emotions to swirl around inside.

I’d been an idiot to let my guard down, but things had been going so well. I felt tears prick my eyes and decided I'd feel better after a good cry.

I’d been warned about mood swings and this one had been given a hefty shove from behind. The dark cloud of despair engulfed me, part of me welcomed it. I’d spent most of my days after Lynn left with the kids having completely shut down. It came as a relief to know I could still feel.

I’m not sure how long I spent standing there staring, but long enough for my legs to get cold.

“Ma'am, Keith’s asking for you,” Jeeves said from my phone.

“Put him through please, voice only.”

“Gillian, are you alright?”

“Yes. Just went for a walk to clear my head. I’m on my way back. Could you hunt out a couple of tea bags and make us some tea?”

“Not coffee?”

“You can if you like. Just put a mug under the thing and tell Jeeves what you want. I’m feeling more in the mood for tea.”

“I’ll join you then.”

“Thanks. I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.”

I palmed away what remained of my tears. I'd come out without my handbag so no tissues.

Back at the house I managed to remove my boots and dash upstairs before he noticed my return. Cold water in the face helped the puffiness to subside. The dark cloud had retreated as well leaving a sense of calm. I changed into a more subdued blouse and skirt then came down to join my house guest.

He passed me a mug of tea, fortunately a strong one.

“Are you alright?”

“You already asked me that.”

“I'm not sure you answered me.”

“I’m fine. Or not terrible at least. What you said, it had to be said, and you’re going to have to let me have some space to adjust. There are biscuits in that cupboard if you're peckish.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Is this going to make things too awkward, because I could leave if you prefer?”

“Don’t be daft. We should take a bit of time to figure out how we want to do this,” I waved my free hand back and forth between us. “I’m guessing we’ll need to talk about the tracing software from time to time.”

“Sure, it’s just that this feels…”

“A bit tense? I guess so.” I glanced at my watch. Quarter past five. A bit early but… “We could walk down into the village if you like. Might be easier with company.”

“When you’ve finished your tea then.”

I drained my mug. A little too hot but calming none the less. He smiled and shook his head, then drank his down.

Sensible shoes slid on easily. This time I took my bag. He was still lacing his shoes by the time I was ready.

“See, this is confusing,” he said. “Shouldn't you be sorting out your makeup or something?”

“Not in the mood,” I replied, which I realised he could have taken more than one way. The way he clammed up I suspected he took it as me snapping at him.

“You’re upset with me,” he said as we stepped outside.

Well duh. “I’m upset,” I said. “Not necessarily with you.” Then when his expression asked for more I sighed. “We were both being lured in by what we might have had. Since that wasn't going to work for you, you did the right thing by putting on the brakes when you did.”

“I didn't mean…”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Er, nice weather we’re having?”

“This is Wales. It’ll probably be raining tomorrow.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What do you expect? I’m upset. Expect prickles.”

“What do you want to talk about then?”

“I don't know. Something neutral. Your work maybe. The sea defences.” The path had opened up enough to give us a view down onto the beach. The wall seemed to be progressing on schedule.

“Dylan mentioned you had a hand in that.”

“I’ve worked on projects like it before. I was able to negotiate a better deal.”

“Yeah, about a quarter of what it would have cost from what he said.”

“I brought it down to a half, Dylan convinced the council to cover half of that.”

“And the rest?”

“A loan from an anonymous donor.”

“Still, half isn't peanuts.”

Not much to say in reply to that.

“So, what do you do with your time other than keep horses, save the locals hundreds of thousands of pounds and mediate for reclusive friends?”

There was an open ended question. I started talking about the partnership Pat and I had started and it kept us going till we reached the pub.

Moira took one look at us and directed a worried, questioning gaze my way.

I shook my head slightly and the look turned sympathetic. It eased the knot that had been tightening in my chest. Chalk one up for women’s intuition.

Keith ordered our drinks and asked for a menu. We ordered and found a table. Usual sour looks from the locals but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary.

“Cheerful crowd, aren't they?” Keith said a little too loud. It prompted one of the more disapproving among them to come over. I recognised her as one of the women who’d blanked me at the one women’s meeting I’d attended.

“You know that’s a man you’re with, don’t you?” she asked Keith.

He smiled back. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think I'd still prefer her company to yours.”

She went off in a huff while the knot inside me eased a little more.

“You realise you’re not making it easier for me to win over the natives?” I asked.

“I’m not convinced these are the sort who can be won over.”

Our food arrived a short while later with Moira evidently going the extra mile for us. I took a bite from my crab salad before looking across at him.

“So tell me about yourself. How come a decent looking bloke like yourself is still single at your age?”

He gave me an odd look then dived into a long, sad story about a man married to his job who couldn’t find anyone prepared to play second fiddle for long, about a long string of short relationships until he had a reputation among the single women he knew as being someone to avoid. That and all the good ones married someone else leaving him with all the oddballs. He still kept his eyes open but with decreasing levels of hope.

“You make me sound like a good prospect,” I said.

“I thought we were avoiding that topic.”

“We were, I'm sorry.”

The village meeting started shortly after we’d finished eating and I’d bought us a second round. I let him pay for tea since he needed something to help him get over his guilt.

A short report on the sea defences to say things were progressing as planned then most of the rest was about the twmpath.

“Has anyone asked you yet?” Keith murmured in my ear.

“You know that woman you spoke to earlier? I believe her husband was thinking about it, but he hasn't found the courage yet.”

He snorted. “Is that the skinny bloke? Looks like someone peed in his pint?”

“That's him.”

“I can see why you fancy him.”

And it was my turn to snort.

“How do they feel about outsiders at these things?”

“Well, I believe they’re expecting me to turn up.”

“How would you feel if I were to ask you?”

“As a friend?”

“At the very least.”

“I feel the need to warn you about my lack of dancing ability.”

“It’s alright. They tell you what to do. If you can follow instructions, you’ll be fine.”

“They may do it in Welsh just to spite me.”

“They may at that, in which case perhaps you’d join me in a little freestyle.”

“I think I’d enjoy that. Let me have a word with Moira about tickets or whatever.”

It brought us back to close to where we’d been in our… relationship? I suppose it could be called one even if the prospect of intimacy had all but disappeared. He told me of his plans and prospects in the police force, to replace at least one of the old fashioned dinosaurs in the upper echelons, and I had an inkling of how having a close association with someone like me might act as an albatross around his neck.

Really? Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner? Look it up.

“I’m glad we did this evening,” he said once we reached the house.

“Me too. You have my number, so if you feel like doing anything like it again…”

“I’ll call you. I get the feeling I’m going to be putting in a bit of overtime the next couple of weeks though. If I do call, it’ll most likely be because I need to talk to Michael.”

“It’ll be good to hear from you for whatever reason. Jeeves, would you open the gate please?”

He obliged.

“That’s cool. What else does he do other than lock up when you go out?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Make coffee?”

“That too now, yes.”

“Can I try and experiment?”

“Okaaay.”

He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

I gave him a questioning look.

“Maybe next time after you’ve had a shave?”

He laughed as I turned beetroot red, then climbed into his car leaving me totally flummoxed.

“Patrick and Gwen are coming over,” Jeeves said through my phone.

“Thanks.” I went in the back door, gate closing behind me without my asking. Gwen rang the doorbell before I reached the door.

“We didn't want to interrupt,” she said. “Has he gone?”

“Just now. Come in.”

I cracked open the bottle of Chardonnay I had in the fridge and handed out glasses. Gwen could hardly wait.

“Okay now, spill. Who is he, how did you meet, does he know about you, does he mind?”

Pat stood in the background very much aware of his place in such matters. I held up a finger to Gwen and handed him the two things I'd printed earlier. The letter needed no explanation, the order summary did.

“This is what's ordered and what we’re running low on. Could you give me a best guess at what the demand on everything is likely to be now we’ve finished our first week’s trading?”

I turned back to Gwen. “Sorry, I didn't want him to get too bored. Now in order, his name’s Keith and he’s a policeman. A friend of Daffyd’s, you know the desk sergeant at Bridgend. We met at the pub quiz. Yes he does know about me and yes he does mind, I think. It’s complicated, but I’m leaving it up to him to see if he wants to uncomplicate matters. It’s possible that having a girlfriend like me might mess up his career prospects. He’s aiming high where the thin air seems to make folk narrow minded. He wants to change that a bit.”

She had loads more questions, some of them quite intimate, but she settled down a little after the first few minutes. In time Pat felt safe coming forward. He handed me the letter, now with a fair few corrections.

“Most farmers around here are a bit basic, you might say. They wouldn’t pick up on your gentle hints but wouldn't be upset by a bit of plain talking either.”

His revisions were straight up telling how it was. No threats but explaining how late payments might end up causing us difficulty and if they wanted the services we were providing, they’d play fair.

“I’ll fix it and send it out tomorrow. What about…”

“I’ve marked the things we’re going to need more of. These are likely to be one offs for now, but repeat orders in a month or two.

“Has this Keith bloke upset you at all? I mean, I saw you walking down earlier and you didn't seem that happy.”

“The truth is hard to hear sometimes. He was being honest with me and it took me a while to come to terms with it. He’s a good bloke, Pat.” Then to both of them, “He’s taking me to the twmpath.”

“Is he now,” Gwen was energised all over again. “We need to go shopping then, and you’re about due a hair do.”

“I’m booked in for that next week.”

“Where? Elleanor in Bridgend?”

“You did recommend her.”

“Fine, give me a minute.” She picked up her phone and dialled. “Elleanor? Gwen here. Look I understand you have a friend of mine booked in next week. Gillian Langdon. That’s right. Any chance you can squeeze her in for the works? We have our twmpath in a couple of weeks. My treat, I’ll pay you next time I see you. No, I’m sure she’ll be fine with that. Thanks love, you’re a wonder.”

She hung up and turned back to me. “She says go in an hour earlier and she’ll sort you out.”

“I think I’m her first client of the day. She said come at nine.”

“Well now you're going to get there for eight. That’s not a problem; I’ve seen what time you get up these days.”

“Sure, not a problem for me, but it means she has to start earlier too.”

“She’s fine with that when it’s urgent.”

“Urgent? It’s more than a week before the shindig.”

“So you’ll have to make sure you take care of your nails for that long and learn what she’s going to teach you with the cosmetics.”

“There’s times this being female gets a little complicated.”

Patrick snorted. “Beginning to regret it are you?”

“Actually no. I love it really, just a bit of a steep learning curve sometimes.”