This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don't read it.

Unfortunately no politicians were injured or killed in the writing of this story, and no one else was either.

If you enjoyed it, then please Email me and tell me. If you hated it, Email me and lie. I will always welcome contact.

tanya_jaya@yahoo.co.uk

The legal stuff.
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.

4.

“And again!” Gwen's voice brought me back to reality.

We were having a dance lesson. I had been here a week, and this was the Monday of the second week. Having never been into the more aggressive contact team sports, I now really enjoyed the freedom and discipline of dance, and began to appreciate the versatility of the human body. If kept in shape, that is.

I had been warmly welcomed by the staff and other students, and my story of recent tragedies were accepted and I seemed to just fit in. I had arrived on that Sunday afternoon, and a dark girl called Sheri had been asked by Gwen to help me settle in. She was my age and of mixed parentage. Her looks were extremely exotic. I learned that her father was British and her mother was from Thailand. She had her mother's petite build, and colouring, and her eyes were slightly oriental, but she had the most unusual dark blue irises. I thought she was incredibly pretty.

I was shown my room, and the other two girls in our little cluster drifted in out of curiosity. There was tall Sally, who had wanted to be a ballet dancer, but just grew too tall. And lastly, Simone, who was French, who had the most amazing voice.

We were all around the sixteen/seventeen mark. Simone was the eldest, and I the youngest. I immediately felt that I was among friends.

During the days, our time was very tight, Gwen kept up a strenuous regime, and we were worked very hard. In the evenings, she used to give us an hour of preparation for the next day, and then time to relax. We were free to leave the college at any time after six pm, but we had to be back by ten. There was a strict no smoking and no alcohol policy, and as we all wanted to keep in shape, and keep our voices as pure as possible, this was not a problem.

Although, I had missed a month of the term, it did not seem to be a disadvantage. At least, not as far as my singing was concerned, as I was actually rather ahead of most, with my previous voice coaching. I had a lot to catch up in some of the other subjects.

I found that, despite being not very good at the various sporting activities at Monksreach, I had at least reached a higher level of fitness than some of the others.

I really loved every aspect of the college, and all the subjects were interesting and fun. I gradually got to know the others in my year, and a few from the second year. It took me some time to get used to the relaxed and informal atmosphere, but everyone was so helpful and kind.

Mike picked me up on the Friday evening, and I slept right through to nearly eleven o'clock on Saturday morning. I put on the suede outfit, as it was my favourite, and it was warm. I did my make up carefully, and was pleased as to how much easier it was all becoming.

When I eventually reached the kitchen, Mary gave me a hug.

“It's funny, but I missed you this week,” she said.

“I didn't have a second to miss anything,” I admitted. “But it is nice to be home.”

She smiled when I used that word. Then she picked up the local paper and passed it over to me.

“Look at page two,” she said.

I opened up the paper, and staring at me from the page was a photograph of Russell Drysdale, which had been taken about two years ago, when I had first gone to Monksreach.

“Shit!” I said.

“Emma!” Mary said.

“Oh. Mary, I'm so sorry. Its just that this really mucks things up,” I was suddenly worried that all the good things that had happened would now be at risk.

“That came out last night. It doesn't look like you at all,” she said.

I smiled, “So I should think! I am taller, and stick out in lots of places that I never used to,” I said.

“Mike thinks you ought to call the number and let them know that you are all right. If your dear mother is really as nasty as you say, although I'm not sure I believe that, but if she is, then it would be in her interests to have you dead. If you contact the police and state that you are alive, and can prove it, then any plans she has to swindle you, will fail. And if she is genuinely worried, then her worst fears would be put to rest,” Mary said.

I snorted at the last bit.

“Can you run me a long way away, so I can call on a public phone box?” I asked.

Mary smiled, and passed me over a little box.

I frowned, and picked it up. I opened it. It was a mobile phone.

“That belonged to a friend of Caroline's, and she left it behind, ages ago. She is now living in Canada or America, and I am sure she doesn't even remember having it. It is a pay as you go, and I have kept it up. I rarely use it, and Mike likes me to have it when I am in the car. You can use that, and it is not traceable to me. Even if it traceable to Caroline's friend, I doubt that she would remember where she left it. And if someone asks, I can say that this lad came and asked me if he could make a free call. If anything it would confirm that you are alive and still the old Russell,” she said.

“You are beginning to develop a rather sneaky criminal mind,” I told her, with a smile.

“You have this effect on us. Mike has become an adept forger, and now you have me thinking ahead,” Mary said, laughing. “But, seriously, Emma. We want you to be responsible. Regardless of your mother's feeling for you, and whatever her motives, the police are currently spending time and money trying to locate you, and they have better things to do.”

I switched on the phone, and entered the number.

“Crimestoppers, can I help you?” said a woman's voice.

“It's about your appeal for Russell Drysale.” I said. I tried to make my voice a much like a boy's as I could. I began to realise how profound the change that I had undertaken. It was very hard.

“One moment.” There was a click. Then another voice, a man's, came on the line.

“Hello, I understand you have information about Russell?”

“I am Russell,” I said.

There was a moment's silence on the other end.

“Okay, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions, just to make sure?”

“No, ask what you want.”

The man asked me several questions, obviously meant to catch out anyone who was not the real me. I answered them all.

“Okay, I'm satisfied you are who you say you are. Where are you?” he said.

“I am alive and well, and I do not want to be found at this time.”

“Your mother is worried,” he said.

“No she isn't, she will be when you tell her I am alive, because she can't claim my inheritance,” I said. I then explained all about my unusual family circumstances.

He told me he was DS Higgins, as in the paper. I agreed to contact him again, before the end of the month.

“I would like to meet you in person, just to make sure you are okay,” he said.

“No, I would not be happy with that. Simply because I have sorted myself, and have no desire to go back to Monksreach, and no desire to have any contact with the woman who gave birth to me, and has made my life a misery ever since.”

“Russell, you need to know how dangerous the world is out there. There are all sorts of nasty people who could take advantage of you.” He sounded very concerned.

“I know, and I can safely say that where I am now, is perfectly safe, in fact a lot safer than anywhere near that woman,” I said.

“Look, send me a letter, and put your fingerprints all over it, we took prints from your room at school, and we will know if it is really you. Send it to me at the Aylesbury CID, at the police station in Wendover Road. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said. Then I rang off.

I sat for a moment, my mind in a whirl. I tried to imagine the result of my call. The fact that I was alive should make the police less concerned, but I fully expected them to still keep me on a back burner, just until they could see me in person.

I looked down at myself, and smiled. There was no way that they would believe that I was Russell Drysdale.

Mary gave me some paper and an envelope. I took them out of the plastic wrapper, and made sure that no one else touched them. I wrote a few lines, and put my hands all over the paper. I suddenly had a thought, if I were truly female; my DNA may have altered slightly, because I would now be XX, and not XY. I didn't lick the envelope, and used water.

I addressed it and put a stamp on it. Again, I didn't lick it. Mary said. “Right, let's go for a drive.”

We got in the car, and drove south. We drove through Aylesbury, ironically, past the police station, and then on, past Amersham, Gerrards Cross, and onto the A40 at Denham. We drove into Uxbridge, and I posted the letter at a side street pillar-box, in Cowley, between Uxbridge and West Drayton.

Mary smiled as I got back into the car.

“There, at least you know that they will not be quite so worried about you now,” she said.

We headed home.

As we passed the Police station in Aylesbury, we were held in a line of traffic. I glanced towards the station. It was set back from the road on the right hand side. There was a pond in front of the main doors, and a car park to the right of the pond. I suddenly saw a familiar figure, my mother. She was standing by the pond, a mobile phone in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. She looked agitated.

“Can I try something?” I asked Mary.

“What?”

“Can you pull into the police car park for a second?”

“Why?”

“I'll tell you afterwards. Please, it is important to me,” I said.

Mary indicated, pulled out of the line of traffic and into the car park on the right.

She reversed into the bay. My mother was directly in front of me, about twelve yards away. She was tanned and very expensively dressed, with her hair perfectly set, and mostly artificially coloured. She had a very expensive and luxurious fur coat on.

“That is my mother!” I said, and got out of the car.

“Emma. Wait,” Mary said, but I was heading towards the woman. I was about 5'9” in my heels, and I knew that she had not taken a close look at me for ages. Mary followed me, her face anxious.

I went straight up to her, and I realised that for the first time in my life, I actually looked down at her.

“Excuse me, is that the main door?” I asked.

She looked at me, up and down. She had a bitter expression on her face.

“Do I look like a fucking street sign? Piss off,” she said, her French accent very obvious and resumed the conversation in fluent French on the phone.

“No, they haven't a fucking clue, the little bastard has just vanished.”

“Oh, some stupid detective. He told me that Russell called him, and doesn't want me to know where he is. Little fucker, I knew I should have had a fucking abortion.”

I walked slowly towards the police station, and Mary was standing a little way off, with her mouth open. I didn't realise she could speak, and more importantly, understand French. I went back and collected her.

“Come on, you'll give the game away,” I said. We went into the office.

I asked about a missing cat, and they were polite but told me they didn't deal with cats, only dogs, and we left. She was still on the phone. As we passed, she looked at us and then glanced away.

“Look, Raoul, I'm not staying in this stupid little piss-hole any longer. Get your arse over here, and try to find the little bugger. The cops are not going to bother, so if you find him, just get rid of him.”

“I don't care how, make it look like an accident or an overdose. He can just be another sad statistic, and I can at long last get my hands on the fucking money!” she said.

We got into the car, and Mary was shaking with anger.

“I never believed that anyone could be so evil. She is actually arranging for you to be killed! Oh Emma, I am so sorry, I didn't believe you. You poor, poor child,” Mary said.

I shrugged, as I was the least bit surprised.

“Mary, start the car and we had better leave,” I said.

Mary was still shaking, and we left the car park. My mother was still on the phone.

“Raoul is her lover. He is a big bastard, and to my knowledge is perfectly capable of being very nasty. I met him last Christmas. He owns a gym near Menton in the south of France. I didn't like him, and he didn't like me. We need to watch him, he is very shrewd,” I said.

“Why don't you tell the policeman, Higgins is it? What we have just heard?” she asked.

“I already did,” I said.

“When?” Mary looked shocked.

“In my letter. I told DS Higgins that I would expect her to send Raoul after me, and I fully expected him to have been told to dispose of me so she could inherit,” I said.

“Just how much are we talking about?” she asked.

I looked at her.

“A lot,” I said.

“A million?” she asked.

“More.”

“Ten million?”

“No, more.”

“Twenty?”

“Try five hundred million,” I said.

She went very quiet.

“Most of it is tied up in the various companies and properties, but my trust fund stands at fifteen million alone,” I explained.

“Did you tell the police that?” she asked, she had gone a little pale.

“Oh yes. They love motives,” I said.

“If you died, does she get the lot?”

“I doubt it, my father has probably left it to his cousin in Devon, or to some charities. In a way I would like to see her face when she realises that she loses everything,” I said.

Mary drove in silence for a while. She stopped in a village and we had a light lunch at a little teashop.

“I still can hardly believe what I just heard. It is like something from a film or a book.” she said.

I laughed, “My whole life would make a good book, but who would ever believe it?” I said.

We finished lunch, and continued home.

When we got back, a rather concerned looking Mike met us.

“Where did you two get to? I was starting to get worried.”

“Emma contacted the police, because of the bit in the paper. She wrote them a letter, with her fingerprints all over it. We went to Uxbridge to post it. Oh, Mike, you have no idea what happened on the way back,” Mary said.

Mary told him of our encounter with darling mummy. He was as shocked as she had been.

“Oh dear God,” he said. He looked at me, and then he looked worried.

“Told you,” I said, with a smile.

“Oh Emma, I'm so sorry, I didn't ever think she could be as bad as you made her out to be. What can we do?” he asked.

“Nothing, we just let them alone, and get on with our lives. I will feed information to the detective, and hope that Raoul drops himself in it,” I said.

“But what if he finds you?” Mary asked.

“How, there is no connection to you, to the college, and if my own mother didn't recognise me, how on earth will some French heavy, who has only seen me once?” I asked.

“I still, think we ought to go to the police,” said Mike.

“No, absolutely not. Mike, we are in the strong position here. We know that Raoul is coming over, and we know that my dear mother is pooing off back to France, and we know that the police don't really care that much about me. This is my chance to get my own back on her, and if we are careful, we can let the police do it for us,” I said.

“But how?”

“I haven't a clue, but as the game goes on, I will look for opportunities,” I said.

“All right, Emma, but if things get difficult or dangerous you must go to the police,” Mike said.

“Agreed,” I said.

Mike gave a little smile.

“I feel sort of better about all the trouble we went to, to give you a new identity,” he said.

“It's very much appreciated,” I said.

I sang in the choir again on the Sunday morning, and Mary took me back to college that evening. It was back to work on Monday.

I worked hard that week, and managed to completely forget about my mother.

On Thursday I woke up feeling really awful, when I pulled my duvet off, I had a horrible moment, as I was bleeding.

It took a few seconds to sink in, and then I realised that I was now truly a woman.

I cleaned myself off, and then had fun playing about with tampons. I tried to work out how it fitted, and ended up having to read the leaflet. I went and washed my sheets and nightie in the communal wash area.

Sheri came in while I was there, and saw what I was doing.

“The curse?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Bad luck. It's a real pain, isn't it?”

I just nodded again.

We chatted for a bit, and she put her washing in the other machine. We went for breakfast while the machines did their job.

I felt pretty sluggish all day, and I think it was reflected in my work. At lunchtime, Gwen came over to me.

“Emma, just to let you know I have become aware of your little visitor. Now, one of the key strengths of a professional is the ability to work through such times. I know you feel rotten, but imagine that you have a three-month run on a major production. You can't alter your standards just for being a woman. So now is the time to start learning how to work through your period. I know it's hard, as I've been there. But you can do it,” she said, in a very gentle and kind tone, but very firmly.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let you down,” I said.

“You didn't, dear. The only person you are letting down is yourself. You have shown such high commitment and energy in everything so far, it was very obvious that you are under the weather,” she said.

I smiled, “I'll try. But I really feel pretty awful.”

“Good girl. Just do your best,” she said, and left me alone.

The next day, I felt a little better, but had to keep changing my tampons. I was really flooding.

By Saturday, I was much better, and was excited about the fund raising concert in the church hall that evening. I persuaded Sheri to come and stay, and Mike and Mary made her very welcome.

The concert was in aid of some restoration work on the church. The tower was in dire need of urgent attention, and they needed several thousand pounds to start. The diocese had agreed to match whatever the local church raised, and there was already a few thousand in the kitty.

It was due to start at 7pm, and we had a light supper before. Mary took me upstairs, and we went into her and Mike's room. She pulled a gorgeous evening dress out of the wardrobe, and asked me to try it on.

It was black and sleeveless, made out of silk and satin, and was simply divine. It was a little tight in the bust, and Mary told me she had worn it when she was a lot younger. We were about the same height, and although she was a little plump now, she obviously had been a little thinner than I. My bust was really quite substantial now, and I thought I looked older than I really was.

I looked at my reflection in her full-length mirror. I was stunned.

“Emma, you look wonderful. It really suits you,” Mary said.

I still had yet to have my ears pierced, and kept putting it off, the coward that I was.

She gave me a pair of clip-on drop earrings, with large pearls. She then placed around my neck a lovely pearl necklace. My crucifix rested between by cleavage, and I decided to leave it on. She gave me a gold bracelet, and took my boy's watch off me.

Instead, she gave me a very fine gold ladies' watch.

Sheri came and helped me with my makeup and hair, and then I was ready.

We all walked over to the hall together, and I was suddenly very nervous. We went in the back way to the little room that was behind where the small stage was, and there was a band of some of the local lads, playing some recent hits. They were quite good; I peeked round the edge of the stage and saw that the hall was packed.

There were about three hundred people in there, and of all ages. The band played another number and then finished. They came off, and I stood well back out of the way. Sheri was with me, and tried to make me feel less nervous. It was silly, I had often sung in choirs in front of more people that this, but then I remembered that I was just one anonymous member of a large choir.

They had a local magician next, and he was very good. He had everyone spell bound, and he asked for a volunteer.

One of the lads in the band pushed me out onto the stage, and I was suddenly in the limelight.

“Wonderful, I see that we have the most stunning volunteer. Step right up here, pretty lady,” he said.

I stepped forward, a little nervous.

A large box was produced, and I was put into it, I stood in the dark, and the back opened, and I stepped out and found myself behind the curtain. He opened the box, and I was no longer there. He put it back and mumbled something, and I simply stepped back into it. Then he opened the box, and I stepped out and raised both arms.

“Well done,” he muttered. And we took a bow.

It was my turn next.

Mike stepped forward, and took the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that we have with us tonight, on grateful loan from the Teesdale College of Performing Arts, Miss Emma Pearson, and her wonderful voice. For those of you that really appreciate her singing, then come to church, as she is the latest member of our choir.”

With a piano accompaniment, I went through my medley of four songs, ending with the Halleluiah Chorus, as promised.

It seemed to go down well, and the applause made me feel that I had done all right.

I relaxed then, and went out to the back. Sheri gave me an orange juice. I saw the four band members sitting by the corner. They were going to go on again at the end.

“Which one of you silly sods volunteered me for that silly trick?”

Three of them looked at the one who was trying to look the most innocent. He was a tall lad, nearly six foot two. He was broad across the shoulders, and had short fair hair. His ears looked as if he played rugby, and he had a very cheeky smile. He was drinking from a water bottle, while the others were drinking beer.

I went over to him, and put my hands on my hips.

“Thank you very much. It wasn't as if I was nervous enough,” I said.

“I'm sorry, but you looked far too good looking to only come and sing a couple of songs. Which, may I say, I think you did fantastically,” he said, completely unrepentant.

I could not stay cross for long, and despite myself, I smiled.

“Thanks, but I wasn't impressed,” I said.

“I'm Steve. Steve Roberts,” he said.

“I'm Emma Pearson,” I said.

“I know, I've been looking at your name on the poster outside my house for the last couple of weeks,” he said. “I was wondering what you looked like. I'm very pleased to have found out.”

I was a little lost for words. He shuffled up on the bench.

“Sit down, if you like?” he said.

I sat.

“Your band sounded good,” I said.

“Its all right. We aren't as professional as you, but we have fun,” he said.

“What do you call yourselves?”

He shrugged, “We haven't got a name really, just Steve's Mob. We only do it for fun.”

“Sometimes having fun is the important thing,” I said.

“Too true. So this college you're at, is it all classical stuff or what?” he asked.

“It's a little bit of everything. I love any type of singing, but I rather like the idea of drama or even dance.”

“Do you sing any modern stuff?” he asked.

“Of course, I'll sing anything.”

“Do you know the old Culture Club hit Karma Chameleon ?”

“Yes, why?”

“We can play it, but have never had the right person to do the vocals. Do you fancy joining us for the last number?” he asked.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn't ask you, if I wasn't sure,” he said.

“I'd love to, thanks. I have a friend, she is a good singer, can she join us for backing?” I said.

So, ten minutes later, I was once again on the stage, and my evening dress was slightly incongruous against their jeans and tee shirts, but they played the music well, and I gave it my best shot. Sheri was thrilled to be part of it and was really good at backing. I had always been able to memorise lyrics, and as I read music, I find it ever so easy.

We went down a storm, and the applause we received was better than either of our first outings. So much so, that we were forced to do an encore, and I sang Do you really want to hurt me , also by Culture Club.

However, the evening ended, and all of the performers and the organisers took to the stage.

Mike took the microphone once more.

“Many thanks to everyone who took part, and supported this event. This event has exceeded my expectations, and I am sure that most of you have enjoyed it as much as I. My thanks to all the performers, and for their time and wonderful talent. They tell me that this evening has raised more than three thousand pounds, and this brings our total to eight thousand to date. Our aim is to reach ten thousand, and with the same again from the diocese, our target of twenty thousand will mean that work can start.

“So I think you can give yourselves a huge round of applause.”

The audience filed out, and it was just the organisers and performers left. Mary and Cheryl appeared with some trays of food, and from a back room, Mike brought some wine and some beer.

He called form some hush, and announced that we were all welcome to stay for food and a drink or two.

I noticed that the drummer had cornered Sheri, and was in deep conversation. She caught my eye, and then she nodded and smiled, she was okay.

Steve came over to me, carrying two plates of food.

“I took the liberty of getting you some food. I would have brought you a drink too, but someone forgot to give me four hands,” he said.

“Thanks, why don't I get the drinks, and then we can use the four hands we've both been given?” I said.

“Great, I'll just have some water. I have to drive,” he said.

I went and grabbed a bottle of mineral water, and an orange juice for me.

I joined him, sitting on the stage. I was really hungry, and ate everything he got for me. I became conscious he was staring at me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Not at all, you just never cease to amaze me, that's all.”

“Why, what have I done?”

“For a starter, you look totally out of this world, you sound so bloody hoity-toity it is just not true, you sing like an angel, and you eat like my younger brother,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“I didn't mean to be rude, but you belong on the cover of Vogue, and not sitting in some dusty church hall eating chicken legs.”

“It just so happens that I rather like sitting in a dusty church hall eating chicken legs,” I said, finishing another chicken leg.

“Is there a remotest chance that I could see you again?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“That depends,” I said.

He frowned, “On what?”

“On whether your younger brother is quite so critical of female company,” I said, as I jumped off the stage. “Do you want any more to eat?”

He looked at me with a strange expression. Then he shook his head, smiling.

“You are completely unlike any girl I have ever met,” he said.

“That doesn't help. Food?”

“I'll come with you.” He joined me and we went over to the table.

“How many girls have you met, then?” I asked.

“Enough. And you are unique.”

“I could have told you that,” I said, helping myself to a little of everything.

“How long are you at college?”

“Just until the end of next year. Why?”

“I was wondering how long you would be in the area, that's all,” he said.

I laughed.

“How about you, what do you do in real life?” I asked.

“I have been working on my Dad's farm, but I am due to start at police training school soon. I am joining the Thames Valley Police,” he said, a little guardedly.

“Oh, cool,” I said.

“That's an unusual reaction,” he told me.

“You told me I was not exactly usual,” I said.

“That's true.”

“Do you know where you will be working?” I asked.

“No, but probably either Aylesbury or Milton Keynes, as I live in the village. My brother is a DC in Milton Keynes,” he said.

“DC?”

“Detective Constable. Don't you watch the Bill?”

“No, I'm not a great one for the telly. I prefer reading. When do you start?”

“I have a date in a few months.”

“How long before you finish training?” I asked.

“The whole thing is two years probation, but I should go independent after six months,” he said.

I finished my plate, and he laughed again.

“Oh, I probably won't eat for a week,” I told him.

He looked worried, so I said, “Joke. I have quite a large appetite, and because I use up a lot of energy, I don't have a weight problem, yet.”

“Seriously, can I see you again?” he said.

I looked at him, and he did look serious. So serious I giggled.

He smiled, “What's wrong?”

“How old are you Steve?” I asked.

“Nineteen, why?”

“I'm sixteen, I would be delighted to see you again, but as long as you are aware that I am a virgin and fully intend to remain so for a long time,” I said.

He went red.

“I never meant….”

“No, I never said you did. But I thought as long as you were aware of the ground rules, then its up to you,” I said.

“What's up to me?” he said, looking confused.

“If you want to see me again, silly,” I said.

“I do,” he said, frowning.

“Are you sure, you look confused,” I said.

“That's because you are slightly more forthright than any girl I have ever met. And you are no way only sixteen,” he said.

“Sorry, I can show you my birth certificate if you like,” I said. “Are there any puddings?”

He laughed. “What are you like?” he said.

“Unusual, unique, forthright, hoity-toity, an angel, amazing and I eat like a pig, according to you,” I said.

He went very quiet.

“Have I said something I shouldn't?” I asked.

“Not at all, do you remember everything that people say to you?”

“Sometimes, if I like that person, or if I really don't like that person,” I said.

“And which am I?”

“Ah, you'll have to find that out.”

“When can I see you again?”

I looked at him, he really was very earnest, and serious.

“I'll be home next weekend, I've nothing planned on Saturday,” I said.

“When do you get out of college?”

“Friday evening. Why?”

“I could pick you up after college, and we could take in a movie or something?” he suggested.

“That sounds fun.”

“And then on Saturday, you could sing with the band at a gig we've planned,” he said, with a sneaky smile.

“Cost you,” I said, without a hesitation.

“Agreed,” he said, also without hesitation, and we shook hands. His hand was dry and warm, and very much bigger than mine. He kept hold of my hand, and I didn't complain.

I looked at him, and he was going misty on me. He licked his lips.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I really like your hand and all, but I wouldn't mind mine back, when you've finished with it,” I said.

He jumped as if startled and looked at our hands. He released my hand, as if I burned him.

“Sorry.”

“That's okay, it's not too easy going to the loo attached to a prospective policeman,” I jumped off the stage and went to the loo.

I was just coming out when Sheri came in.

“Are you all right with the drummer, he looks a little heavy?” I asked.

“Talk about the pot and kettle, I thought you were about to start snogging any second,” she said.

“I've been invited to sing with the band next Saturday,” I said. “Do you want me to ask if you can join too?”

“No, my dad is picking me up, but if you get any more offers, let me know, it sounds fun.”

I went back out, and the lads were loading up their van. I went outside, it was really cold.

Steve saw me and came over.

“We've got to go,” he said.

“Everyone does sometime,” I said.

“Have you a number I can call you on?”

“Not really, there is a payphone in the hall by my room, but I don't know the number,” I said.

He wrote a number of a piece of paper, and gave it to me.

“That's my mobile, give me a ring, anytime. I'll call you back, if you like.”

“Okay, where is the gig, next week?”

“At a hall in Winslow.”

“Okay, I'll tell some friends, and see if I can encourage a crowd to come.”

“That'd be cool.” He stood there, looking sheepish.

I stretched up, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Bye then,” I said. He held my hand, again. I looked at our hands, and then at him. He pulled me gently towards him. Then he bent towards me ever so slowly, I knew what was coming, and raised my chin and he kissed me on the lips. I felt a surge of emotion, wrapped my arm around his neck, and responded to the kiss. Our tongues touched, I explored his mouth, and he did the same to mine. I felt his arm encircle me, and he pulled me close to his body. I felt control slowly slipping away, so I broke off. He released me, and I stepped back.

“You'll be one I quite like,” I said. “See you soon.” Then I went back into the hall. I went straight to the loo and repaired my lipstick.

Sheri and I helped clear up, and stacked the chairs away. Then we walked back to the vicarage. It was nearly midnight, and I suddenly felt very tired.

Mary made some hot chocolate and we sat around the kitchen table. We chatted for a while before retiring to bed. I told Sheri that I was singing in the choir in the morning, and she asked if she could join as well. She wasn't a Christian, but she loved to sing.

Tanya Allen

© 5 December 2004