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.

8.

As I left The Teesdale College of performing Arts, three years later, in December 2000, I was nearly nineteen, and an awful lot wiser and more mature.

The three years had been interesting.

Our recording contract had been quite successful, but short-lived. As the guys were good but not great, and we had our eyes set on other things, we made one album, and managed to get ‘I'll wait, but not forever' as a single into the charts. It made number nine, and we performed on Top of the Pops. The following week we dropped to 24 th , and then to obscurity.

Gwen had ensured that we fulfilled our contractual obligations, and we all walked away with a reasonable sum in the bank. I was at last solvent, but was sad when Steve departed to Police Training School. We had become very close, and I had to admit to myself that I loved him.

Marcia returned to the college, and completed her two years with us. Her father managed to obtain the services of an eminent medical professor to explain his daughter's unique case, and she was able to live her life to her heart's content. A progressive dance company snapped her up, and as I returned to undertake a third year, she flew to New York for a season on Broadway in a highly acclaimed dance show.

Sheri joined me for the third year, and she and I were the only members of our year to stay on.

I had now completed the Diploma course, and had concentrated on my singing, and musical side, but now I wanted to specialise in drama, as I was keen to broaden my skills base.

I spent my holidays with Mike and Mary, and they treated me as if I were their daughter and they were my parents as far as I was concerned. I watched, as the little church became fuller and fuller every Sunday, until there was rarely any spare room. Mike became a dynamic evangelist, and with a heart for youth. I became increasingly involved in the youth work in the church, and I found I rarely had time to consider my beloved mother.

Due to a lack of hard evidence, Raoul was only charged with firearms offences, and nothing else. They were sufficient to get him a couple of years in prison, but he wasn't going to go away. The links to my mother were tenuous, and as no crime had actually got beyond the planning stages, the CPS were unwilling to run to the cost of a lengthy and expensive extradition and court case. So she was still free, and living in my house in Monaco.

I maintained my phone links with the police, and went to great lengths to send them postcards with my fingerprints all over them.

When I had my seventeenth birthday, and celebrated my year with Mike and Mary. I applied for, and obtained my provisional drivers licence, and Mike took it upon himself to teach me to drive.

Steve, now 20, completed his course, and he invited me to be his special guest at their celebratory meal before their passing out parade. The meal took place in a large conference suite of a hotel near Birmingham, and it was a very formal affair.

Steve told me that he had booked me a room at the hotel, and I took the train. I caught a taxi to the hotel, to find that he had booked us a double room. It was a lovely room, and as I sat on the big double bed, I realised that I was not disappointed with him. However, I was a little bit ashamed with myself, as I had plans for tonight.

I changed into a lovely long black evening dress, cut low across my bust, and was virtually backless. I had my hair done into ringlets, and my nails were perfect. I spent a long time on my makeup, and was very pleased with the result. I did not think I looked only seventeen.

I went down to the large entrance concourse, and waited for the coach to arrive from the Training School. I was approached by several apparently respectable businessmen, and realised, that if the worst came to the worst, I could always become a high-class whore.

Indeed, I was just fending off yet another potential customer, when the coach arrived. It disgorged a horde newly trained police officers - men and women, and their spirits were running high.

Steve was one of the last off the coach, and he saw me standing there. He stopped, and the guy he was with said something to him. Steve replied without taking his eyes off me. The other guy stared at me, and then made some remark to Steve, who smiled and shook his head.

As I looked at him, I realised how much I had missed him, and how fond I had become of him. I smiled, and he came over to me.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi yourself, is that all I get?” I said, pouting.

“You look fantastic, I can't believe you are so gorgeous, so stunning,” he said, and held his hands out to me. I put my arms around his neck and looked up at him.

“Don't you want to kiss me then?” I asked.

He pulled me close to him, and kissed me, amazingly tenderly.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” I said, when we came up for air.

“I know, it's the room. I'm really sorry, but the rooms are £100 a night, and I couldn't afford two. I will sleep on the couch,” he said.

My heart melted, as he probably knew it would. So, I just kissed him, and we went up to the room together.

I sat on the bed and chatted while he changed into his dinner jacket. I had persuaded him to wear a white one, just to be different, and I thought he looked great.

I repaired my make up, and he started nuzzling my neck. I felt shivers of pleasure run through me, and I knew that I would need all my will power, and steel knickers to remain a virgin tonight. It was such a pity that I was fresh out of both!

We went down to the bar for a drink, and he proudly introduced me to all his mates. The guys outnumbered the girls by a third, but as everyone had a partner, the actual party was very evenly matched. I watched Steve, as he looked at all the women, and he leant in close to me, and whispered, “You are by far the most beautiful and sophisticated woman here.”

He went to get the drinks, and I was left with his friend, called Roger, the same man he had been with as he got off the coach.

“So, Steve tells me you are a professional singer, what kind of stuff do you sing?” he asked.

“Anything from classical to rock, or pop. Did Steve tell you we performed on Top of the Pops?” I said.

“Yes, until we all got tired of it, but you were the vocalist, and if I remember right, there were four or five of you, and little camera time was given to Steve and his band.”

“You saw it?”

“Yes, you were very good,” Roger said with a grin. “The black leather mini skirts and sexy boots were very, ah, stimulating.”

I laughed and Steve returned with the drinks.

“What are you two laughing about?” he asked.

“Roger was expressing his considered opinion in relation to the merits of certain fashion statements,” I explained.

“You what?” Steve asked, frowning.

“He likes girls in short skirts,” I said.

Various other colleagues came and talked to us, and I found myself the centre of quite a circle of young men, who had no specific partners, or, were just being nosey.

Steve became quite possessive, and I could see he was experiencing a conflict of emotions. On the one hand, he was very pleased and proud to have a glamorous girl as his partner, and then at the same time, he would rather he able to have her all to himself.

I leaned close to him, and said, “Don't worry, you will have me all to yourself later,” and smiled suggestively. Careful girl, danger! What the hell, I was young, female, attractive, and it wouldn't last forever.

We went in and dined on a typical large event meal, good, but not fantastic. Speeches followed, but most people were not interested in them, or too pissed to care.

After the speeches, the disco started, and I never sat down all night. If I wasn't dancing with Steve, then it was someone else, and I think I danced with most of the intake.

They actually started playing our record, ‘I'll wait but not forever', and the poor DJ was really confused by the reaction. Everyone knew that I had sung it, and Steve had played lead guitar.

They made me get up with a microphone and sing along to it. It was hard to do the movements, as I was in a long elegant dress, and not my mini skirt and leather boots. Nevertheless, it was just fun, and everyone seemed to enjoy it.

As I gave the microphone back to the DJ, he asked if I was the Emma on the label. The group was called ‘Steve's Mob with Emma and the Four Ms'.

“Yes, and that guy there is Steve,” I said, pointing out Steve to him.

He then asked us to sign the record sleeve, and his book of celebrities he took with him.

By 01:00, the party was over, and I was completely knackered. We said goodnight to the few still standing, and went up in the lift to our room. I was conscious of feeling a strange sort of excitement, and I was confused. I wanted to please him, and then I didn't want to be forced into anything I would regret later.

Steve opened the door, and put on the lights. He threw his jacket onto the bed, and grabbed me round the waist.

“I can't tell you how proud I was to have you come here this evening. You were so stunning, no one else came close to you,” he said

“You're biased, there were plenty of very pretty girls here this evening,” I replied.

“Sure there were, but you were by far the most beautiful,” he said, and kissed me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and the next thing I knew my dress had slipped to the floor.

I broke away, as I wasn't wearing a bra.

“Now, now. Rule one,” I said, and covered myself with my crossed arms.

“I love you, Em,” he said, openly and simply.

He looked so helpless; I put my arms around his neck again, and kissed him.

“I know, and I think I love you too. But I am tired, and sweaty, and am going for a shower, are you going to join me?” I heard myself say.

He grinned, and sat on the bed, pulling his shoes off.

Two minutes later, we were naked together in the luxurious shower. He held me close to him, and I had both arms around his neck. We kissed, and I felt his hands stroking my back, and down to my bum. He pulled me tight towards him, and I felt his penis hardening against me. I felt my breasts tingle, and he kissed my nipples, which hardened to the touch. His beard stubble scratched me, and I took hold of the shaving gel, and lathered his face.

I took hold of his razor, and shaved him, which was difficult to do, as his hands were busy fondling every inch of me.

I managed the task, and kissed him to check, that was better. He lathered the soap, I let him wash me all over, and I knew then that tonight I was going to lose my virginity. Importantly, it was because I wanted to.

We got out of the shower, and started drying each other, but I wanted him so badly, that I took him by the hand, and led him to the huge bed.

I pushed him onto the bed, and opened my small evening bag. I took out the three condoms I had bought in Boots earlier that day, and ripped open one of the packets. I rolled the condom onto his engorged penis, and pushed him back onto the bed.

“Emma, I am not forcing you…” he started to say.

I put one finger to his lips, and kissed him passionately. I wanted him so much now it hurt.

I swung my leg across him, so I was kneeling astride him, he kissed my breasts, and I felt for his penis, and helped him slide it into my very damp and hot little hole.

I lowered myself onto him, and felt him slide deep inside me, up to the hilt, I was so turned on that the combination of the visual, the sensual and the mental images, brought me to a plain of experience that was completely new to me. I felt a glow sort of explode deep within me and spread throughout my whole being. I gasped with pleasure as I came as he kept kissing my breasts. I rode him hard and repeated the sensation several times until he gave a huge shudder, thrust deep inside me, and then relaxed.

I slowly slid off him, and noticed that the condom was still intact. He took it off, and threw it in the bin.

I pulled him close to me, and kissed him.

“Thanks, I have wanted you to do that to me for ages,” I said.

“I wanted to do that to you ever since I first saw you,” he admitted.

We snuggled together in the bed, still naked, and just held each other.

“Em?”

“Mmm?”

“I have a confession to make.”

“Oh,” I said, my heart sinking.

“That was my first time too,” he said.

I was very surprised, and looked at him.

“How come?”

“I never found anyone special enough,” he said.

“Am I special, then?”

“Em, you are the most special person in the world. You are like an angel, and I can't believe you chose me,” he said.

“Don't you start,” I said, smiling.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing, it doesn't matter. So it looks like I will have to go on the pill,” I announced.

“Are you sure?”

“They don't make enough of those rubber things to keep us stocked up. And besides, I don't really trust them,” I said with a grin, and we kissed again.

“Well?” I said.

“Well what?”

“I thought you wanted to sleep on the couch,” I said, and he tickled me.

“Oh Emma. You make me feel so good, I love you so much,” he said.

“Mmm, you only want me for my body,” I said, and giggled when he tickled me again.

He turned the lights out, and we cuddled and I fell asleep in his arms. I was smiling, as I was now a complete woman.

We made love two more times before we finally got up. Both were amazing, and lasted for quite a long time, as we just savoured each other, and he was so tender. I decided that I liked being a woman.

We had breakfast together in the large hotel dining room. I was wearing a white skirt and jacket, with a black silk blouse. I was conscious of the glances I received from most of the males in the room, and revelled in it. Steve just sat and stared at me, dreamy eyed.

“What are you looking like that for?” I asked him.

“I still can't quite believe that last night was real. I've heard so many people tell me that their first time was instantly forgettable, I will never forget last night,” he said, and reached over and took my hand.

“Marry me, Em.”

I smiled, “I am flattered that you've asked me, I rather thought you might, but, Steve, although I do love you, I am not ready yet. You are three years older than I am; I haven't finished my training yet. There is a big world out there, and I have seen very little of it. Ask me again in three years time, if I haven't conquered the world by then, it won't be worth conquering,” I said.

He looked disappointed.

“Steve, I am not saying I won't, because if I still feel as I do today about you, then I will. But we both don't need the complications of being married this young,” I said, in attempt to make him feel better.

“I know all that Em, but I just want you forever.”

“Sweet Steve, I am yours now, and I will probably still be yours in three years, please, let's wait, huh?” I said.

He smiled, and squeezed my hand.

“Why are you so bloody sensible, Em?”

“Because that is the way I am.”

We finished breakfast, he caught the coach back to college, and I tagged along for the ride. There were a great many hangovers on the coach, and I was very grateful that I had stuck to orange juice all evening.

It was a great day, and Steve's Mum and Dad came to watch as well. They were quite surprised to see me, and Steve had forgotten to tell them that I would be there.

Steve's mum, Joan, seemed to be aware that our relationship had deepened, particularly when she watched how Steve looked at me during the day. During the parade, she cried as she saw her younger son march into the real world.

She turned to me, and said, “You will look after him well, won't you?”

I thought the comment a little over the top, but smiled and replied, “Of course.”

She took my hand and squeezed it, and just smiled at me.

He went off to join his station at Aylesbury, and I continued with my studies. As time passed, our feelings for each other became stronger if anything. He still lived at home, and helped convert an old barn, on the farm, into a nice two-bedroom house. I still spent most of my time with Mike and Mary, and despite Steve's urgent pleas for me to move in with him, I declined.

When I was just eighteen, I passed my driving test on the first attempt. With the savings from various gigs and the record sales, I managed to afford to buy a little second hand Peugeot. I was now independent, and not reliant of everyone to give me lifts everywhere.

The joys of being a Third Year student at the college meant that many restrictions were now lifted. I was able to stay out overnight, and as long as Gwen knew where I was, there was a lot more freedom.

It was strange, because I now chose to remain in college, apart from the odd occasion when I really missed Steve, and just had to see him. I spent most weekends with him, and had been on the pill since just after his passing out ball.

I was in the library one evening in February. It was almost exactly two years to the day since I had walked away from my old life. I was quietly reading when Gwen came in.

“Ah, here you are! I've been looking for you, Emma.”

I looked up from my book, and she sat next to me.

“You like it in here, don't you?” she asked, looking around at the shelves of books.

“I love it. I can escape everything, and lose myself in my latest book.”

She smiled and looked at what I was reading. It was The Lord of the Rings, by Tolkein.

“That's one of my favourites too. Have you read it before?”

“Several times.”

“Emma, I've received an invitation from a local boys' school to join with their Sixth form in a production of Shakespeare's A Merchant of Venice. They are studying the play for A level, and decided to put it on in the early summer, just before the A level papers. It seems that in these enlightened times, it isn't PC to ask boys to pretend to be girls any more. They are desperate for professional influence to improve their dramatic arts unit, and are willing to pay the college for whatever input we can provide. I thought to provide them with any female cast members they needed, and I want you to take the lead role as Portia. I also want you to act as assistant director, to give technical advice as and when they require it.”

I was stunned. It would be good experience, and a change of scene was always welcome.

“I'm flattered you have so much confidence in me. I'd love to. Which school?”

“It is a small public school a few miles south. Monksreach Hall.”

The world stopped.

I couldn't go back there! That is where I had escaped. It was impossible. I became aware that Gwen was still talking.

“……, So tomorrow, I thought you and I would drive over and meet the Drama master.”

I smiled vacantly, and nodded. Gwen looked at me and frowned.

“Emma, are you all right, dear?”

“I'm fine. Sorry, I was just trying to imaging being trapped inside a boys' school.”

She laughed.

“Oh, Emma, you are priceless! I would have thought that your young man was enough to keep you going!”

I blushed, and smiled.

“He'll do,” I said.

I didn't sleep much that night. My mind was in a whirl. No matter how much I told myself that no one would recognise me, it had been over two years, I still worried. I had such terrible memories of that damn place!

The next morning, I dressed up. I wore a dark knee length skirt, with a pale blue blouse, a dark scarf around my neck, and a matching dark jacket. With stockings and high heel shoes, I know I looked very smart. I spent ages on my makeup, trying to look as sophisticated as I could. My hair was quite long now, and I loved the feel of it swishing across my shoulders and down my back. I think the fact Steve adored it long clinched it, so I put up with the hassle.

I stared at my reflection, trying to see anything of Russell Drysdale. I failed, and began to feel that all my worries were silly. I was Emma Pearson. Russell didn't exist anymore, except in memories.

It was a ridiculously short drive, and yet it was a lifetime away. As soon as we entered the familiar gates, I had a feeling of dread come over me.

As the main school building appeared as we rounded the bend in the drive, I was surprised. It was so much smaller and more insignificant than I remembered.

It was a mock Victorian building, including phoney battlements and towers at odd places. I had been a wealthy industrialist's home in the 1920's, and had become a school after the Second War.

Gwen parked the car outside the front of the school, in a place marked, Reserved for Visitors. We entered through the main front doors, and the headmaster came out of his study to meet us.

George Carstairs-Brown was in his sixties, and looked how a headmaster is expected to look. He was very tall and distinguished, with a shock of white hair, and almost a military bearing. He was wearing an impeccable grey suit, with his academic gown over the top.

“Ah, Gwen. How lovely to see you again. It has been too long!” he said, and kissed Gwen on the cheek. He turned towards me, with one eyebrow raised.

It was so strange. I knew this man so well. I had been in his maths set for three years, and yet he never looked at me like this before.

“George, this is Emma Pearson, one of my most gifted students. Emma, this is George Carstairs-Brown, the headmaster.”

We shook hands, and he smiled at me in rather a lecherous manner.

“Hello Emma. My goodness, it is so good of you to agree to come into the lion's den. I only hope I can control the boys with such a beautiful girl in their midst,” he said.

“Emma is my top student, having attained her diploma last year, she is undertaking further studies to add to her already impressive portfolio. Emma has agreed to come and be your assistant director, and she will take on the role of Portia. She is a professional musician in her own right, and is an experienced actress,” Gwen explained.

He took us to the theatre, which was empty, and then to one of the sixth form classes. It was so weird, as I would now have been in the sixth form, probably this very class!

He opened the door and preceded us into the class. I heard the sounds of chairs being pushed back as the boys stood. Gwen followed him, and I took up the rear.

Mr Jobbing, the English and Drama master was at the front of the class. I was very conscious of the sound my heels made on the wooden floor, and the fact that every one of the fifteen boys was now staring at me.

The boys sat down, and Mr Carstairs-Brown introduced Gwen and me to the class. One of the boys came up the front with his chair, and put it down for me to sit on. There was already one for Gwen.

I sat down gratefully, and crossed my legs. Every male eye in the room was watching, and I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. I looked at the boy and smiled thanks.

My heart nearly stopped. It was Mike Paterson. The last time I saw him, we played football together. He blushed and smiled, returning to the back of the class, as Gwen stood at the front.

“Good morning. I just want to tell you a little about my college. ……….”

She gave them a quick spiel about the college, as a bit of background. Then, she finished up, and embarrassed the hell out of me.

“This is an exciting opportunity. My companion today, the lovely Emma, is one of my most experienced girls, and she will head the team who will work with you to produce the play. She has spent the last two and a half years studying drama, music and dance, and is more than capable of giving you all the help you need.”

The class broke up, and we walked back to the theatre. The school caterers produced some coffee and tea, and we were introduced to all the boys who were involved in the production.

After a while, I began to relax. I was satisfied that nobody recognised me, and it was actually quite funny the way all the boys competed for my attention.

Mr Jobbing, whose nickname was probably still, ‘Jobbie', was going to allocate the various roles to the boys at this stage. Gwen suggested that we all start with a read through, and find the character with the most appropriate voice and general delivery for each role.

I read the part of Portia, and gradually the boys settled down and vied for the best role opposite me.

I couldn't help but smile, for here were all my ex-classmates, who teased me rotten and constantly made my life miserable. Now they were all being so very charming, and trying desperately to impress me. I started to enjoy myself.

The session ended all to quickly, and Gwen and Mr Jobbing invited me to remain as the boys went off to their next class.

We discussed the most appropriate casting, and drew up a plan of action.

“Emma will come down with the other girls on a weekly basis to start, and as the performance dates get closer, she will be here for every day in the last two weeks.”

So, it happened just that way. The following Wednesday, I set off in my little blue Peugeot with Sheri, and three girls from the Diploma course, Julie, Sue and Marion.

We met the class in the theatre, and I introduced the others to Mr. Jobbing and the boys. The reaction of the boys was actually quite funny, as they started to dribble almost immediately.

Mr Jobbing seemed to treat me with a little awe, and allowed me to take an upper hand in the organisation of everything. I had to remind him that I was supposed to be his assistant, and he just grinned, and said he hoped to pick up some tips from me!

Once we got to know everyone, and it was apparent that sex was not on the agenda, things worked well. All the parts had been allocated, and everyone was learning their lines well. The part of Shylock, Portia's father, was given to Mark Paterson, and he made a very good mean bastard.

The weeks whizzed by, and I was also undertaking other projects in the area. I was helping run a drama workshop in Milton Keynes for the youth offending team. I worked with kids who were consistently in trouble, and needed some focus other than crime and mischief in their lives.

I was actually very grateful to Gwen for ridding me of some personal demons. Monksreach was no longer this edifice of doom set squarely in my subconscious. I began to appreciate that my perceptions were distorted by my own misery, and in fact, as schools go, it was actually good.

I began to look forward to my sessions there, and put a lot of effort into helping to produce their play.

We at last reached the time for the dress rehearsal, and the story called for Portia to dress as a man and pretend to be a lawyer. She was defending her lover, against her father, whom the lover owed money, and Shylock was demanding a pound of his flesh in lieu of payment, as he wasn't able to pay on time.

I was a little nervous dressing as a boy, as I feared someone might recognise me as Russell.

I wore the Elizabethan costume, with the ruff and codpiece, with long maroon tights. I tied my hair back in a tight bun, and wore no makeup at all. My boobs were hemmed in by the tight tunic, and felt somewhat foolish. It felt so wrong trying to look male, but I tried to make all my mannerisms as masculine as I could.

As soon as I walked on stage, I felt very nervous, but it was Mark who dispelled all my fears.

“It's no good, Emma, nothing would ever convince me you could ever be a man!”

I blushed, smiled, and was able to deliver my most dramatic speech without any problem.

“The quality of mercy is not strained. It drops as gentle rain from heaven…..”

The dress rehearsal was successful. We found some niggling problems with lights and props, and a few of the players missed their cues. I was more than happy with their efforts, and it seemed that Mr Jobbing was too.

As I was leaving the stage, to go and change, Mark approached me.

“Emma, this may sound daft, but did you ever have a relative come here?” he asked, and my heart started to race.

“Here? You mean this school?”

“Yeah. I mean, it may be nothing, but something about you is so familiar. It's as if I've known you for ages. I thought maybe you had a brother, or someone nearer my age who could have been here.”

“No, I haven't got a brother, and I was brought up in Africa. My parents were Missionaries, and I only recently returned to the UK after they died in a car crash. So, who do I remind you of?”

“I'm not sure. It's just some of your mannerisms, facial expressions and voice inflection. I mean, please don't get me wrong, I never saw it before today. But seeing you dressed like a boy reminded me of someone.”

“Oh, well, I hope he was dishy,” I said, trying to make light of it.

Mark smiled and looked slightly sheepish, particularly as I was going into the temporary girl's dressing room, and he was following me in.

It worried me slightly, and I was ever so pleased to get back into my skirt and blouse. As I applied my makeup, I once again looked for Russell. He wasn't there, but I suppose as I had tried to act as a boy, some of the old me must have shone through.

Mark was waiting for me outside. He looked at me rather strangely, as I walked over to my car.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Nothing. I take back everything I said back there. You look fabulous, and nothing about you now could ever suggest a boy. It must have been your acting, you are even better than I thought.”

I smiled, and saw Sheri and the others coming to meet us.

“Believe me, there's nothing boyish about me. Ask my boyfriend,” I said.

His face fell a little.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Yup, he's a police officer. We're virtually engaged.”

“Oh, congratulations. He's a very lucky bloke.”

“I know, and I keep reminding him of it.”

We got in the car and left him looking after us.

“Picked up an admirer?” Sheri asked.

“I think so. I told him about Steve and he's a bit miffed. Do you know, he thought I looked like a boy, earlier.”

“Well you were dressed as one, and supposed to be one. So, it's hardly surprising, is it?”

“No, it wasn't that. He said I looked like someone he knew. A boy at the school.”

“Who?”

I shrugged, and slowed down for a tractor turning into a farmyard.

“He didn't know. He just said I had the same mannerisms and expressions as this unknown boy.”

“That's a bit spooky. Did he still think so after you'd changed?”

I smiled.

“No, he apologised and took it all back. Still, I'd like to know if I have a male counterpart out there somewhere.”

“Nah, you're one of a kind, Em!” Sheri said, and I smiled.

I certainly was.

The performances were brilliant. We ran three. The first on the Thursday for the school, and although a couple of things went wrong, no one really noticed and it went fine.

The next two were for parents, and went brilliantly. At the end of each of the performances, Mr Jobbing came on stage, and explained to the audiences that I was the real director, and without my, and the other girls' input, the play would never have been as good as it was.

It was a real feather in my cap, and to be able to drive away from Monksreach Hall, without a care in the world, made it all very worthwhile.

I was in my last few months at the college, when I got a letter from Marcia. I was in Steve's living room as I read it. Steve was strumming on his guitar.

She was having a ball. She had met a wonderful man, and was finally happy. She had danced her way from Broadway to L.A.

3 rd September 2000

Darling Angel Emma,

Words cannot describe my life now. I have gone from about as low as one can ever get, to being on such a high, for so long, that sometimes I think I am living a dream.

As you know, I was really lucky to get a part in the Broadway show, ‘Tap Unlimited', well, we went on tour, and ended up in L.A., having spent a month in Las Vegas. While we were in Vegas, I started getting flowers and gifts from some unknown admirer. It was nice at first, but then it started getting a bit creepy, so our manager did a little snooping, and it turned out to be a guy called Ron Watson the third.

He is one of the 100 richest men in America, and was addicted to the show. He offered to take me out to dinner, and apologised for upsetting me. He is 32, and a really sweet shy man. Anyway, we had this amazing dinner in his private suite at one of the big casinos. He was a complete gentleman, and never even made a pass at me. He asked if he could see me again, and I told him we would be in L.A. the next week, so it might be difficult.

We arrive at L.A., and there he is, on the first night, standing by my dressing room door with the biggest bunch of roses you have ever seen. He never missed a performance, and when the show finished, he asked me to join him on his yacht for a cruise of the Caribbean. That was six months ago. On a moonlit night, in Tobago bay, he asked me to marry him.

So, Emma, guess what I said?

Yeah, I knew that you would know, so this is an invitation to our wedding. I would very much like you to be my Maid-of Honor. You will get a proper invitation, in due course, as the wedding is due for June, his mother wants a June Wedding. I had thought about getting married over there in England, but it is just not practical, and so we are having it here on Saturday June 23 rd 2001.

What I would really like is for you to come and see me. I was thrilled to hear about your record success, and have worked out that you will be finishing college soon. So, take a break, and come and stay.

You know that I owe you so much. My life is like it is because of what you did for me. You are my best friend, and so I would very much like you to be my maid of honour, as they call such silly things over here. Unless, of course, that you have to return to you know where.

How is Steve? I guess he has asked you to marry him at least ten times by now. Are you going to? Are you allowed to? Or is it forbidden by You know who? Give my love to him, and bring him over when you come.

I wrote some words for a song, it is dedicated to you, so if you like it, try to get Steve to help you write the music. I called it, “ You are my angel.”

I must go, please come over; I miss you all so much.

Lots of love

Marcia.

“Marcia sends you her love. She has fallen on her feet. She is marrying some millionaire, and we've an open invitation to go and stay with her in L.A.,” I told him.

“Oh yeah, Marcia, she was the one whose legs went on forever,” he said, with a grin.

“She has written some lyrics for a song, do you fancy giving me a hand trying to put it to music?” I asked him.

“Okay, let's have a butchers,” he said, and I took the sheet of paper over to him.

We played about with it, and decided it was not a fast, up beat style, but a more romantic and meaningful song. In fact, we spent all day on it, and eventually had a rough draft of something that I thought had potential.

Well, as you know, that is history now, and when it reached number 1 in the UK charts, in December 2000, you could have knocked me over with a feather duster. Steve and I had recorded it in the college studio, and Gwen had sent it off to various companies.

Steve accepted that it wasn't the kind of song that should be sung to a single guitar backing, and was quite happy when I was asked to record it with the college orchestra.

The result was a superb track, and I was delighted when it did the rounds of the companies, just before Christmas.

We had our annual Christmas revue at the college, and many of the leaving students were lucky enough to land jobs and contracts almost immediately. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, and rather fancied a quiet Christmas, for a change. Steve was working, and was nights over Christmas day and Boxing day.

As I was packing, Gwen came up to my room.

“Emma, this is a sad day for the college, you have really become part of the furniture here.”

“Oh, Gwen. You don't know how wonderful this place has been for me. I can't thank you enough for having faith in me, and giving me all the help and support over the last three years.”

“Oh, don't be silly. Did you know that you are the first scholarship student who has fully reimbursed the college whilst still a student here?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“My percentage of your royalties and fees that you have earned, have more than paid for your courses. I have decided to offer you a new contract, should you wish to retain my services as an agent.”

“Of course, why shouldn't I?”

“It's up to you dear, but, I have great hopes for you, so before you leave, pop into the office, and we will go over a few things,” she said, and left me to finish packing.

I took my bags downstairs, and left them in the hall. I saw Steve's car in the car park, so I went and knocked on Gwen's door.

She showed me a new contract, which no longer gave her such a large percentage of my income. It was in fact slightly better than most contracts, and I signed without any qualms.

“I am glad you have signed, we can now rip up the old one,” she said, and did just that.

She then smiled, and said, “I have to tell you that your recording of ‘You are my angel' has been bought by Polyphon Records, and they want you to meet them in London on Monday morning. It seems, you may have another song in the charts by Christmas.”

I was thrilled, and as it happened, Steve had the Monday off, and we went up together to the recording studio. I recorded the song, again, but this time with a professional session band.

They asked me to record another song, at the same time, and had brought one that I had been working on by myself. I had called it, ‘I ain't no angel, I'm a woman', and it was a much more up beat song. They liked it as much, and said it would appeal to the younger customer base.

Steve took me back to his house, and we spent the evening chilling out. I had bought two open return tickets for Mike and Mary to go to New Zealand, and wanted to surprise them.

A week later, on December 16 th , Steve woke me up by calling my mobile. He had insisted that I have a mobile, and got really cross whenever I forgot to turn it on.

“What is so important?” I asked.

“Congratulations, you are number one,” he said.

“What,” I asked, not sure if I had heard him right.

“Our song, ‘You are my angel', is number one,” he said.

“No. You're having me on?” I said.

“Turn your radio on, Radio One, right now,” he said.

I fumbled with my radio, and heard myself singing a very familiar tune.

“Shit. I don't believe it!” I said.

“What more proof do you want? You are now a celebrity. Marry me,” he said, laughing.

“I'm only eighteen, you have to wait at least two years yet,” I reminded him.

“That's cheating, you are nineteen in February.”

I heard the radio DJ say, ”And that is the latest number one sound from the delightful Emma P., I am sure we will hear more from her over the next few weeks and months.”

I giggled, and Steve said, “See, you'll be on Parkinson next.”

Mike and Mary were completely bemused by the whole affair, and suddenly the telephone never stopped ringing.

I called Marcia in the States, and congratulated her on writing a number one hit. She was over the moon, and told me she would see if she could arrange for release through some of her Ron's contacts in various radio companies.

The next few weeks became a whirlwind of appearances, and TV shows. It stayed number one for only a week, as the competition was very stiff. However, the other song came creeping in, and hit the number one spot in late January. I now had two in the top ten at once.

Christmas was not the quiet affair I had envisaged, and Steve had been spot on, as I was invited to go onto the Parkinson talk show. I was invited to sing one song, have a chat, and then sing the other number as the show ended.

I duly turned up at Shepherds Bush, and a researcher met me, sat me down, and went through everything that was going to be asked. I was keen to avoid too much on my fictitious past, and concentrated on the college and my aspirations.

I was then given an opportunity to rehearse my numbers with the orchestra, and it was all very daunting. I met Michael Parkinson, and he was charming, and did his best to calm me down. I then changed out of my jeans into a stunning black dress, which had loads of sparkles all over it. Being blonde and quite tall, in my heels, I thought I looked very elegant.

I was very nervous, and was one of three guests; the others were an American actress I'd never heard of, over here to plug her new film, and Billy Connelly, a favourite guest of Parkinson, whom I thought was brilliant. I was to be announced, and then launch into my first number.

I sat in the hospitality room, and watched as the first guest went on. I had been introduced to her, but found her shallow and rather snotty. She was not interested in anyone else, and Billy was rather quiet and down to earth in real life, but we had a good chat, and he helped calm me down a little, before he was announced.

I sat with the researcher, a friendly girl called Sue. She had wanted to be an actress, but found the competition too heavy, so switched to media studies, and was running through a variety of jobs for the BBC.

We got on really well, and she told me that many of the young singers of the day had very little talent, and even less personality.

We were so engrossed in chatting, that she suddenly said, “There is your cue, you're on.”

I stepped out onto the area in front of the band, and heard Parky introduce me.

“And now, a young lady who has recently taken the UK charts by storm, with her first number one hit, ‘You are my angel'. The delightful Emma Pearson.”

The music started, I just counted myself in, and we were off.

It was strange singing to a small studio audience, with loads of cameras rushing about. In rehearsal, they told me to ignore the camera, but if one should come in close, then look into the lens, briefly, and then look away.

I managed to get through the song with no disasters, and the studio audience applauded dutifully. I handed the microphone to the soundman, went up to the rostrum, and the man himself greeted me.

“That was lovely, Emma, You seem to really enjoy that,” he said.

“Yes thanks, Michael, I did. I love singing, and I can just really expand myself somehow” I said.

“Now tell me, you've been trained in all forms of singing, from classical to this type of style. Do you have a favourite?”

“Not really, song is such a broad medium of expression, that can be used for many kinds of situations. I just love to sing, whether in church on Sunday, or in a large hall heaving with people.”

“Now you mentioned church, your father was a missionary, was he not?”

“Yes Michael, he was, but my parents died in an accident in Africa few years ago, and I have been living with a friend of the family. Now Mike, the friend, is a vicar, and I try to sing in church as often as I can.”

“Do you find a faith is important to you?”

“Oh yes. I would wonder how someone with no faith can ever get the strength up to get out of bed every day. But I accept that there are many different views, and I am content in my personal faith, which, if given an opportunity, I would share, but I don't force anyone to listen,” I said with a smile.

“Now, you have another song at number one at the moment, which I understand you wrote yourself. Tell me about that, and the one we have just heard.”

“Well, I have this friend called Marcia, who is in the States at the moment. She wrote the lyrics to ‘You are my angel', and I co-wrote the music with my boyfriend. I know that Marcia wrote the lyrics for this song to me, as I helped her at a time when she was rather down, so the next song, ‘I ain't an angel, I'm a woman', was my answer to her.”

“You had another in the charts a few years ago, did you not?”

“Yes, Steve, my boyfriend, had this band, and some of us at college got together with him and brought out a couple of good little songs. One got into the charts, but the time was not quite right for us.”

“Now, Steve, he is a policeman, isn't he?”

“Yes, he has been in the police for a couple of years, but he co-wrote the music for ‘I ain't an angel' with me. He is a very good guitarist, but he always wanted to be a copper.”

Billy Connelly made a comment, which I missed, but the audience roared with laughter, and I guessed that it had something to do with coppers.

There was a bit of banter between Billy and Michael, and the laughter continued, and then Michael returned the focus to me.

“So, Emma, what is next for you?”

“Well, I have no real plans, I have heard that ‘I ain't an angel', is in the US charts this week, and my agent is looking to book a tour of North America. I have been offered a couple of good parts in some current shows, so I will just wait and see. It is all very exciting.”

“Well, it certainly is, and I wish you all the very best. You are going to sing us out with ‘I ain't an angel', are you not?” he said.

“I certainly am, Michael, and thank you.”

“Thank you, Emma. Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Emma Pearson,” he said, and I stood up, waved and returned to sing my second song.

Tanya Allen

© 5 December 2004