The Emerging

by Tanya Allan

  “Have you had contact with anyone from the social services?”

  He laughed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous; they set dogs onto social workers in my road.”

  Anne had to prevent herself from laughing. She found Kenneth remarkably mature and level headed for a teenager with problems.

  “Last time you shared a little with me about how you feel and that you firmly believe that you should be a girl. If you could press a button and change gender right now, without any surgery of anything else, would you do it?”

  “Yes. I’d even do it, knowing that I had to have painful surgery and have a lifetime of hormones.”

  She smiled and wrote on her pad.

  “Does it ever happen?” he asked.

  “Does ‘what’ ever happen?

  “A change of gender, as in the stories on some websites; you know, a normal guy goes to bed and wakes up a genetic female.”

  It was her turn to laugh.

  “No, it never happens.”

  “It would be good if it could, though, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

  “It’d save the NHS a fair sized lump of money, and all that time and effort in undergoing transition, hormone treatment, laser treatment, GRS and facial surgery, not to mention the stress and angst among the family and friends.”

  “I reckon it’s possible,” he said, with a surprising amount of confidence.

  “What is? An instant change?”

  “Yes. I mean, they say that in some cases the mind can control the body, don’t they?”

  “Not in this sort of case.”

  “Why not? I mean, just because it hasn’t happened yet, it doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

  “Well, we’re dealing with several different medical issues. One, the DNA is pretty distinct and in only a handful of cases can it get confused. Then you have the genitalia. It is still impossible to grow female reproductive organs inside a previously male body, or vice versa. Then there’s the psychological side, which is highly complex and has to be handled delicately.”

  “Then I’ll be the first!” he said, with a smile.

  Anne liked Kenneth. Yes, he was clearly a troubled teen, but he was amazingly astute and bright, as well as possessing a highly developed, if a somewhat cynical sense of humour.

  “Obviously, taking your age into account, and that you are still in school, we have to tread carefully. The school has written to me and I intend to write back to confirm that you have been diagnosed with a gender dysphoria, so in layman’s terms, you are a transsexual who is about to undergo assessment for transition from male to female. Surgery is not always an option, every case is different, and every person is different.

  “One of the difficulties is preventing too much masculine development, so as you are sixteen, you have already initiated puberty, so we will do what we can to stop that, and reverse it to a degree by using hormones.”

  She paused, observing that he did not seem particularly interested or even concerned about the prospect.

  “If you go down this route, you will have to take female hormones for the rest of your life; you realise that, don’t you?”

  “Not if I change properly. I’ll be able to make them myself, if I do that.”

  She smiled, trying to be patient.

  “Kenneth, don’t get your hopes up; I’m telling you it won’t happen.”

  Kenneth thought for a moment. Then he leaned over her desk and took a plain piece of paper.

  “May I?” he asked.

  Anne looked bemused but nodded. She watched as he drew on his right index finger with a black felt tip pen, and then placed his finger print onto the plain piece of paper, signing it: K. Frost. The K was very ornate, almost artistic and slightly feminine.

  “I tell you what, doc; if you keep my fingerprint and signature, so when I come back to see you as a girl, you can compare them and prove to the world that the impossible can happen; okay?” he said.

  “Perhaps we’ll do that next time, then?” she said, playing along with the joke.

  “Okay; so there is a next time?”

  “Yes, as your psychologist, I will be with you all the way through.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t realised you were a psychologist.”

  “I’m not a GP, but this is a clinic that specialises in all forms of trauma, particularly psychological. I also deal with physiological issues, mainly head injuries as it relates to the brain. That’s why Martin Pettifer asked me to pop up and see you last time when you were knocked unconscious. Is that okay?”

  “I suppose so, but, as I said, I won’t need you that long.”

  Anne smiled.

  “We ought to have a little bet on it,” she said.

  “Okay; what? A hundred pounds?”

  “Oh, good gracious no; how about a box of chocolates?”

  “All right. A box of chocolates says I’ll be a genetic female before Christmas.”

  “That late?” Anne joked.

  “Okay; then how about before the GCSE results come out in August?” he said, perfectly seriously.

  “Kenneth, it would be wholly wrong of me to enter into a wager of this kind with you. We both know it’ll never happen.”

  “Maybe you’re right, doc,” the boy said, with a smiled.

  Anne felt relieved, as it would do Kenneth no good to have an unrealistic expectation.

  “I know I’m right. So, back onto the hormone regime we were talking about. In a week, I will have worked out exactly what I think you should be taking. I may have to contact your GP to ascertain a full medical history, but that is also professional courtesy. He will not be in a position to interfere in any way, so don’t worry about that. You are under my care now, so I will have your medical file transferred to me.”

  “Okay. I’m happy with that.”

  “Excellent; do you have any questions?”

  “Not really. I know the sort of thing people would ask is how long will it take and will it hurt, but I’m pretty damn confident I know exactly what is going to happen, and when.”

  “Oh, you are; are you?” she asked, smiling at his amazing optimism.

  He stood up.

  “Oh yes; you see, I know I’m right just as much as you know you’re right. The difference is that I really, really know I’m right, whereby you just know you’re right.”

  She was still smiling as she wrote up his notes and her secretary buzzed her.

  “Yes?”

  “A new referral has just been made, Doctor, a Mr Myers for his son Roderick.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “He’s another sixteen-year old with problems.”

  “Tell me a teenager that hasn’t,” she said. “What sort of problems?”

  “I believe it’s sexual, Doctor.”

  Anne rolled her eyes.

  “Sex as in gender, or sex as in orientation?”

  “I’m afraid they never said.”

  “There must be something in the water,” Anne said. “When do they want to come?”

  “Mr Myers said it was quite important, so they’re happy to have the next available appointment.”

  “Are they local?”

  “Yes.”

  Anne looked at her watch.

  “Can they be here by five-thirty?”

  “I can ask them.”

  “Do that, Sylvia, and if they can’t slot them in tomorrow after school.”

  “Right doctor.”

  Anne continued writing, but then recalled that the assailant who attacked Kenneth at school was called Roddy. She put two and two together and felt a deep sense of foreboding.

  Ten

  Kenneth stepped off the bus and walked the two hundred yards to his home. As he turned into his drive, he saw his father’s Mercedes in the drive. He checked the garage and saw his mother’s car was not there.

  “Oh, bloody great!” he said, sighing. He wondered if his mother had spoken to his father.

  “Hello sport!” said his father, jovially, as soon as Kenneth
walked in. That answered that question, he thought.

  “Hi Dad. Good trip?”

  “Excellent, truly excellent. How are the exams going?”

  “They start next week, Dad. I thought you knew?”

  “I probably did, but you know how it is?” his father said. “Where’s your mother?”

  “No idea; I haven’t seen her for days,” he answered, quite truthfully.

  “What?”

  “I think I saw her car at the Marchants’ house on the way home,” he lied, and went upstairs to let his father process the information.

  Once safely in his room, with the door locked, he put the torc on and became whom she wanted to be again.

  “Hi boobs!” she said, as her chest expanded once more.

  Keira settled down and did her homework. It was simple revision, as her GCSE exams started in a week’s time. She found it much easier to digest and store information while wearing the torc. She wondered if it was part of what it did or was simply psychological. She just wished she could wear it for the exams; particularly French.

  Graham was in a quandary, he was aware that things at home were not perhaps as perfect as he would wish, but he felt that it was too late to change the way he was, and he was no longer certain that he wished to remain married to Linda.

  Many times he told Stephanie that Linda didn’t understand him. Well, it was true in reverse; he didn’t understand her at all. They had grown apart, each following their chosen careers to fame and possible fortune. Graham felt a little guilty over Kenneth, but reasoned that he was the male, so his role was to bring in the money, so it was Linda’s fault that she decided to carve a career for herself instead of being at home for their son.

  Their son.

  Graham did not feel connected to his son. The boy didn’t like the things he liked and seemed to deliberately look, sound and dress in a manner of which he disapproved. Kenneth lacked the respect that Graham felt he should be given. Instead, he was almost insulting and sarcastic, about which Graham couldn’t understand. Hadn’t he provided the boy with everything money could buy?

  Kenneth would have agreed; he had everything a sixteen year old boy would want, whether they were gadgets, bikes, music equipment, books, computers, tablets, smart-phones or simply a healthy bank balance.

  However, he would have happily swapped them all for having parents who actually cared and loved him.

  Still, first things first; Graham rang the Marchants’ phone number.

  Yvonne answered.

  “Hello Yvonne, it’s Graham, is my lady wife with you?”

  There was some inaudible whispers and shuffling, and eventually Linda came to the phone.

  “Graham, what a surprise. I wasn’t aware you were coming back today.” Her voice had a tremor in it, as if she was shocked and surprised.

  “Obviously; I did send you a text and left a message on the answer-phone at home.

  “Oh, I haven’t been home, and, and my phone is switched off.”

  Graham frowned.

  “Have you seen Kenneth?” she asked.

  “Yes; he told me where you were.”

  Graham was sure he heard her say ‘fuck’ under her breath.

  “What else did he say?” she asked.

  Graham was now suspicious. Stephanie had made a semi-joking suggestion that Linda and Yvonne seemed rather more than good friends, so, he began to wonder just how good that friendship might be.

  “He told me everything!” he said, lighting the proverbial blue touch-paper and retiring. He was very grateful that he was not having this conversation face to face.

  Linda started to wail, blaming him, Kenneth and life in general; in fact, just everything and everyone but her. Graham couldn’t keep track, but at the end of the miles of confused gibberish was the statement, “Yvonne loves me and is far better for me that you are. I’m leaving you!”

  “Fine, then I won’t expect you back!” he said, putting the phone down.

  He sat there for a moment; allowing his heart-rate to subside once more. He almost smiled, for he felt surprisingly calm. Then, picking his phone again, he dialled another number.

  “Steph? It’s me. You were right, Linda was at Yvonne’s place, and it seems they’ve been shagging for a while.”

  He listened for a moment.

  “No; Kenneth told me that he saw her car there, and I put two and two together. Obviously Kenneth probably knows but wasn’t saying, so I pretended that Kenneth told me everything. She came out and confessed all; at least I think she did. She went on for a few minutes, but wasn’t making much sense. She accused Kenneth of being two people. I’m not sure what she was on about; perhaps she’s finally flipped.”

  “No, you’d best not come round. I’ll check on Kenneth and pop round to see you in an hour. It looks like the way is clear!”

  He put the phone down and smiled. He was not aware that someone else in the house heard every word.

  “The bastard;” Keira said to herself. “He’s put me in the frame for telling tales. Well, we’ll see about that!”

  Keira dressed in one of her more sexy dresses, applying her makeup to give her a look older than sixteen and very different from her male look. She ensured that her door was unlocked, and slipped out the window to the garden below. Skirting round the house, she made her way to the side door (that was the back door into the kitchen).

  With a large whisky in his hand, Graham was sitting at the breakfast bar, going through his pile of post. He looked up in some surprise as a very attractive young woman waltzed into the kitchen without knocking. Basil made a fuss of her, and she obviously knew the little dog very well. If he didn’t know a person, Basil could bark for Britain. He simply rolled onto his back for her to rub his tummy.

  After stroking the dog, she looked at Graham without any qualms.

  “Hi, you must be Kenneth’s dad. I’m Keira. Is Ken upstairs in his room?”

  Graham blinked a couple of times, lost for words.

  “And you are?” he stammered.

  “I told you, I’m Keira,” she repeated, as if it explained everything. “I’ll go up, then. See you.”

  Graham was left staring after her.

  Now, he had his suspicions that Kenneth might be gay, after various vague conversations relating to gender issues. This was a welcome rebuttal of those suspicions. However, it was rather too casual, and well, this was his house, wasn’t it?

  He followed her into the hall to see that she had already gone upstairs. He followed and by the time he reached the landing, he heard the sounds of Kenneth’s bed springs and a very feminine gasping, saying, “Yes! Yes! Oh, Kenneth, yes!”

  Embarrassed and not a little shocked, he stood there for a while, dithering. Did he go in and interrupt? Did he leave them to it and confront them afterwards? Did he say nothing and pretend he didn’t know?

  Too many decisions and no clear route to the correct answers.

  He decided against interrupting them, as he felt that it wasn’t the proper thing to do. At least the boy wasn’t gay; that thought kept returning again and again. Instead, he returned downstairs and continued to sift through his mail.

  Twenty minutes later the girl came down, smiled at him and left through the front door without saying anything. By the time he reacted and went to the door, she had vanished.

  He walked up to the road, but she was nowhere in sight. Scratching his head, Graham wasn’t sure what to do. He returned to his whisky, drained it and poured himself another – his third.

  After a couple of minutes talking himself into going up to confront his son, he actually managed to bring himself to go up and knock on his door.

  Kenneth was relieved he took as long as he did.

  “It’s open!” he said.

  “So, young man, what have you to say for yourself?” Graham said, on confronting Kenneth, who was washing his face and still only half dressed.

  Kenneth actually wasn’t sure how he managed to change so quickly and remove th
e makeup in time. The dress and underwear he had quickly stuffed under the bed.

  “What are you on about, Dad?”

  “That girl who was just here; how dare you entertain a young woman under my roof!”

  “What girl?”

  “What?”

  “What girl, Dad; no one has been here all afternoon?”

  “Don’t lie to me; I saw her. She said her name was Keira.”

  “I know Keira, but I’ve not seen her today.”

  “She was just here, I heard you two together!” Graham was getting quite high-pitched in his frustration.

  “So what did you hear, Dad?”

  “I heard you and she, um, you and she were, er, you were, you know, you were doing it!”

  “Doing what, Dad; revising for my GCSEs?”

  “No, you were fornicating, damn it!”

  “You mean like you and Stephanie, or Mum and Yvonne?”

  Graham was stunned into silence.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard, Dad; so don’t come all the high and mighty. It’s been an open secret for months. I’m surprised that you thought that nobody knew.”

  Graham stood there, feeling the blood drain from his head. He held onto the door frame to steady himself.

  “Everyone?”

  “I should think so. I’m not sure about Yvonne’s husband, though, but I’m not sure he cares. It’s his money, or so Mum says, so he does what the hell he likes and lets Yvonne do the same.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Mum can’t ever have a quiet conversation on the phone. Plus, she seems to like putting it on speaker because she’s usually doing something else at the same time. I’d have to be deaf not to overhear.”

  “Um, does she know about, er, about Stephanie and, um, me?”

  “Probably; just about the whole world knows.”

  “It isn’t what you think.”

  Kenneth regarded his father who now seemed to be much smaller and far less of an ogre.

  “I don’t give a shit, Dad. You’re never here; Mum is never here, so what the hell does it matter what I think? You don’t give a shit about me or my problems, so I think it’s probably better you just go away, don’t you?”

  With that he turned back to his books.