The Making of Us

by Debbie McGowan

“And the elections,” Matty suggested. That suited me. I quite liked that Carlos was being left to stew a bit longer.

  “Is Jesse up there?” Leigh called from below.

  “Yep,” both Matty and I answered at the same time.

  “Shall I come up or are you coming down?”

  I raised an eyebrow at Noah. “Are we done?” He shrugged noncommittally.

  “He’s coming down,” Matty answered on my behalf.

  I shut my…my mum’s…the laptop and got up. “Fine. I know where I’m not wanted…”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Matty, I’m winding you up.” I clapped Noah on the back. “I’ll say bye now.”

  “OK, mate. See you in the morning, and thanks for everything.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I stopped outside Leigh’s bedroom door and felt my stomach flutter at the sight. They hadn’t seen me, busy loosening off the laces in their Doc Martens.

  “Hey,” I said.

  Leigh paused and acknowledged me with a smile. “Hey.” Kicking off their boots, they beckoned for me to come in.

  “How are you today?”

  “Great! I got eighty on my first assignment.”

  “Oh, wow. Well done, you!” That called for a celebratory kiss. And a hug. And another kiss. Heh, like we needed an excuse.

  “Thanks. I know it’s not a competition, but I got one of the highest marks in the class.”

  “Engineering is very competitive,” I reasoned.

  “That’s what Sol said. I think he’s as happy about it as I am.”

  “Probably,” I agreed absently. I couldn’t take my eyes off Leigh’s, and they were doing the same—staring back, transmitting, receiving… “What?” I asked, even though I could see what for myself.

  “Are you rushing off?”

  “Not right away.”

  “Good.”

  I wasn’t in the least surprised—if they hadn’t moved first, I would have—when Leigh cupped the back of my neck and pulled me down into a long, deep kiss that rapidly reached fever heat. The soft stretchy fabric of their top bunched beneath my palms as I smoothed their back, my fingertips making occasional, tantalising contact with their skin.

  Beyond the swirling of emotions and sensations, I was vaguely aware of the door closing and withdrew enough for Leigh to murmur, “Matty,” before they pushed me gently backwards. I felt the bed against the backs of my legs, and for the briefest moment resisted, but then bent to sit on the edge, rolling my head to the side as Leigh kissed and blew hot breath on my neck, pushing on my chest until I was lying with one arm trapped under them.

  This felt good. No pressure, just exploring each other through our clothes, and kissing, and kissing, stopping only to draw breath, sometimes leaving it until we were sharing the spent air between our sealed mouths and gasped like divers finally reaching the surface. Leigh’s left leg slid up mine far enough to confirm we were equally aroused. I flexed away from the contact.

  “Sorry,” Leigh whispered.

  “It’s OK.” I just didn’t want to have to go home with a mess in my shorts, or have a conversation with Noah about borrowing some of his. I shifted into what I hoped was a moderately safer position, lying on my side, leaning on one elbow; Leigh mirrored me. We resumed kissing, with a little less fervour, which was no less of a turn-on, but, equally, no more of one.

  “D’you think we’ll get away with doing this next week?” Leigh asked.

  “All of next week?” God, I hoped so. It hands down beat faking an interest in surfing.

  “Hmm…maybe we could stop to drink and eat from time to time.” Leigh’s nose crinkled; I kissed it.

  “Good idea.”

  “And sleep,” they added with a yawn and rolled onto their back, hands beneath their head.

  “Are you tired?”

  “A bit. Stayed up late last night, talking to Matty.”

  “I’ll get going soon, then, so you can rest.” Leigh hooked their legs over mine, effectively pinning me to the bed. I laughed. “Or not.”

  “If you want to go, I won’t stop you.” Leigh’s grip on me tightened until I grimaced. Giggling, they eased off, but kept their legs where they were. “Matty’s really good to talk to.”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  I wasn’t sure if Leigh heard my agreement; they were staring up at the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought. I waited out the moment, listening to the silence. The farmhouse was a lot more soundproof than our flat, where sometimes we could hear what the people above and below were watching on TV, and the couple next door arguing when they came in from the pub. Even so, it was quieter than usual tonight.

  “I was telling him about my dad,” Leigh said eventually. “Sheri is his sister, but she has nothing to do with him because of what happened. He emailed her last week, totally out of the blue, to ask how I was getting on at uni. His daughter… He hasn’t even seen me since I went into care—I only know what he looks like because I’ve seen photos. Sheri deleted his email without replying to it, and I’m pleased about that. I don’t want anything to do with him, either, but I couldn’t get why he’d done it. So, I told Matty, and he said it reminded him of the way his mum and dad tried to rebuild a relationship with him, like they’d expected him to not be gay anymore because he was officially an adult.”

  “That’s…” What was with these people? “Why would anyone think that?”

  “Matty said his dad accused him of doing it to get his own back. My dad…he honestly believes the doctors could fix me if they were allowed to. And you know the scariest thing? Before I turned eighteen, my dad could’ve got custody of me, because it looked like he was the only one fighting for what was best for me, when it was the complete opposite. He was just going along with what the doctors said.”

  “Medicine’s got a lot of power.”

  “Don’t I know it. If Sheri hadn’t got involved…” Little lines formed between Leigh’s eyebrows, and they closed their eyes, at the same time shuffling up the bed until they were sitting with their back against the headboard and legs crossed. They were so lost in their thoughts, if I could’ve dived in there and rescued them…

  “My feet probably stink. Sorry.”

  I leaned down and sniffed the one closest to me. “They don’t,” I assured them, as what I’d dreamed of—was it only three weeks ago?—became reality without me really thinking about what I was doing.

  “That feels nice.” Leigh sighed and smiled, looking a bit dopey. “You realise if you keep doing that, I’ll fall asleep?”

  “I know my way out.”

  I continued massaging, not applying any real pressure, enjoying the contact and the effect it was having on Leigh. Their breathing slowed and deepened, and I thought they had actually gone to sleep until they spoke again.

  “Is it a good time to tell you about my mum and everything?” They sounded stoned.

  “Any time is good with me.”

  Leigh was relaxed and completely still…apart from their lip stud, which was bobbing like the float on a fishing line when a fish takes the bait. It was such a tiny ball, it all but disappeared when Leigh pulled it in, then popped out again.

  “My mum’s not very well, or she wasn’t in summer, but Sheri says she’s a lot better now. She gets really bad depression—I don’t know if she’s always had it, or just since I came along. She had me at home—where were you born, by the way?”

  “Oh! Um…Norwich Hospital. Nowhere exciting. My mum said she wanted a water birth, but changed her mind when she was in labour.”

  “My cousins were both born in a birthing pool. My mum and Aunty Sheri were proper militant feminists when they were younger. Still are. They were best mates at uni—it’s how my mum and dad met—and they’re totally against hospital births and such. They say men control women’s bodies and fertility, and I’ve gotta say, from where I’m sitting, that goes for kids’ bodies, too.”

  Or anyone who doesn’t conform, I thou
ght, but I didn’t want to interrupt.

  “That’s why my mum called me Leigh, so I got to choose how I grew up. She said she knew as soon as she held me it was the right name for me.”

  I nodded—sort of. It’s hard to nod when you’re lying on your side with your head on your hand and you’ve got pins and needles, but it’s a really important conversation, so…I put up with it.

  “Everything was OK at first, but then, when I was a week old, I got really sick, and I was rushed to hospital. The doctors thought it was a virus that had shut my immune system down, and I was put in the neonatal high dependency unit. That was when they found out about the CAH.

  “They told my mum they could treat it with drugs and surgery, but they didn’t explain properly. They were pressuring her and my dad, saying I’d die without the treatment, which was true. If they hadn’t given me cortisol against her wishes, I would’ve died. But it wasn’t her fault. They wouldn’t answer her questions, so she refused to let them treat me.

  “My dad obviously didn’t agree, but they weren’t married, and he couldn’t consent to my treatment without a court order, so he tried to get one. I don’t know all the rest of it, other than my mum having postnatal depression and my dad convincing the doctors she wasn’t capable of making the right decision, which was when Sheri stepped in. Is it weird for you that she’s my aunty?”

  “No,” I said and winced. It was no good. I couldn’t take the pins and needles anymore. I sat up, leaning against the wall, with my legs stuck out over the bed, shaking my left hand whilst trying to keep massaging with my right, but the angle was all wrong. Leigh uncrossed their legs and solved that little problem. “It might be a bit strange when I meet her outside of uni, though.”

  “Yeah. She’s totally different at home. My cousins…they’re not much younger than me, but they’re a nightmare. I haven’t got a clue about parenting, but I’d lock them in their rooms if they were my kids. They fight all the time. I’m kind of glad I wasn’t allowed to live with her.”

  “She’s a psychologist.” I hadn’t intended to say that out loud because it sounded judgemental, and…yes, OK, I was being judgemental. “I’d have thought that would make her a perfect parent.”

  Leigh laughed. “Yeah. It really doesn’t, although I think they’d have let her look after me if she’d asked.”

  “Why didn’t she?”

  “Apart from the trouble it caused with her parents—they haven’t spoken to her since—and my dad threatening to report her to the psychologists’ union, or whatever it’s called, if she kept interfering, she said it would’ve taken too long, and the doctors would’ve gone to court to override my mum’s wishes. So…Sheri reported it to social services instead and made sure they had all the up-to-date research on CAH. I was made a ward of court, meaning the doctors still had to get the court’s permission to treat me, but only with drugs, not surgery. They used to just do it, to make you look like a girl or a boy on the outside, without considering how it would affect you later in life.”

  “It’s your decision now, though, isn’t it?” I asked. I couldn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be. Leigh was nineteen and knew their own mind.

  “Oh, yeah. And they can stick their scalpels up their…noses.” Leigh grinned. “If they’d got their way, we might not be having all this almost-sex at all!”

  “Almost-sex…” I chuckled. I’d never in a million years have imagined having this kind of honest conversation with someone. “Are you still not allowed to live with your aunty?”

  “No, I am. We decided it was better for both of us if I didn’t. I could even live with my mum, but I went to stay with her in the summer and ended up asking Sheri to come and get me. We don’t really know each other, and we’re going to fix that, but it’ll take time. Anyway, it’s OK here…especially now.”

  I could feel Leigh’s gaze on me, and it made me smile.

  “So, that’s it. The story of my life. Boring, huh?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Right,” Leigh said, nodding slowly. “When’s your bus due?”

  I checked the clock radio. “Another half an hour.”

  “Cool. That means you’ve got time to do the other one.”

  I gave an intentionally loud sigh. “Come on, then.”

  “Yay!” Leigh bunny-hopped my legs, pausing midway to kiss me, before landing on my other side, wiggling their toes in anticipation.

  Oh, dear. What had I started? And wasn’t it great?

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  For as much as I wasn’t a stress-head like Noah, I woke up on Tuesday morning agitated and short-tempered. I’d slept OK, but the combination of uni work, ‘looking forward to’ an evening at Weight Watchers and the damned election was like carrying a heavy suitcase with no place to put it down. After I’d got home the previous evening, I’d tried to put together a short video, but I couldn’t get past the ‘Jesse Thomas, Inclusively Yours’ slogan because it was…well, I hated it, but I couldn’t tell Matty and Jazz that. I’d delegated, so I was going to have to suck it up.

  A little light relief came from getting one over our poetry lecturer who hadn’t checked his email before the lecture and demanded to know where Noah’s and my assignments were. We were unapologetic swots, so his accusation didn’t just get our backs up; he pissed off the entire class, and we still didn’t get an apology when he’d confirmed for himself we were telling the truth.

  Between poetry and critical theory, we stopped to buy drinks and were leaving the café when I heard someone call my name. I didn’t really have the time or patience to talk to anyone, but I put on my best smile, which made Noah spit coffee, and turned to greet a potential voter.

  “Sarah.” Well, that was a surprise. “Hey.”

  “Hey, Jesse. I just wanted to say thanks for helping me out the other night.”

  “No problem.”

  “I was in a bit of a state with organising the hustings, and…” Sarah held out her hands and shrugged, like I should know the rest without her saying it.

  “Is that an apology?”

  Another shrug. “I was out of order.” And a sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at apologies.”

  “Yet you can say sorry for not saying sorry?”

  Sarah rubbed her head. “Yeah, I know…” She seemed very conflicted, although it could’ve been an act—like my bisexuality.

  Normally, I’d have muttered ‘forget it’ and walked away, but I wasn’t letting it go this time, and not because I was still hurt by what she’d said. With every second that passed without her doing the decent thing, my respect for her dwindled. It was already at the point where I didn’t care if she apologised or not.

  “I’m gonna go,” Noah said. “I’ll let Brian know you’re on your way.”

  “OK, mate.” I watched Noah over my shoulder and then turned back to Sarah. “I’ve got a lecture.”

  “I gathered.”

  “So…are we done?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, we’re not done. I have a real problem dealing with you, Jesse—”

  “You don’t say.”

  “—and I’m sorry. I’ve got my reasons, none of them your fault. I should’ve challenged Carlos about what he said, but I find situations like that really hard to handle.”

  “I don’t want to call you a liar, Sarah, but that wasn’t how it sounded to me. You laughed when he insulted me.”

  “I know. And I shouldn’t have shared my thoughts with him about whether or not you’re bi. He’s my friend, and I thought I was confiding in him. I didn’t know you were there.”

  “That doesn’t excuse what you said.”

  “You’re right. All I can do is say sorry and promise you it won’t happen again. I also want to say thank you for putting the issue of allies in your manifesto.”

  Did she think I’d done it for her?

  “Anyway,” she said, walking backwards away from me, “I’ve held you up long enough.
If there’s anything I can do to help you, to make amends…”

  Now, there was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

  ***

  “So, it turns out there’s no provision for political debates in our Student Charter.”

  “Yeah, right,” Noah scoffed. He collected up the rubbish from everyone’s lunch and went to put it in the bin.

  I wasn’t making it up; Sarah had looked through the university’s documents and emailed me during our lecture to say whilst debates weren’t banned, there would need to be special provision to accommodate them. I thought the uni was probably thinking a bit bigger than an SU society election, but that was by the by.

  Noah came back and picked up where he’d left off. “What about the politics students? Don’t they debate in class?”

  “It’s role-play.”

  “Is it bollocks. I mean, good on you for getting yourself out of a tight spot…”

  “The one you so expertly wedged me into,” I reminded him. That shut him up. I held up my water bottle to Matty in a toast. “How’s that for restorative justice?”

  He tilted his head from side to side. “It’ll do as a down-payment.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “It’s not up to me, is it? If you feel she’s repaired the damage she caused, then justice has been restored.”

  I’d need to think about that, but in a way, telling Leigh about the trans guy I went to school with was no different from Sarah telling Carlos about me. Admittedly, the SU meeting hall was a public space, and Sarah’s attitude was appalling, but I kept thinking back to the legal stuff we’d covered in first year, when we’d studied journalism: protection of privacy versus the public interest. It had built on the fear reading Nineteen Eighty-Four had instilled in me—the idea of having no privacy at all was horrifying. I was very much against the monitoring of what people said in private, or what they believed to be in private.

  Maybe I was cutting Sarah more slack than she deserved, but what she’d said about finding it hard to stand up to Carlos…I empathised. The night of the hustings was the first time I’d ever stood up to my bullies, and I’d only been able to do so because it wasn’t just about me. It was the part of me that believed I’d be a good inclusion officer: I might not be great at defending myself, but I fiercely defended my friends.