by Fay Weldon
‘Pain and bewilderment?’ he asked, aghast. ‘Nursed?’
‘Of course not really, darling,’ said Valerie. ‘Only in the mind of the Board, so they pass the motion. The end justifies the means. We must seize the day. Thank heaven the She Devil has kept away.’
‘And I’m not sure about the Lantern Room. It’s where I watched my Grandpa die. Supposing he comes back to haunt it?’
‘I shall be there to keep you company,’ she laughed. She had a wonderful way of talking and laughing at the same time. It seemed to wipe away all doubts and fears.
The Lantern Room, she promised, would be made into a delightful apartment by Amethyst.
‘Such a wonderful space. Three rooms, kitchen, bathroom, or possibly even two bathrooms, one for him and one for her, later of course one for her, and one for her. Bathrooms can make or break a relationship when there are two girls together.’
‘So actually, it’s you moving in with me,’ he said.
‘Of course. We love each other. We can’t live without each other.’
True, Valerie had repeatedly said how much she loved him, and Tyler had even said it once to her, in the heat of the moment, and there were certainly much worse things than to be loved by someone like Valerie. There was also an indignity about it. A man did like to be asked. Men did not ‘love’ their sex slaves, they told them what to do and got pleasure at their expense, though that in itself could end up being a burden. One required a certain autonomy on the girl’s part or there was just too much responsibility.
‘And you could work for IGP as a librarian,’ she promised, ‘setting up the new library in the Castle Complex. You’d have a decent non-minimum wage job at last.’
His heart leapt. Now this was different. A job! A nirvana so desired. At last. But a wariness born of Jobcentre Plus experience cut in.
‘Not minimum wage and zero-hours – for real? I haven’t the right qualifications. There was a Librarianship module at uni but only girls ever took it.’
‘Darling,’ said Valerie, ‘you have a natural intelligence and an aesthetic awareness and that is really all that is required. It’ll be a proper salaried job with promotion opportunities.’
Tyler, still cautious, but pushing his advantage home, murmured that he’d require a formal written two-year contract with a six-month get-out clause, four weeks’ annual holiday, medical insurance specified to cover the cost of what Valerie now referred to as his epiphany from M to F; and Valerie said no problem, she’d just speak to Miriam in HR, it could all be arranged. The IGP looked after its workers well.
She’d already conferred with Dr Simmins, who happened to be an expert in hormonal matters – a consultant to the North London Gender Reassignment Clinic for a number of years – and was happy enough to provide the counselling and medications required, though for the actual vaginoplasty they’d need a very good private clinic. Dr Simmins knew such a one in Harley Street, not too far away. The whole thing could be done in about a year if you knew what was what. Transiting men were no longer required to live for years as the kind of woman who wore fishnet tights and high heels before being accepted for reassignment. A few months in a skirt was now perfectly long enough, if you were dealing with the right doctors. Yes, said Valerie, of course, medical insurance would be included in the contract.
Tyler considered. A year out of his life. It was nothing. Scrunched Zombies, a single shooter game, would soon pass the time. He could play it undisturbed by mother and sisters, who switched it off at home whenever he switched it on. He was the She Devil’s grandson, soon to be granddaughter: he must look at the moon, not mistrust the pointing finger. He was out of the doldrums, into the sunlight. He had trusted, believed, and everything had simply fallen into his lap. The old lady couldn’t live forever. She was on her last legs. She’d promised to leave him her money: if she had any, and surely she must, he would then be free to do as he pleased. If it worked out with Valerie, he’d stay with her: they could even have a baby – her intact womb and his pre-op sperm frozen.
If not, they could go their separate ways. He was too young to settle, to be bounced into commitment now. Valerie would have lost interest by the time they broke up; too busy clawing her way up the career ladder to care. He was already beginning to think of Hermione a bit nostalgically. Pity how girls either loved too little or loved too much – both kind of threatened your virility. Hermione’s indifference and Valerie’s commitment were equally challenging. It would suit Valerie to have him female – he didn’t suppose Hermione would be much bothered either way. His mother and his sisters would prefer him with a vagina rather than the oppressing penis. There would probably soon be a procedure which could reverse the whole thing anyway – medical progress moved so fast.
‘This time next year,’ cried Valerie in another fit of exultation, ‘you, a young and beautiful maiden, will head the Widdershins Walk, all hardship behind you. What more could your grandmother ask?’
It had never been in Tyler’s nature to look before he leapt. He saw himself more as a hold your nose and jump kind of person.
‘Oh fuck,’ Tyler said. ‘I’ll do it!’
Part 4
As The Year Rolls On
January
Dr Ruby Simmins wound up her practice in St Rumbold’s and moved in to 4HT/3, the better to supervise Tyler’s transition to Tayla. She would have preferred to be in the Castle Complex but there was no room available. The fourth floor was bearable, however: there was at least elevator access at this level, so there were no steep stone stairs to worry about: it was light and bright and there was a glass walkway just outside her door which took her over rocks and (when the tide was in) waves, to the comfort and modernity of the Castle Complex and its canteen. The food served seemed perfectly acceptable, being plentiful and nourishing, but Dr Simmins was the first to acknowledge she was no sort of foodie.
She was kept busy enough but not too busy with the IGP residents, who on the whole were an uncomplaining lot, most of them still intellectually active – tough old birds, in other words. They had converted 3CC/5 for use as a clinic, and had it equipped properly and to modern standards by Maria Medical Outfitters, who also made available (only twenty-four hours’ notice required) their travelling range of imaging modalities – MRI, CT, PET CT, X-Ray, Ultrasound, and even Nuclear (though those latter units were really heavy: even the High Tower seemed to tremble on their approach), but that might have been Dr Simmins’ fancy, she was so flattered and impressed. Expense seemed to be no object for the IGP. Dr Simmins could almost describe herself as happy.
Even the storms seemed to have blown themselves out after their wild excesses over the Christmas season. Perhaps Femina Electrical had finally got their aerials and lightning conductors in tune with one another, so the High Tower basked in the best winter could offer in the way of cold, bright, clean, sunny weather with blue skies, little wind and glassy seas. The only problem was that noise from the Lantern Room on the ninth floor did travel – its vast windows, no doubt, and no double-glazing, thanks to Heritage UK.
When not ensconced and entwined with Valerie, Dr Simmins’ single patient Tyler – soon to be Tayla – spent a great deal of time playing not just music but computer games at full blast, which meant that the hard techno music he now favoured, mixed with the electronic sound of gunfire, explosions, the roars of imaginary beasts and the shrieks of the slaughtered, rent the quiet of peaceful nights and made it hard to sleep. Tyler had lately switched from Scrunched Zombies to Slash of War, even noisier and gorier. Fortunately Dr Simmins could always self-prescribe Valium and Temazepam, and did so. Yet actual noise had still seemed preferable to the quiet hate that used to drift down the stairs in old Bobbo’s lifetime and had made her fear things that went bump in the night.
No one else complained about the noise. All at IGP seemed stirred, excited and restored by this venture into the new feminism, the great experiment, the turning of Tyler into Tayla. ‘Degenerate man into regenerate woman’ – as Vale
rie put it. These days elderly and serious IGP-ers smiled and chattered, swore and flung their hands about and embraced one another. It did occur to Dr Simmins that she might be handing out rather a lot of SSRIs (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors), even perhaps too many. But these new medications were only risky when you stopped taking them. After the bliss of the serotonin world the real one did sometimes seem intolerable and suicide a solution. The FDA had issued a warning to this effect. Better keep things as they were. There was more risk in stopping, than continuing them.
If sometimes when working in the clinic Dr Simmins felt a breath upon her arm, and at night felt the need to pull the curtains in case someone was looking in, when outside was all black night and sea and stars, it was easy enough to ignore.
February
Dr Simmins remarked to Valerie after the monthly Board meeting that the She Devil was keeping a very low profile: she had not been seen in the canteen or library for some time.
‘The Diabolissima?’ asked Valerie. ‘Oh, she’s fine, just skulking in her tent, like Achilles. I take her wake-up coffee every morning. She’s bright enough, just going through a mourning patch for Bobbo. They had been married such a long time!’
Almost overnight, it seemed, Diavolessa had turned into Diabolissima. Valerie had been acting Chair in the She Devil’s absence, though as the good doctor noted, that had seemed something of a presumption on her part. But these days anyone who was anyone seemed to turn up to meetings, and ‘anyone’ was usually a friend and ally of Valerie’s. The official reason for the She Devil’s absences was that she was ‘working hard, finishing a book’, but it seemed to Dr Simmins to be half the story. And ‘mourning for Bobbo’ didn’t quite wash.
So Dr Simmins ignored the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the She Devil’s door and had to knock a few times before she was reluctantly let in, and found Ruth, as she feared, to be in a bad way. The She Devil was unkempt and seemed anxious and depressed. She was still in her nightie, and the area around her computer was littered with sweet wrappers and doughnuts from which it seemed the jam and cream had been sucked and the sugar licked, the rest having been ignored and left to go mouldy. The bed was unmade and there were discarded clothes on the floor. The cleaners had not been in for a long time. Ruth seemed bloated and puffy, and complained of aches, pains and muscle weakness. Yes, she said, she was trying to work but somehow the words did not come. Her brain felt paralysed.
‘You’re in a bad mood,’ said Dr Simmins, diagnosing severe depression and offering a prescription for 30 mg Seroxat once daily. The She Devil refused.
‘Pointless to change my mood to suit the world,’ she said, with a flash of her old spirit. ‘Nothing would ever get done. Better to change the world to suit my mood.’
Dr Simmins enquired what had triggered the low mood and the She Devil just said, ‘Finding I had a family when I hadn’t expected it. And all that grandson to granddaughter business. I was only joking. I never thought the lad would take me seriously. Parity is about women deserving better and getting less because of male oppression. Nothing whatsoever to do with male and female genitalia.’
She complained that the IGP was being hijacked. Her baby was being snatched. She was not suffering from depression but a proper reaction to events. She was unhappy, and with good reason. And there was Valerie.
‘Valerie has got above herself,’ she said. ‘HR says if I try to fire her it’s too late, she’ll only sue IGP for unfair dismissal and win.’
Yes, Valerie still brought in her coffee and breakfast every morning and was sweet as pie but she didn’t trust her. Dr Simmins suggested that she leave out the morning coffee.
‘Why?’ demanded the She Devil. ‘Do you think it’s poisoned?’
The doctor said of course not – the She Devil must be mindful of her age and not give in to paranoiac thought – but caffeine could be a double-edged sword. Slowed you down as well as picked you up. Kept you in perpetual flight or fight mode, your adrenals in a yo-yo state, irritating your digestive tract and exhausting you with anxiety. Decaf from the canteen was one thing, but Valerie was known to brew her own No. 6.
‘Perhaps just avoid it,’ said Dr Simmins, mildly. ‘No point in upsetting our Valerie. Accept the coffee but don’t drink it. Pour it down the loo.’
‘Very well,’ said the She Devil, meekly. She really was in very low spirits. But she did agree to take 15 mg Seroxat a day.
March
Dr Ruby Simmins faced the walk up the stone stairs to call on Tyler in the Lantern Room on the ninth floor, the sound of Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain growing louder and louder as she approached. Still very male: rage plus pathos – lovely Mike Oldfield singing Nuclear like a forlorn child – but rather less gunfire, fewer explosions. And Tyler, ever courteous, ever charming, actually turned the sound down when Ruby came into the room. He seemed to reflect sunlight, like one of the glorious heroes in a trashy Mary Fisher novel she’d read as a child. So few patients one warmed to. She hoped it would be the same when he’d been made Tayla.
She needed to give him his jabs, and check he was taking his 1.2 mg estradiol, 4.5 mg estriol and 5.4 mg progesterone daily while cutting down his carbohydrate intake. Valerie would not be pleased if Tyler ended up a fatso. Eight weeks in and he was already beginning to lay down fat, but not just in the breast and hip area, but under the chin as well. As Tyler’s desire for exercise decreased so his appetite for chocolate increased. The over-eating would have to stop.
Back in January Dr Simmins had taken the S-Class into Brighton to the IVF clinic for Tyler to have his sperm frozen for future use, should he ever wish to become a father. Tyler had been reluctant – ‘Who, me, a father when I’m a girl? That’s pervy’ – while Valerie had seemed enthusiastic. Which Dr Simmins thought strange. Would Valerie risk even motherhood to nail Tyler into transiting? Everyone knew once a woman has a baby her hope of a meaningful future is lost. Relationships, career, family, will all suffer in the desperate quest for motherhood: the attempt to satisfy a meaningless primal urge is always better ignored. But these young people so seldom thought things through.
Dr Simmins worried that she was perhaps taking Tyler through his transition a little fast, but since it seemed everyone was happy and the good doctor hoped to go on using the Iron Maiden as her own – the She Devil had in effect given it to her – all was for the best. 5.4 mg might seem a little high to some, but was within tolerable limits. Juggling with hormones was an art as much as a science. There were always risks – Tyler’s blood pressure might rise, mood changes were inevitable and suicidal impulses might occur – but the good doctor would keep an eye on things until the lad was well and truly one of the girls, and all in good time for the New Year’s international World Widdershins Walk, hosted by the IGP in the High Tower! All was going well. The Iron Maiden had been a gift from the She Devil and not a loan, whatever Valerie Valeria chose to believe. But Valerie being such a power in the land these days it was as well not to offend her.
Emotionally, Tyler seemed in great shape. He scarcely needed counselling. His desire to use the gym was dwindling, which was just as well. The six-pack look was not a good look for one who should be aiming for Maureen O’Sullivan as Jane rather than Johnny Weissmuller as Tarzan. After ten weeks or so of fairly constant game playing and sitting about Tyler’s breasts were budding nicely. At least the sound of rapine, slaughter, screams of agony and cries for mercy no longer disturbed Dr Simmins’ sleep. Or perhaps the wind had just turned.
The golden boy-to-girl, MTF, had become everyone’s favourite: after lunch in the canteen he’d bring out his guitar – bought from Amazon – and when the dishes had been cleared (girl-like, he’d even help) would give a small concert to the assembled company – Bridge over Troubled Water and Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep were favourites with the older crowd – in a light, but still baritone voice. He was not proud and would give a hand with the washing up while still doing physical handyman work outside – Amethyst Builders were still
having trouble with handholds for the Widdershins Circuit, as the exterior path was now called, and their digging machines couldn’t get round the Widdershins path where it narrowed to single file. Even though many of the Amethysts were FTMs some murmured that a few good strong cismale muscles might help when it came to heaving rocks about. But wiser counsels prevailed.
Sometimes Tyler cycled down to the village with Valerie to see Mrs Easton at the Spar store. These were early days, and in retrospect very pleasant, tranquil days. The weather held.
Valerie, on the other hand, seemed extremely excitable and was losing weight. She chewed gum and brewed and drank real coffee but was never seen eating. Dr Simmins thought Valerie was probably an unacknowledged anorexic with a touch, or more than a touch, of bipolar, and could do with a dose or two of lithium. But unless Dr Simmins was consulted it was none of her business.
April
Bipolar or not, Valerie ran the monthly Board meeting with brisk efficiency. It was held in 2HT/3. Archives were kept in 1HT, meetings held in 2HT. Basement floors 1 and 2, though perfectly well heated and air conditioned, were underground and so without windows. This very lack seemed, or so Dr Simmins thought, to make everyone feel safe, secure and relaxed. Perhaps it was that living on the edge of sea and sky and too conscious of the approach of the infinite, the sense of blank vastness all around could be disconcerting: who ever knew what might not be lurking out there unseen, but looking in? Windowless was good.
This morning items were discussed and despatched at speed. Membership was up by 5 per cent. Interim statutory accounts had gone in good time to HMRC and the Charity Commissioners. Various interested movements – Feminist Man for Feminist Woman, Men Everywhere Speak Up for Women, De-Gender Now – had been invited as IGP associates at a reduced fee. There was some ‘no better than dating sites’ murmuring, and Ms Octavia walked out, but everyone was used to that, and ignored her. She had Parkinson’s, was on 15 mg ropinirole, and showing signs of impulsiveness, shopping ‘til she dropped on Amazon, even starting to internet gamble. The ongoing problem of Bobbo’s shroud – for problem it seemed still to be for at least poor Ms Octavia – seemed to have triggered hallucinations. She now claimed to have seen Bobbo’s right arm rising from the sand and shaking his fist.
