Well, I found I didn’t need to travel anywhere, as my memory suddenly opened and displayed all my secret longings, desires and truths.
My life played in a strangely staccato movie show, stopping every now and again as I examined a particularly sore or good moment. I watched the boy grow up with loving but faintly distant parents who were so involved in work or interests that I was sidelined for a surprising amount of the time. I hadn’t known it at the time, but my father’s work and my mother’s interests were such that I was an only child and destined to remain so.
Their untimely and sudden death cut short my childhood without me really being aware of it. I received the news of their death at boarding school where I was always known to the staff by my surname and to my friends as Conk. It was an impersonal world where one was what others perceived.
I touched my pretty little nose.
I liked this nose as much as I despised my old one.
Into my brain popped a memory so vivid that tears sprang to my eyes.
I had been nine and was in my third term at my prep school. I wanted to go to the lavatory one night when in bed. It must have been about midnight, so I got out of bed and started to walk to the bathroom. The prefect in the bed by the door woke and asked me where I was going, and on hearing my reply, told me to go back to bed as I hadn’t asked permission.
Like a fool I complied and subsequently wet the bed.
Nothing can describe the shame I felt and the teasing I endured after that. I clearly recalled praying that God would change me into a girl so I could leave the school that was for boys only.
That opened a floodgate of memories that I had suppressed, all involving my daydreams and desire to become a girl. The girl stared back at me with a smug “told-you-so” expression, yet it was a genuine surprise. My desire to be a girl was deeply suppressed, as my desire to fit in and be accepted for what I was took over.
I watched my movie-memory as I used sports to escape the constant inner battle. Only in hard competitive sport could I lose myself for hours at a time, and thus render myself so physically exhausted that I could shut down my inner urges and bask in the accolades of my peers as I succeeded in my sporting achievements.
From sports it was a natural progression into the army cadets and from that into the army, yet all the time, my inner peace was still elusive. I dated girls and even had sexual experiences that were satisfying only in that they reinforced the persona I so desperately wanted to be. The other persona I had long since accepted was never to become a reality, so all such urges and desires were deeply buried, for ever, - or so I thought.
After slipping on my underwear and stockings, revelling in the slinky material against my skin, I applied my make up with an un-trembling hand and a calm determination. Gone was the scruffy boy, who tried as hard as he could to portray someone who cared not one jot for his appearance. Gone was the sturdy young man who wanted to be seen as the epitome of manhood and testosterone fuelled finery.
Gone was the man who hadn’t been real at all. This girl, for all the lies and falsehood was more real than Robert Carlisle had ever been!
Instead was an attractive young woman, confident without being cocky, who simply wanted to live and enjoy her life. As I slipped a silk dress over my head and smoothed it down around my bottom, I smiled at my reflection. In high heels I was much taller than average, which was a new experience, for Robert had always been on the small size.
I was going to enjoy getting to know myself, I thought.
I selected a black leather jacket from the wardrobe, pulled my shoulder bag over my arm, turned the lights out and left the room, locking the door as I left. The carpet in the corridor was a deep red, so muffling any footsteps along to the elevator. Even the lift smelled pleasant as I rode down to the ground floor. I was tempted to eat in, knowing I could put everything on the bill, which I knew I didn’t have to pay. However, in the end, I just wanted to get out and see a bit of London for the first time for over a year.
The rain had stopped, but as I stood on the steps of the hotel, trying to make up my mind which way to go, the doorman asked if I wanted a taxi.
Why not?
“Sure, that’d be good,” I said, immediately and automatically with a Canadian accent. Why did I do that?
Moments later I was in the back of a black cab.
“Where to, Miss?”
Good question. Okay, Miss Smarty-pants, now what are you going to do?
“Coventry Street, please,” I heard myself say.
The traffic in London was much the same as I remembered it.
“First time to London?” the driver asked.
“No. You can tell I’m not English?” I asked.
He just laughed. “Working or on holiday?”
“Working,” I said, hoping it would shut him up.
It didn’t.
“Oh yeah, so what are you, a model or a movie star?” he asked, sniggering at his flattering humour.
I smiled and looked out at the damp surroundings.
I’d travelled around London so often that I knew it very well, but it no longer felt like it once had. I knew that I’d changed, but wondered how it had managed to change how I felt about things quite as much as it had.
I paid the cab and walked along the familiar road between Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square and took in the sights. There were a couple of street performers on the pavement drawing a small crowd, while a uniformed Bobby watched a couple of youngsters who were probably hoping to snatch a couple of bags or cameras given half a chance. When I reached one of my favourite restaurants, I found it gone. In its place was a mobile phone shop.
I made for another old haunt and fortunately found it thriving. It was a small French Restaurant that I’d discovered up a small side street which served the most wonderful mussels. However, as I peered into the bustling little interior I felt rather self-conscious. I was a lone woman, so whereas before I’d not hesitate to go into any restaurant by myself for a meal, I found it hard to enter here.
“Bollocks!” I said to myself, rather too loudly, for a passing elderly gentleman looked sharply at me. Steeling myself, I entered the restaurant.
“Mam’selle? You are alone?” the head waiter asked.
Okay, rub it in, why don’t you?
“Yup, can you fit me in on the bar?” I asked, not even thinking of trying French in a French restaurant.
“Of course, but we have a table, if you are prepared to share with somebody?”
“The bar is fine, thanks,” I said and followed him to the elevated seafood bar that ran like a horseshoe around the open kitchen. The waiters entered the open end to collect the plates for those seated at the tables, while the chefs simply placed the orders of those at the bar directly in front of the customers. It was different and fun.
I sat next to a florid, older man in a pinstripe suit who was eating an enormous platter of oysters.
I ordered a glass of Chablis and a plate of mussels.
“Not all alone, are you, m’dear?” my neighbour asked as I sipped the chilled white wine.
“For the moment, but hopefully not for too long,” I said, feeling a real jerk.
“Ah, what an interesting accent. From which part of the globe do you hail?”
“Quebec,” I said.
“Ah, beautiful city. Was over there in seventy-five, meant to go back but never did. Over here for long?”
“A week or so, I guess.”
I suddenly was very conscious of my cleavage, for the dress was low cut and my new form filled it beautifully. Most of the clothes I’d worn in Vietnam had been more modest, as I didn’t want to shine out there. The man’s eyes kept flitting downward as he ate, so I turned away to look at the other part of the restaurant.