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.