Boy2Girl Page 12

  I sat down on the side of the bed and said, in as cool and matter-of-fact a tone as I could manage, ‘It turns out that one or two things have been happening without our knowing.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Sam’s voice was distant, bored.

  I told him about the money, the wealth that was his, the cash that would keep flowing in, so long as the records of a group called 666 kept on selling. Normally I’d have expected him to cheer up at this point – Sam has always had a deep affection and respect for the dollar – but now he just sighed, as if none of it mattered any more.

  ‘So Mom wasn’t quite so dumb,’ he said quietly. We were reaching the tricky bit in our conversation, but Sam was there first. ‘My dad knows about this, right?’ I nodded. ‘And that’s why he’s flown over to London. Not to see me, but to get his hands on the cash.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘More than maybe. I know the guy.’

  I looked at him for a moment. There was something helpless about Sam at times like this. All his swagger and bounce seemed to fall away, leaving this pale, solemn kid, as lost and lonely as anyone could be.

  ‘Was he really such a terrible father?’ I asked.

  To my surprise, Sam shook his head. ‘He wasn’t so bad. Sure he and Mom had these big fights and he hung out with other women and he was always in some kind of trouble with the cops, but he had his good points.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘As I got older, we spent more time together. We went out, just him, his guys and me. He’ – an odd smile had appeared on Sam’s face – ‘involved me in his work, shall we say.’

  I waited, sensing there was more to come.

  ‘A kid can be useful,’ Sam murmured. ‘Say, when you’re cashing a stolen cheque and you’ve got a four-year-old creating all kinds of mayhem, it can make the cashier want to hand over the money just to get you out of there. Or when you need to get past the security guard in an office building, it helps if you’ve got junior in tow, bawling that he needs to go to the bathroom. Or if there’s some little guy, acting like he’s lost and frightened on the sidewalk, it can distract the cops for a few minutes. Stuff like that.’

  I tried not to look shocked. ‘He took you on jobs with him?’

  ‘He introduced me to the family business a bit earlier than is usual. It was all right until…’ Sam looked down and flicked the thumb of his right hand as if tossing an invisible coin. ‘Until we kind of hit a wall.’

  ‘A wall?’

  Sam turned to look at me. ‘If he takes me back, I’ll be gone. I’d take a hike. Hang out with a few of my old buddies from the gang.’

  ‘You’d run away?’

  ‘Sam Lopez does not run away. He relocates.’

  I thought for a moment. ‘So you don’t want your father to find you for a while.’

  ‘That would seem to be the case.’

  I told him my plan. Even before I had finished he was laughing.

  Mr Burton

  Mary had returned from work and we were in the kitchen, discussing the latest developments, when Matthew re-appeared.

  He told us that he had talked the whole thing through with Sam, that he had told him about the inheritance left by Gail. He said they had come up with a possible solution. ‘It might be a bit of a surprise,’ he said. ‘Just keep an open mind.’

  To be frank, we were already in shock. This was not the Matthew we knew. The Sam crisis had changed him. We were used to a child – funny, awkward, our little boy. Suddenly it was as if he were taking charge not only of his cousin but of us, his parents.

  I tried, as kindly as possible, to point out that, although we were grateful for his help, we had decided that it was impossible and impractical to keep Sam hidden for any length of time. On balance, we thought it was best to ask the advice of the police. ‘This is serious stuff,’ I said. By all accounts this Mr Lopez is not the most savoury of characters.’

  It was at this point that the door behind me opened. Mary, who was sitting opposite me, looked over my shoulder.

  Then she screamed.

  Mrs Burton

  As it happens, I probably haven’t allowed one involuntary sound of any volume to escape from my lips since I was about eleven years old.

  But when I looked up to see her…him…it, standing there at the kitchen door, I felt a genuine sense of shock – even of fear.

  It was a girl. Yet it wasn’t a girl. It was Sam. I could see that. All the same, he was so perfectly self-contained, so completely undisguised, that it just took my breath away. It was as if we were not seeing a fake, female version of Sam but that this was the real thing.

  ‘Hi, folks,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said David.

  Solemnly, Sam walked past us to the far wall, then turned, ambled back, and sat on one of the chairs. ‘Welcome to the new me,’ he said.

  ‘Where did you get the clothes?’ asked David.

  ‘They were Jake’s sister’s,’ said Matthew. ‘We borrowed them.’

  ‘Well.’ David tried for a smile but managed a wince. ‘You certainly look at home in them.’

  ‘That’s because I’ve been wearing them all week,’ said Sam.

  ‘What?’ This was both David and me.

  Matthew smiled. ‘We had this idea. It was sort of a challenge. We wanted to trick the girls in class.’

  ‘I’ve never heard anything so thoroughly irresponsible in all my life,’ I said. ‘Did it work?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Sam widened his eyes slightly and smiled in an alarmingly feminine manner.

  ‘So that explains the plucked eyebrows,’ said David. ‘And you must have been Simone, Matthew’s girlfriend.’

  ‘Please don’t think I was too happy about that.’

  I was looking more closely at him now and noticed something for the first time. ‘Sam, are those breasts?’ I asked.

  Crash

  We cruised by, late that night, checking out 23 Somerton Gardens, the crock of gold at the end of the rainbow. Inside there were lights, people moving about, just like any family, all innocent and unaware that sharks were circling their little pool.

  ‘I can almost smell the money,’ I said.

  ‘Miew’ went Ottoleen. She was one happy kitten that night.

  Matthew

  Now here’s a surprise. My parents were none too hot on the idea of Sam becoming a girl, round the clock, until his father gave up and went home. They came up with one objection after another – practical, legal, whether it would be a bad, bad thing that we would be doing – but the more we talked, the clearer the position became. This was one tough project – the stakes were high and so were the risks.

  But if we all played our part, we could carry it off. Whether it was worth it or not came down to one person.

  Late that evening, after supper, we sat in the living room and the silences grew longer and longer.

  ‘Maybe we should just be honest and straightforward and take it to the courts,’ Dad said.

  ‘We would simply explain that Sam has settled into life here,’ said my mother. ‘Mr Lopez would be very welcome to visit now and then.’

  But Sam was shaking his head. ‘You don’t get it, you guys,’ he said softly. ‘Crash just doesn’t do honest and straightforward. The only time he’s been in a court is when his lawyer lets him take the stand. He’ll get me back – somehow he’ll do it.’

  ‘How would you feel about that?’ Mum asked.

  Sam gazed at her for a moment, a cold and stony stare.

  ‘More to the point is, how would you feel, Mrs Burton?’

  My mother held his look, then smiled. ‘I would be very sad, Sam Lopez.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Dad.

  All three looked at me. ‘Yeah.’ I shrugged. ‘I admit it would be pretty boring without you around. It’s almost like you’re part of the family.’

  Sam blinked rapidly as if some speck of dirt was in his eye, then seemed to notice something on the floor which required hi
s close attention. ‘I guess…’ He frowned. ‘I guess that’s how I feel too.’

  Mum made as if to put an arm around Sam’s shoulders, but he shrank back, holding up his hands in mock horror. ‘Easy,’ he said. ‘One step at a time, right?’

  There was a moment of silence as each of us came to terms with the big scene of family bonding that had just taken place.

  ‘We need to work out what to do next,’ said my father eventually. ‘Tomorrow’s Friday. Go to school as’ – he smiled – ‘normal. We’ll make a decision over the weekend.’

  Sam shrugged and stood up. ‘Suits me,’ he said. ‘But when he finds out where you live, old Crash’ll come knocking soon enough.’

  ‘Why do they call him Crash?’ Mum asked.

  ‘You’ll find out,’ said Sam.

  13

  Elena

  Like all Libras, I’m totally sensitive to other people’s mood swings, so when Sam came in the next day looking all washed out and weary, I just knew that something important had happened to her.

  It was time to prove that I was her real friend. She might have a whole two-little-songbirds thing going with my ex-friend, Zia Khan, but when it came down to real life, there was nothing to beat the old El and Sam Show.

  I managed to catch her alone after the first lesson. I was, ‘All right, Sammo?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just wanted to say that I’m here for you. If you want to talk something through, I’m a really good listener. It’s what friends are for.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I just feel kind of out of it today – a little spacey, you know?’

  I knew all right. My instinct had been on the money as usual. ‘I think you’ll find that your problem lies in three little letters,’ I said. Then I whispered them in her ear.

  ‘What?’ said Sam.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave something in your locker, just in case. It’s important to be prepared.’

  ‘But…what exactly is PMT?’ she asked.

  ‘You must know.’ I laughed. ‘Premenstrual tension. You’ll find that, just before you get your period, you’ll get really short-tempered and snappy. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about – a lot of girls have it.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Sam. ‘That explains a lot.’

  I laughed. ‘I won’t tell a soul,’ I said.

  Charley

  Sam had started. Elena was the first person to twig. She confided in Kate and Donna. Soon every girl in Year Eight was passing on the day’s hot gossip.

  Sam had started.

  When Steve asked her a question in English and she just went on staring into space, there were significant glances all round.

  When she ate hardly any lunch, Elena mouthed the word ‘Cramps’ in my direction.

  All in all, it was the day’s hot news.

  Mark

  I had it bad. It was like a fever, an illness that took over my brain and body. I couldn’t concentrate in class – nothing new there, but the guys in my gang started taking the mick out of me. They nudged one another and made moony faces when I passed. My cool was slipping. My rep was in serious jeopardy.

  But the American babe showed no sign of thawing out.

  When I sauntered up to her that Friday afternoon, said, ‘Hi, Sam,’ and gave her the full-on Kramer smile, she looked at me slowly, as if coming out of a dream. ‘Made a decision yet?’

  ‘Decision?’ she said.

  ‘About going out.’

  ‘Going out? What you talking about, man?’

  ‘A club? Or maybe a gig. I’ve heard you like music. We could take in some girl band somewhere.’

  Sam shook her lovely head as if she had more important things to think about than dating Mark Kramer.

  ‘She’s not in the mood, Mark,’ said one of her friends, Charley Johnson.

  ‘I could handle going to a club with you if you want,’ the Elena creature chirped up.

  I ignored her and stepped closer to Sam. It was time for the Kramer voice, low and silky. That always does the trick.

  ‘How about it, Sam?’ I murmured. ‘It’s Friday. Face it, everyone’s in the mood on Friday.’

  ‘If you must know.’ This was the skinny little oddball Elena again. ‘She has female troubles. If you don’t know what those are, ask your mum.’

  ‘Female troubles?’ I laughed. ‘There are no female troubles that a good, strong dose of Mark Kramer can’t cure.’

  Sam Lopez seemed to tune into the conversation at this point. She reached into her jacket pocket. ‘Yeah, El’s right,’ she said. ‘I’ve got female troubles.’ She took out what looked very like one of those tampon things that girls have. She poked my chest with it, hard. ‘Get it now, doughbrain? I’m having a very…heavy…day.’

  ‘OK, OK.’ I raised two hands in surrender and backed off. ‘Maybe some other time then.’

  Elena

  We had shared a bra. And we had shared my supply of tampons. No one could say that I wasn’t Sam’s best friend now.

  All the same, I was the teeniest bit surprised by the way she talked to Mark that afternoon – and frankly, I hadn’t left a packet of Tampax in her locker for it to be used as an offensive weapon!

  But then we can all be a bit moody at that time of the month, can’t we?

  Matthew

  Sam and I walked home in silence.

  Eventually I asked the big question. ‘What’s it going to be then? Boy or girl?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Search me,’ he said.

  He took longer than usual to change back into his normal clothes that evening.

  Ottoleen

  When Crash is preparing to make a move he becomes very still, like a panther just about to pounce on a deer or whatever. (I admit that Crash doesn’t look like a panther, he’s a bit wider than a panther and has got less fur than a panther and a panther doesn’t click its knuckles when it’s nervous, but you know what I mean.) I keep myself to myself when he’s like this.

  That day we stayed in the hotel, except for when we went out to McDonald’s in the middle of the day.

  Chewing on a Big Mac, he told me that he had this plan to pay a little visit to Mr and Mrs Burton sometime in the early evening.

  ‘That’s when the kids are going to be around, right?’ I said.

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘That’s when folk have their TVs on. Drowns out the screamin’.’

  I wasn’t crazy about this screaming thing. ‘I thought we were just going to check that little Sam was there,’ I said.

  ‘Drowns out the screamin’.’ He repeated the words, just like I hadn’t said anything.

  Crash was ready all right.

  Mrs Burton

  It was just after seven when we heard the ring at the door. There was something about that ring – the way it lasted about ten seconds longer than is generally considered polite – that told me that it was the famous Mr Lopez.

  I was feeling perfectly confident – this is my home, for heaven’s sake – but I noticed that David was looking a bit peaky. I told the boys to go upstairs and went to open the front door.

  Crash

  Inside I was wired, twitching like a finger on the trigger of a gun. Outside I was a smiling, innocent American visitor, a family man looking for his son.

  I wore a suit and a white shirt and a tie that was tight against my neck. And Ottoleen? That afternoon she had shown me what she planned to wear, the skin-tight jeans and clinging T-shirt.

  ‘Too hot,’ I said.

  She tried the short black skirt.

  ‘Way too hot.’

  We went shopping and got some English floral thing, and bought it a couple of sizes bigger than she likes to wear. ‘We all have to make sacrifices,’ I said.

  So there we were, on the doorstep. Mr and Mrs Straight-’n’-Respectable.

  A tall woman opened the front door. ‘Hello,’ she said, a fixed kiss-off smile on her face.

  ‘Mrs Burton?’ I said.

  ‘Ye
s.’

  ‘My name is Anthony Lopez,’ I said. ‘I was married to your late sister, Galaxy.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘What a nice surprise.’

  ‘This is my wife, Mrs Lopez.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Ottoleen, with a polite, little-girl smile.’

  ‘How do you do?’ said Mrs Burton.

  ‘Very well,’ said Ottoleen.

  We stood there for a couple of beats. Then the Burton woman said, ‘You’d better come in.’

  We stepped into the hall, which was done up in a dingy English style with flower pictures on the wall and lighting like it’s out of some 1950s film.

  ‘Nice place you got here, Mrs Burton,’ said Ottoleen.

  The woman seemed not to hear and walked ahead of us. Throwing Ottoleen a quick wink, I followed her into a sitting room where Mr Burton, a suburban sort of guy who was actually wearing a cardigan, sat reading a newspaper.

  More introductions. We took our places on a sofa, Ottoleen managing to show more leg than was strictly appropriate for the occasion.

  Mr Burton offered us a drink.

  ‘I don’t,’ I said.

  ‘A cup of tea would be nice,’ said Ottoleen.

  To my surprise it was the guy who got up to make it in the kitchen.

  We made small talk, all sad and sorrowful, about the late Galaxy, with me giving a little speech about how she was quite a character, they broke the mould when they made her, big loss to us all, et cetera, et cetera. ‘One of the greatest regrets of my life’, I said, ‘was that I was away on a business trip and only heard of her tragic demise after the funeral.’

  When Mr Burton returned with a tray and poured out some tea, I cut to the chase.

  ‘I was informed that you have been looking after my boy, Sam,’ I said.

  ‘Your son?’ Mrs Burton gazed at me coolly over the rim of her teacup. ‘But he’s in a foster home, isn’t he?’