Golden Gloom - RICH - Part Eight

21

Ricky

I was particularly enjoying Countdown today. I’d been watching it for umpteen years but this was definitely one of the better ones. The guests were particularly witty and the brain-teasers were within my ability to work out for the most part but still difficult enough to make me feel I’d accomplished something.

The only thing nagging at me was that I wished I’d started dinner before it began instead of going for that swim. Charles could get grouchy if he didn’t eat on time and I’d been really wanting to try out one of the new recipes I’d found on my iPhone app. My smart phone was a real Godsend. I was forever looking for new apps about flower arranging, gardening and decorating tips or make-up. It could keep me satisfied for hours.

It didn’t matter about dinner. Perhaps I’d flutter my eyelashes and get Charles to take me to that new restaurant that had opened on the other side of Barton out in the country.

The phone ringing disrupted my train of thought. I took the receiver from the top of the bureau and pressed the green button. “Barbara Hawthorne.”

“Hiya Barb, it’s Flo.”

“Flo darling. I was just thinking about you earlier.”

“Good thoughts I hope.”

“Just about Weight Watchers.”

“That dreadful place? I’m convinced they’re run by the Devil to give us a taste of hell before we get there.”

I giggled. “It’s not that bad and I’ve lost half a stone now, although I’ve put on a bit lately.”

“That’ll be the cream teas.”

I laughed. “That’s exactly what I was thinking!”

“We should get the girls together and go to the spa again if your Charles will let you.”

“Let me? I doubt he’d notice.”

“He’s not that bad.”

I smiled. “No. He’s not. Truth be told, he pretends to be so serious but he’s got a heart like a puppy dog inside. He can be really lovely.”

“We should do a swap. My husband can be a right wank-stain.”

“Flo, really!” We both burst out laughing.

She was such a good friend and we’d known each other since the twins had been in Mums & Toddlers, what – nineteen years ago if it was a day. I sighed happily.

“So what have you got planned for tonight?” asked Flo. “Anything romantic?”

“As a matter of fact I was planning to convince Charles to woah! What the fuck!?”

I sprang to my feet, staring at the phone receiver in my hand. I could hear a tiny voice coming from the ear piece calling the name “Barbara” over and over again but I didn’t lift it back to my ear. I was stunned, actually shaking with the blast of adrenaline that was coursing through my body.

On the end of the phone, Flo was still calling out and not knowing what else to do I put the receiver back to my head and said, “I’m okay but I have to go,” and I dropped it where I stood, putting my hand to my mouth.

It had happened again – I’d forgotten again – only this time it had gone on for much longer, completely overtaken me. I’d been chatting on the phone like a woman, laughing and joking with this woman I’d never met as though she were an old friend – I remembered her even now exactly like that. I remembered ‘meeting’ her at Mom’s & Toddlers when ‘my’ children were only a year old. This was wrong. It was all so so wrong. It was fuc— it was awful. And it had to end. I didn’t care what Charles – what Jane had said. I had to change back now.

I had to turn back into myself or it really would be too late!

Changing Back

22

Ricky

I looked at my pale chubby forearms extending from the sleeves of the rolled back bathrobe, at the hands and the varnished nails, then I concentrated hard, willing myself to change back into my real body.

Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all.

I felt my silky hair and soft face; my glasses, my breasts: taking stock. Nothing had changed. Starting to hyperventilate I closed my eyes, willing it to happen again, trying to visualize why I wanted to go back.

I didn’t want to be overweight, or a woman. I didn’t want to be in my forties or have to wear thick glasses. I wanted to be a strong young man. I didn’t want to spend my days thinking embroidery and homemaking were important and I sure as hellfire didn’t want two nineteen old children!

The room darkened beyond my eyelids and I felt the gloom close around my head. I smiled in relief as the transformation started but almost immediately I felt the pulling throb in my veins, the need for a fix, exacerbated by the length of time I’d gone without and I opened my eyes. The glasses were gone – my vision was clear – but it clouded over instantly, blurring again as I winced from the return of the urges. I reached for the arm of the sofa, digging my fingers into it, telling myself I didn’t mind the withdrawal, I just wanted to be a man again; but it was getting harder. I was thinking how nice it had been to go swimming and wear pretty clothes and chat to Flo, about how much I was looking forward to curling up on the sofa with Charles later and watching TV.

The gloom was fading back, leaving me trapped as a woman.

But I didn’t let it. I groaned, forcing myself to look inward to what I really wanted, to be myself again, and I went down on my knees as the shadows intensified. I cried out in deep concentration as the bathrobe rippled and dissolved, becoming a T-shirt and jeans; as my hair withdrew. I was shaking with the labor as my clear youthful vision returned.

And then I was gasping for breath and the darkness had vanished and I was back in my body again, muscles drawn, tears of exertion in my eyes, panting and trying to catch my wind. I was myself again. I was Ricky, not Barbara; a man, not a woman and despite the scratching in my veins and my need for another fix, I was filled with relief.

And then the knock came at the door and I realized just how fucked I was.

I looked through the doorway, keeping low, and recognized the silhouette of the copper and my heart fell into my stomach. I was totally and completely fucked; no question about it.

He knocked again.

A man’s voice came from upstairs. “Barbara darling; are you going to answer that? I’m working.” And I realised that I only had seconds before one of two things occurred. Either the policeman was going to get impatient and look through the window or go round the back, spotting me; or ‘Charles’ was going to come downstairs with no memory of who he really was or who I was and think I was a burglar.

There was no way out of it. OI was going to get caught.

Or else I had to become Barbara again.

23

Ricky

It was my only real option, especially with Jane upstairs, trapped in the body of Charles, losing herself. If I ran for it now, even if I got away, she’d be stuck like that forever. If I changed back at least I’d have the option of trying to snap her out of it.

“Fuck!” I muttered. “Fuck!”

The copper knocked again on the door.

“Barbara? Are you going to get that or shall I come down?”

It had to be now!

I closed my eyes and once more imagined changing into Barbara, thinking at first that I wouldn’t be able to convince myself that I wanted it, but pictures of the lovely relaxed time I’d had when I forgot myself came back to mind, the contentment of being so rich and happy, of not needing the drugs anymore, and the room immediately darkened.

I was still on my hands and knees, down by the sofa and I watched my hands shrink, my fingers becoming slender. My T-shirt sleeves lengthened, turning into white toweling. My hair extended down the sides of my face, calling into view.

Footsteps were coming down the stairs. Charles’s voice was calling out to the policeman, telling him to wait a moment.

My vision was blurring.

Then I threw back my body and head, my buttocks dropping back onto my heels, looking up at the ceiling and groaned the word, “No!” through gritted teeth.

I wasn’t going to be a woman – not for any reason in the world. I was going to be myself; get out of it the way I’d gotten out of all the shit I’d been in my whole life! I was a man! Not a woman! A man!

The hazy light and shadow intensified for a second and then vanished in a flash and I was scrambling up to my feet, Ricky again, suffering from withdrawal and with a heart beating double the speed it should have been, but a man again!

I sprinted through the archway into the hall just as Charles pulled the door back and open. There was a split second’s eye contact between the copper and me but I kept going at top speed as he shouted, “Hey!”

I sped through the kitchen doorway, hearing Charles call out, “Who’s that?” It made my heart sink to hear it but I kept going, jinking hard right as the cop burst through after me. I backtracked for the corridor along the back of the lounge , aiming for the patio doors at the end but suddenly Charles was there – he’d run through the lounge to cut me off – holding his arms out, his face stern and he didn’t recognize me at all. Jane was gone. She really thought she was a man now.

I jerked back, sliding along the marble floor, toppling backwards and skidding along but missed his reaching arms and scrambled up fast enough to dodge him and break out onto the lawn. The copper cried out and suddenly I was hit as he pummeled into my legs, tackling me; bringing me down.

I smashed into the lawn on my face, rolling, but the cop didn’t let go. He was clawing his way up my body, trying to get a better hold while I kicked at him and tried to push him away, wriggling to get free.

Then I gasped in horror as big hands grabbed my wrists, pinning me down on my back; looked up to see Charles bending over me, holding me firm. “I’ve got the bastard!” he snapped, showing no recognition in his face at all. “I’ll hold his arms. Get your handcuffs!”

I gaped at him in alarm then looked back to the cop.

“You broke into the wrong house young man,” cried Charles, “and now you’re going to prison!”

24

Jane

I couldn’t believe the effrontery of this nasty little oike: breaking into my home and then coming back of all things; but I had to admit it was good to be involved in taking him down.

The wiry little devil was thrashing wildly but I had his wrists tight, using all my considerable weight to pin them down on the grass above his head.

“Jane!” he cried. “Let me go! For fuck’s sake! Help me get out of here!”

He was completely delusional clearly but that made him all the more dangerous, twisting and turning to get loose. The police officer did his best to pin down the man’s torso with his knee but the bucking and kicking was making it difficult.

“Your handcuffs,” I said. “Get them ready!”

“Jane! No! You have to let me up! Listen to me! You’ve forgotten who you are but you’re not who you look like! You’re not a man!” He went still for a second, just looking at me then started thrashing ever more wildly. “For fuck’s sake, listen! Let me go you fucking idiot!”

I had no idea what he was talking about but he had clearly fixated on me. He wasn’t addressing the policeman at all.

Jane… The name sounded familiar but I had no idea where from. No, that was it... Barbara had been calling the name earlier for some reason. It was probably a friend of hers. I always lost track – she had so many friends.

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t important and this skinheaded criminal was certainly a drug addict. I could see the track marks on his arms. His dependence had obviously fractured his mind.

The officer got his handcuffs out and ready, making the man have one last attempt to break free but he couldn’t shake both of us, no matter how hard he tried.

“Jane, please,” he whimpered, still talking to this imaginary friend of his. “Help me. For fuck’s sake.”

I maneuvered first one of his hands then the other into position and smiled grimly as the policeman snapped on the handcuffs. There. It was over. The officer and I relaxed. This blackguard would spend the next few years in prison and hopefully learn that he’d made a mistake when he broke into my property.

Then he convulsed, kicking up and catching the policeman in the face with his boot. The officer fell back, grasping his head in pain. I was no longer holding onto him and when he sat up and rolled I wasn’t fast enough to grip him.

He was up on his feet and he roared, charging head first at me as I struggled to get my bulk back up to a standing position. He hit me in the shoulder, knocking me onto my back then recovered and ran back toward the house.

“Stop!” I called, but he was gone, inside.

I scrambled up, reaching for the policeman to help him, then led the pursuit back into the house, getting angrier by the minute; mainly that I’d let him get the upper hand on me.

He wasn’t in the back corridor or the lounge. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the pool dressing room. Then I heard footsteps hammering up the stairs just as the policeman called, “Here!” I ran into the hall and up the stairs. The landing led in both directions. We split up. I took the right.

The first room was empty, the second: empty. Then I heard a scream and shattering glass and I jerked back into the corridor. “Barbara! Where are you!? Barbara!” I was frantic. “Barbara!”

“Here!”

I burst through into the master bedroom with the policeman running up behind me and saw the gaping hole in the window, the edges filled with jagged shards.

And there was Barbara, thank God, cowering on the floor behind the bed, the covers dragged half onto her as though she were trying to hide or protect herself from the falling glass.

“He went out the window,” she cried. “He threw the chair through it!” She was shaking, her hair mussed, her eyes red.

I went to her as the police officer checked his escape route. “I can’t see him. He must have run round to the front.”

“Go after him,” I ordered. “I’m going to stay with my wife.”

The officer went quickly out onto the landing and ran down the stairs. I heard the front door slam. I knelt down next to Barbara, smoothing her hair. “Are you alright darling? Did he hurt you?”

She had a queer expression in her face but she’d been shaken to the core. “Only a little. I’m fine. Just shaken up.”

“Did you get cut by the glass?”

“I’m fine.”

“Let me see your hands.” They were still covered by the quilt.

“No Charles. I’m okay.”

“Barbara. Show me your hands.”

She looked anxious and tense, unwilling to do so and I was suddenly worried she’d really hurt herself. “Just give me a minute,” she said, shifting her arms under the covers. “I have to… Just wait.”

“Barbara; what is it?” I said, impatiently throwing back the covers and I stared at her hands, at her wrists; at the handcuffs she was wearing that she was trying to slip off her slender hands.

“Barbara? What…?”

I frowned, unable to work out what exactly I was seeing.

Barbara looked crestfallen and guilty, then she raised her head, looking me firmly in the eye and said, “Charles, we have to talk. Right now.”