Disguised in Skirts (Part 1)
Transgender FictionBy Clare Cavendish
As I mentioned earlier her femme name was Rita, but her real name was Roger and she was born in Reading in a beautiful house with gardens sloping down to the river. Both her parents worked and she was an only child. Her father was a city solicitor and her mother an architect.
Roger's earliest memories were of the furious rows between his parents. His father was demanding, domineering and short tempered, and always complaining about something. His mother was artistic and gentle by nature and always ended up in tears during the rows. Roger was terrified of his father, who frequently beat him, even when he was only 3 or 4 years old. His mother would try to intercede on his behalf but usually ended up being brutally beaten herself for her pains. Roger did not go into a lot of detail about his early life with his father but it was obvious that both he and his mother were physically terrified of the man. Eventually his mother decided to break up the marriage and start a new life with Roger.
She was welcome to go as far as Roger's father was concerned but Roger stayed - under no circumstances would he let his son go. He would have made him a ward of court - anything, but he stayed with his father. Roger, who overheard all this being shouted across the dining room table on evening, was distraught - as was his mother. Under no circumstances would she desert Roger, she whispered to him as he clung to her and wept bitter tears in the privacy of his bedroom.
Two weeks later his father had to go up to London for a weekend conference. As soon as she had left his mother hurried home from work, packed some clothes for both of them and they drove off into the night in her little Renault - both of them determined never to return. That night they stayed in a small hotel on the outskirts of Birmingham. His mother had had the forethought to withdraw all her money from the bank in cash before leaving in order to avoid being traced by her husband.
When his father returned home late on Sunday night, and realised what had happened, how his wife had outwitted him, he was beside himself with rage and frustration. On the Monday morning he set about making Roger a ward of court, and thanks to his influential position, ensured that the story was published in most of the national daily papers, together with photographs of Roger and his mother.
Roger's mother saw their photographs in the paper on the Tuesday morning and was panic stricken. She was determined that she would never let her husband have Roger, but how to avoid detection - that was the problem.
She sat in the hotel, rocking backwards and forwards as she cuddled Roger who, even at the age of twelve, was glad of the warming assurance. Suddenly she got up off the bed and put on her coat - her mind made up.
"I'm going out for a while, Roger. You must stay here. Under no circumstances must you leave this room or let anyone in - anyone at all. Is that clear?"
"Where are you going?" Roger demanded to know.
"When will you be back?"
"I'm going to the shops - to the town centre. I should be back within a couple of hours. Now remember, stay here whatever happens." With that she was gone, leaving young Roger alone. He stared out of the window and watched the little red Renault drive off, feeling frightened and alone.
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