Work Text:
Chapter 1: The Beginning of My New Life
Following the burning down of Father Liam’s parish and home, the three odd bunch; Charlie, Kitten and Father Liam were forced by the hand of fate to move back to London. Father moved into his new parish, and Kitten and Charlie used their combined savings to sign off on renting a small two-bedroom, one-bathroom, city flat.
Kitten used the change of scenery to quietly tie up the ends of her identity, sorting out her befuddled paperwork and identification to reflect the truth; her official name change, sex marker and “miss” title glimmering promisingly on her new passport and bank account statements. However, it saddened Kitten to know she could not change the sex on her birth certificate, as much as she protested at the local police office. Charlie also took the slow breath of fresh air to sort out her new being, signing off on baby Rory’s birth certificate with an overjoyed Kitten next to her, smiling and clasping her hands together in joy.
Just hours after the birth, when the nurse asked the most dreaded question, Charlie hummed something about the baby’s father's death, and Kitten piped in to tell of the unfortunateness of it all. The nurse's eyes narrowed looking at the pair, Charlie in the bed holding Rory to her chest, and Kitten too charmed by the baby’s small grabbing hands to notice.
“We’ve been best friends since childhood.” Charlie had told the nurse.
“I’d like to speak to you, alone, Miss,” The nurse said, her hands skinny and stiff as they straightened her already straight uniform around the waist.
“Why?” Charlie asked, and Kitten finally looked up, pulling her wagging finger away from the baby’s face.
“It’s something private we discuss with all new mothers, Miss. Just a safety precaution, is all,” She replied, but she was looking straight at Kitten.
“Okay,” Charlie responded softly, and she nodded at Kitten, who looked between the pair, and quietly walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Whatever was the conversation was muffled and missed by Kitten, even if she pressed her ear to the door, much to the querying looks of hospital on-goers. She bit her lip in a mixture of mild frustration and anticipation.
Eventually, the whippet-stiff brunette nurse in her pin-straight, crisp uniform opened the door and shut it quickly behind her, casting an accusing look to Kitten, who had waited against the wall. The nurse's eyes were cold, and she turned on her heels without as much as an acknowledging nod or twitch of her lip’s corners.
Kitten hurried into the room and wrapped her arms around the softly sobbing Charlie.
“What is it, dear? What did she say?” Kitten asked, hopeful and kind.
“She asked if I wanted to give him up. Give him up. For adoption…” Charlie broke down, eyes squinting hard as fat tears rolled out.
The first couple of months after Rory’s birth were tumultuous, frightening and hectic for everyone involved. Kitten knew she could not leave the fragile Charlie’s side, and quickly they grew closer in a way they had not felt since childhood, since they first shared all their deepest secrets. Both women had small amounts of money saved, Charlie from her old part-time job waitressing while in art college, an aspiration she had since abandoned, and Kitten from her peepshow work. Money Kitten had once hoped to put towards her operation. Their combined money went towards utilities and rent in their cold, scabby apartment, which was livened by Rory’s crying at all hours of the day.
Charlie was not afforded the luxury of maternity leave in any of its forms, as she had to go job searching by the start of Rory’s second month. Kitten had gone searching from the moment they stepped into London, and was working night shifts as a bartender in a nightclub for curious and eccentric creatures, ones that reminded her of herself from only a couple years past.
Secretly, Kitten fretted she would be fired due to her past “criminal” record, but the passage of time seemed to have scrubbed her image, offering her a clean slate. She never told Charlie her worries, only whispering them to Rory when she fed him a bottle at day, offloading her anxieties onto such an innocent being that brightened Kitten with his big, round brown eyes.
Once during this time, Kitten bathed and dressed Rory and placed him in his pram with his finest cream blanket, and took off for Sunday morning church service. The Church Father Liam had become a parishioner of was only a block away, and Kitten savoured the early morning air to stop and smell the roses on the walk there.
Some of her neighbours greeted her with a smile, all bustling about either on their way to and from church or grocery shopping.
An older lady approached Kitten as she was admiring the pink and yellow spotted flowers in a neighbourhood front garden.
“Morning, miss.” The lady said. She had a soft and wavy nest of pure white hair atop her head, and she was very short, especially next to Kitten in her good heels.
“Morning,” Kitten smiled back, softly, underneath her sunglasses and hat.
“Aren’t you a beautiful baby?” The older woman leaned into the pram to coo at Rory, who had awakened from his nap but was peaceful in his blankets.
“Oh, yes,” Kitten said, averting her eyes to watch the old woman, who was smiling at Rory’s happy reactions to her.
“How old?” She asked.
“He’s two months, almost three.” Kitten replied softly.
“Well, that's wonderful. Are you off to church, Mrs…?” The older woman looked up from Rory to Kitten.
“Braden.” Kitten replied.
“Well, that’s nice. I’m not too fond of the new father around the corner. Too young and hip for my style. Maybe I’m just getting too old for this church business” She smile-laughs.
“Oh, yes, he’s alright.” Kitten replied, rather straight-faced, but with a smile.
“Well, I hope you and your son have a nice morning. I’m off to wake up my husband, he’s probably still asleep,” She shakes her head.
“Goodbye.” Kitten tells her and watches as she hurries off with surprising candour of a woman her age, mildly stunned.
As Kitten sits in the back pew of the church, one hand in her lap the other rocking Rory’s pram in the aisle, she wonders if, in another lifetime, a woman like that could have been her grandmother, or even mother. A woman without judgement and pretence and that glides her through life free as a bird. Her thoughts wash away as her dad asks the parishioners to stand for the next prayer.
Afterwards, as Father Liam stands in the back to talk to the church-goers, Kitten joins the few stragglers asking for special blessings or questions on faith. Some of them tell her “good morning” and say hi to Rory.
Father Liam reaches her and they catch up, easily talking about the weather. Both of them knew they weren’t there for casual conversation, but for Kitten to present herself and prove to Liam that she was doing good, and he needn’t worry, and that she was keeping safe. They told each other all these things without speaking a word of it. Father Liam asks how Charlie is going, and Kitten tells him of her waitressing job she is now working at a local cafe, and how they alternate the care of Rory during the day and night.
While both Kitten and Charlie ensure they put up a good front of best friends and roommates, Kitten still took a quick look around before mentioning any information to Liam. The priest notices but doesn’t say anything.
“Good luck to you two. It would be nice to see Charlie sometime, but I know how busy both of you are.” He says.
“Thank you, Father. I’ll try and get her here on a day off soon.” Kitten replies before they say their goodbyes and she walks home. Father Liam wishes he could have held Rory.
Back in their flat, Kitten begins preparing her lunch, which also would be Charlie’s dinner. She fed Rory a bottle from the fridge when he began to cry, then changed him, and set him down in the crib of the fairly empty second bedroom.
After feeding herself, Kitten cleans the kitchen and dishes, tidies the sheets of her shared bed, and folds her washing. Since her commitment to Charlie, Kitten slowly started to choose different clothing for her job as a bartender, guarding not only her body but her whole person, protecting her peace and fidelity from interested parties that would approach her, interested in the barmaid for herself, not just for buying drinks for a dancing party girl out on the floor. She also began to grow her hair out longer, which had begun to reach the top of her breasts, and no longer closely resembled the old-Hollywood styles starlets donned, but styles seen in Cosmopolitan Magazine’s newest editions.
Chapter 2: Me, The Housewife
Things sailed on rough and bumpy waters for Charlie and Kitten in the next months of their lives. Charlie faced struggles at her job at the cafe, with customers turning their backs to her and not returning her smiles. Her managers were a husband and wife duo, that, despite having children of their own, gave Charlie no sympathies in her plight, instead they seemed to loathe and punish her, they gave her long shifts without breaks and angrily ordered her around the place.
Kitten was furious at Charlie’s mistreatment, and asked her repeatedly to quit the job, and eventually she did, taking up an apprenticeship at a hair salon. The job was not paid well, but it was steady and kinder on her. Eventually, she would graduate to a professional hairdresser and stylist, after practising on Kitten many times on the floor of their flat.
Charlie made the decision not to tell anyone at the salon a drop of her life, which isolated some of her co-workers and customers in a way, as when they told her stories of their annoying boyfriends and bitchy girlfriends, she was expected to answer back, but she merely nodded, going “mhm,” as she straightened their hair.
Her customers told her of their studies at university, how they were nervous about their upcoming exams, and how they hated certain professors. When Charlie would go to the back to mix up dye and perm solutions, she found herself wiping off a tear or two.
They rarely fought, as even when Charlie got cross and frustrated because of work and caring for Rory, they seemed to melt away when the gentle Kitten was by her side, which was not nearly enough for either of the two’s liking, as they became separated by the routines of their job, which they had to carefully structure to ensure someone was always home with Rory.
“You would be an extremely good housewife, you know,” Charlie told Kitten on a Saturday they had off together. Charlie was picking at her curly hair with a comb in the bathroom, looking in the mirror, and Kitten was holding Rory in her arms, entertaining him with Mr Bear, a stuffed toy.
“Do you really think so?” Kitten laughed tenderly.
“Oh yeah. Way better than me. I would be so shit. If I were one in the 50s, my husband would’ve beat me for burning the dinner.”
Both women broke out into laughter.
“Don’t say that, I’m sure you would've been fine. As long as you did everything he said and birthed many kids.” Kitten had said, smiling.
“I mean, in another life, I think it would be nice to have many kids,” Charlie said, putting down her comb and picking up styling mousse in a silver tin, and she scooped it into her fingers to gingerly run through her curls.
“How many, do you think?” Kitten asked, making a funny face at Rory to make him giggle.
“Oh, I don't know, maybe three or four. Equal parts girls and boys.”
“I don’t think that's a whole lot. If I had lady parts, I think I would have ten kids.”
“Ten? Really? That’s way too many!” Charlie said lightly, focused hard on her hair in the mirror.
“Maybe, but it would be fun. You would see them blossom into all different directions in life.” Kitten told her.
“I guess so. But it would be too much effort feeding and cleaning them all.” Charlie finally turned around, satisfied, and scooped Rory out of Kitten’s clutch.
Charlie smiled down at her son before placing a quick kiss on Kitten’s lips. She leaves the bathroom to go into the second bedroom, which had effectively become Rory’s bedroom, with his crib he had almost outgrown, and a small single bed. She lays him down there alongside his stuffed bear, which the two women had named simply “Mr Bear.”
Kitten was touching up her hair by brushing through it, which had now grown a considerable length down the top of her back, and was blonder than ever, thanks to Charlie’s new skills and her increased paychecks from the nightclub.
“Kitten!” Charlie called playfully throughout the house.
“Yes dear?” Kitten called back, drawing out the words. She walked from the bathroom to the dining room and didn’t see her, so she opened the door to their bedroom.
Charlie was laying on the bed, leaning back on the pillows with her arms crossed above her head, completely topless.
Kitten’s eyes shot wide open as she bit her lip and crawled onto the bed next to her.
When they finished, they cuddled into each other under the sheets, completely naked still.
Kitten whispered, pushing a loose dark curl behind Charlie’s ear,
“We could have children of our own. Three or four, or five, six, seven, eight, nine or even ten,” Kitten said airily, her delicate hand rubbing up Charlie’s arm.
Charlie turned to lie on her back and faced the ceiling.
“We could,” She replied and paused.
“We already have one. What's nine more?” She giggled, turning back around and sticking her tongue dangerously close to Kitten’s lips.
Chapter 3: My Annoying, Devilish Neighbour
One evening, around 5 pm, a great commotion sounded through the hall of their apartment building. Charlie and Kitten were both home and eating dinner on the couch, as the now-year-old Rory was playing with blocks on the floor.
“What is that?” Kitten asked, putting down her knife and fork.
“I don’t know, maybe Mr Hanson is making trouble again,” Charlie replies. Both of them pause and go stiff to listen to the outside yelling.
Mr Hanson was an older man, in his sixties or thereabouts, who lived above the women and liked to make enemies out of most people. He had thick grey eyebrows that stuck in all different directions when he talked to you, judging you. Kitten had first come under his fire for supposedly waking him up at odd hours of the early morning with the sounds of her high heels on the stairwell and the floors.
He accused her of being a lady of the night, to which Kitten only laughed off, and kept walking, her platform boots making chunky clanking sounds all the way home.
“Do you want me to check it out?” Charlie offered, looking towards the door as if she could see the drama through it.
“Be careful,” Kitten said, which was her way of saying deal with it!
Charlie sets down her plate of roast lamb and vegetables and makes her way out of their apartment, peering down the halls and seeing their suspicions were right, it was, in fact, Mr Hanson, gesturing wildly at a woman older than he.
“Ray! He’s not hurting no one! You are the first and only person to make a fuss over him!” The woman said back, fiery.
“Nancy! You know damn well it's against the rules of this building-!”
“I’m sorry-” Charlie walked up gently and tried to interject.
“Now you stay out of this, you black girl!” Mr Hanson interrupted.
“Don’t you speak to her like that, Ray!” The old lady, Nancy, yelled.
Charlie was stunned. Not many people said the unspoken part out loud like that.
“I’m sorry about him, dear.” Nancy said to Charlie, clearly still furious at huffing and puffing Hanson.
Only a couple apartments down the hall, Kitten peered through the slightly opening door, listening. Seeing Charlie frozen like that scared her, and she rushed out.
“Charlie! It’s okay, come back inside,” Kitten grabbed her arm quickly, pulling on it, talking quietly as Mr Hanson and the woman went back to their bickering.
“Not you! Hey!” Mr Hanson pulled his eyes to notice the new character.
“You bloody prostituting whore!” He accuses.
“Now, don’t, that’s Mrs, Mrs..” Nancy trails off.
“Miss Braden,” Kitten supplies her.
“Yes! Miss Braden.” She remembers, if only slightly, having come across Miss Patricia Braden a couple of times out with her baby.
“Now Ray, what are you calling this nice young mother a prostituting whore, for? She’s a church-going lady!” Nancy yells.
While Charlie was stunned in embarrassment, Kitten was slightly mad at the accusations being thrown around, but she wanted to laugh at Nancy standing up for her.
“I’ve seen you about all sorts of times of the night, coming home at one, two, three A.M at night. She’s a streetwalker, she is.” Mr Hanson spits.
“Oh my, mister, you’ve got it all wrong. I am not a madame, only a barmaid,” Kitten says coyly.
“A barmaid?” He questions, ungroomed eyebrows raised high.
“Yes, a bartender, if you may.” Kitten says. Next to her Charlie is looking profusely between the three.
“See that, Ray, no need to assume the worst of people all the bloody time!” Nancy shakes her head.
Ray Hanson goes quiet for a second as the cogs turn in his dusty cobwebbed mind.
“But- what- these women live together! They are lesbians!” He cries, finding the next thing to holler about.
“Sir, we mean no harm, we are only friends, roommates. Even if we were lesbians, what would be the harm?” Kitten asks teasingly. Charlie’s heart drops to her stomach.
“Two women should not be raising a child together! Where is the husband? It’s improper…! There needs to be a father in the child’s life!”
“The father died in a terrorist attack back home, while I was pregnant,” Charlie said, watery and cold.
“Not like it’s anyone’s business, anyways.” Charlie wipes a tear off with her sleeve and walks back to their apartment, Kitten hurrying behind her, placing a hand on her back.
“We only wanted to make sure you were okay!” Kitten says behind her, looking back to Ray. Nancy has her arms crossed, shaking her head.
The following morning, Kitten gets a knock on the door around morning tea time, while she was watching Rory mouth some biscuits at the kitchen table.
Hesitantly, she looks through her peephole before unlocking and opening the door. It was Nancy, wrapped in a fluffy pink cardigan.
“Morning, dear,” Nancy says.
“Morning,” Kitten replied through the ajar door.
“May I come in?” Nancy asks. thumbing a necklace on her chest.
“Oh yes, of course.” Kitten ushers her in before quickly locking the door behind her.
Nancy apologises to Kitten, or Miss Braden, for the events of last evening, and tells her she has reported Mr Hanson's behaviour. Kitten acknowledges it with a hum, then asks what they were fighting about in the first place.
“It’s my dog. I have a small Shih Tzu, Terry. Hanson complains he barks,” Nancy explained.
“Oh, he sounds darling. I’ve never heard a dog bark around here.” Kitten tells her.
Kitten and Nancy launch into comfortable conversation, and Nancy tells Kitten of tips and tricks for when her three children were once toddlers and didn’t like bathing and going to bed, which Rory was being fussy over.
“Was he yours, or Miss Charlie’s?” Nancy asked, suddenly. Rory had finished his morning tea and Kitten sent him off for a nap.
“Whatever do you mean?” Kitten asks, but she’s not offended by the older lady’s question.
“Which one of you birthed him?” She clarified, with a sip of her tea.
“Oh. She did. It was her boyfriend's baby, our friend. Unfortunately, he passed away before they could marry or he could see the birth.” Kitten explains, wistful at Irwin’s death.
She did not think of Irwin’s death often, and she was not as sad about it as she probably should be. Between the two women, they were eager to move beyond that stage of their life. Too busy and loving to think back to those horrible times.
“It was a terrorist attack?” Nancy prodded, but it was not mean or investigative.
“Yes, back in Northern Ireland, it was the IRA.” Kitten does not elaborate, holding the now lukewarm tea to her lips.
Nancy nods knowingly. The two continue a short conversation about various causal topics before Nancy excuses herself, saying she needed to put her washing out while the sun was still around. Kitten wishes her goodbye, watching her snow-white hair and pink body hurry down the hall.
Chapter 4: My Terrible Customer Service
In the next following year, Charlie and Kitten make the executive decision to move out of their flat and into a much more modern, inner-city one. The decision initially terrified Kitten, who couldn’t stand the thought to be so far away from Father Liam and his church. She told him the news far in advance, with Rory now standing at her knees, and he was elated for her.
“It’s about time you get out of that rubbish bin. With all the cracks and mould,” he told her.
They promised to stay in touch, and Kitten told him what her new address would be, writing it down on a piece of paper for him. She promised to visit every now and again, and she did.
When they exchanged a long, tight, private hug, Liam told her;
“I know you’ll be far away from your mother again. But I promise to keep you in touch. I’ve got my eyes on all things that go around here, you know.”
Kitten let a salty tear get on his clerical black shoulder, before rubbing it off with her sleeve.
In the new apartment, Charlie was much closer to her salon. She had built up a loyal client base and was known for her excellent work with curly hair, and she even allowed herself to grow close enough to a couple of coworkers to go out with them for dinner and drinks on occasion.
The apartment still had two bedrooms, and one bathroom, with Rory still being young enough that no suspicion was aroused at two women signing off on the rent.
“It would be my dream to own a cute little cottage out in the countryside, with enough rooms for all of us. Maybe we could have some land, too,” Kitten told Charlie one night.
“I think that would be nice. But with Rory having to go to nursery soon, I’m worried I won’t be able to save any money.” Charlie said.
“I’m saving too.” Kitten said.
“You shouldn’t have to. You never chose this. You should be able to do what you want.” Charlie quivered.
“Charlie, my days of wandering around doing useless things are over. You know I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon. Where you go, I go. As long as you’ll have me” Kitten said, grabbing Charlie’s shaking hands in her own.
“I’m sorry. I just feel terrible. I mean, what are we going to tell him? That he has two mothers? That we are just friends? I mean, I don’t want him to be bullied in school because of us.” Charlie starts to cry, her head dropping down into her hands.
Kitten wraps an arm around her shoulders, scooting closer to her on the couch.
“I was bullied in school, but I made it through. I remember when you were pregnant, and I told you that the baby would turn out strange, like me. Yet that made you decide to keep him.” Kitten recalled, rubbing her shoulders soothingly.
Charlie choked out another sob.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s horrible…but sometimes I wish we were just normal. Husband and wife. I could be the husband, you could be the wife. It would just make everything so much easier,” Charlie looked into Kitten’s eyes, red and bloodshot and covered in salty tears.
Kitten rests her head on her shoulder.
“It would make things easier, but so much more boring. We are far more interesting than any husband and wife. You are trying your best, Charlie,” Kitten pouts, then gently kisses Charlie’s shoulder.
“I mean, I don’t want to fuck up his life. I don’t want to confuse him. How can we even know if it will work out?” Charlie sobs.
“We don’t know, darling, but even normal parents can’t know that about their child.”
“I’m so scared, Kitten, when I think of the future. I mean, what if he gets taken from us? Taken away…like Irwin or Joseph?” Charlie whimpers.
Kitten shushes her gently;
“He won’t, I promise, I won’t let anyone take him away, for God I will kill anyone that tries, darling.”
Kitten, for a rare moment in her life, was dead serious. When she saw Rory walk and talk for the first time, calling out “mama” to Charlie, she felt something she knew was true, like the love she looked for in movies and books. The love she thought she would have for her mother was really for her friend, her lover. Being a mother alongside Charlie was the love she was looking for in Eily, love that maybe Eily could have given her in a different universe.
But in this universe, Kitten was ready to gauge out the eyes with Chanel Number 5 with anyone who came near them.
By Rory’s second year of life, Kitten still had the job as a bartender and had built a friendly rapport with the usual customers. She felt flighty and tethered in keeping the one job for so long, stability and consistency she had never known since being a burly school student. However, any longing for change she squished away to keep her stability for Charlie. If it wasn’t for her, she might’ve changed jobs and moved to different cities ten times by now, but she was a bird that always flew home.
Her manager at the nightclub was a friendly man in his middle ages, who Kitten was initially surprised to learn was heterosexual and had a wife, who was progressive and nice and had an unusual sense of style that Kitten didn’t know if she liked or not. They were protective of Kitten when she had to rush to their office when a customer acted suspicious or crazy.
She had become hardened by her experiences, and she could immediately tell whenever something unsavoury was going on. But unlike her previous life chapters, she was now in control of herself in the bar and club, no longer the dancing girl in stockings, but the hawkeyed observer ready to step in whenever someone got too handsy or had one drink too many.
Now passing exceptionally well, with only the odd occasion when someone did stare at her for a second too long. They just saw her as a slightly weird lady. But a lady, nonetheless. Kitten could be a weird lady.
Kitten was able to obtain oestrogen hormone replacement therapy by word of a customer of the bar, who told her through the word of a friend of a friend about a doctor who specialized in giving transsexuals treatment. She visited him in her best two-piece skirt suit, pink with black piping, with matching black heels that had a pink bow at the toes, and a hat that matched.
Despite the confidence she approached the doctor’s office with, the fear of institutionalisation was negging in the back of Kitten’s head through the whole experience. Thankfully, Kitten left the office with her mind intact.
Just like the fear of outing or arrest every time she worked and went into public shook her in her heels and fun coloured patterned tights.
Her fear came to an ugly head when the club closed at a dark 4 am, the last party people being ushered out by the bouncer and onto the cold curbside, their drinks gently taken from their hands. Kitten washed the glasses and wiped the bar table down with a damp cloth. When she finished tidying up, she told her manager in his office, who acknowledged her with a guttural sound while he smoked a joint and read a men’s magazine, and Kitten teased him for how boring cars are, and he earnestly shook his head.
He threw her the key to lock up, which she did, then left through the back entrance by the office that led to the side alleyway. Clutching her shiny silver cross-body purse to her side, Kitten folded at the hips and adjusted her silver platform boot’s zipper, then she heard a gruff voice above her.
“You’re the bartender on Friday nights, aren’t you?”
The voice belonged to a man in a white shirt, blue jeans and black leather jacket that reminded Kitten of 50’s fashion stereotypes. His hair appeared oily in the flashing blue and red lights that peaked down the alleyway.
“Yes, I am. What is it to you, mister?” Kitten stood up straight, but her ankle buckled slightly in her boot.
“I’ve seen you a couple of times before. You’re a very pretty woman,” He told her, his shoulders square in his jacket.
“Why, thank you. But I must be going-” Kitten averted her eyes from his sharp gaze.
The man took a step forward, and Kitten was pushed against the stone-cobbled cold wall.
“Don’t leave so fast. Why don’t we talk for a while?” He narrowed his eyebrows at her.
“I really can’t, mister-” Kitten stumbled.
His hand shot up next to her head on the wall, trapping her to the left, where the alleyway led onto the city street.
“What’s the hurry? What’s your name, pretty girl?” He asked, pursing his lip.
“No, I can’t, I have a boyfriend,” Kitten protested.
“I don’t see him around anywhere, do you? It’s just the two of us,” The greasy-haired man said.
Kitten’s eyes flickered between the door only several feet from her, which was the back to the nightclub, which she knew her manager was in, and to making contact with his white-clad chest above her.
His legs stood far apart from each other, making an opening where his crotch was.
“I think that’s him over there,” Kitten said, pointing a purple manicured nail to the right of her, down the alley, head turned.
The man turned his head in tandem to see.
Swiftly, Kitten braced her other free hand against the cold, wet wall, and raised her right foot up to swiftly kick him right in the crotch.
He buckled over at the hip, hands flung to grasp at his bruised manhood. He made an “oof!” sound, wind being punched out of him by the balls.
Clutching her purse of important goodies, she took off on her sparkly silver platform boots as fast as she could, careful not to slip in the puddles. Quickly she reached the bus stop, where her usual bus was waiting for her, and she handed the driver her change and sat in the middle row, legs crossed with a satisfied conviction. She grabbed a hand mirror from her purse and reapplied her dark pink lipstick.
Chapter 5: My Unusual parenting
Charlie and Kitten remained in the same apartment by the time Rory had reached kindergarten, four years old and full of life. According to the parenting books Kitten bought and the women read cover to cover multiple times, Rory had well and truly reached his development milestones. Together they took him to a paediatrician, where Charlie only said that Kitten was a friend when the doctor looked awkwardly between the two. He recorded Rory’s height and weight and made him stand on his tippy-toes and throw and catch a ball.
“My friend can run as fast as lightning,” Rory quipped to Dr Miller when he asked Charlie if he was a coordinated runner.
“A friend in your class?” Dr Miller asked, recording everything on paper.
“Yes, my friend Julian, who has pet lizards,” Rory continued, biting off a corner of the dark red raspberry lollipop Dr Miller gave him as a reward for showing off his great coordination skills.
Kitten and Charlie braced themselves, Kitten fumbled with the clasp on her purse, watching Dr Miller rapidly write down Rory’s results.
Rory looked between his mothers, waiting for the next thing to happen. He looked remarkably like Charlie, but his skin was much paler, and he inherited Irwin’s straight black hair. The hair at the front of his crown permanently stuck straight up in a cow’s lick, no matter how much Kitten or Charlie had tried to stick it down with gel.
“Alright, we’re all down. Nice to see you, Rory, when I see you next you’ll be so much taller!” Dr Miller crouched down to smile at him.
Rory smiles back shyly, crunching down on his lollipop.
“Thanks Charlie, I’ll see you in 6 months.” Dr Miller smiled, lips in a straight flat line as he looked between the two adults in the room. Kitten and Charlie stood in contrast to the cartoon-ish giraffe and monkey painted on the doctor’s walls, which Kitten felt like they were laughing at her, and she hated their huge wide eyes.
When they reached back home, Rory went straight to his room to play with his trucks and Action Man toys.
Charlie went into the kitchen to prepare sandwiches for lunch, placing down the white bread slices on the chopping board and getting the cucumber and cheese from the fridge. Kitten admired Charlie from the arched doorway, how her hair, once loose and curly, had been tightly permed into an afro style, a halo around her delicate and warm face. She had gold hoops in her ears and was wearing an oversized yellow cotton sweater, the edge tucked into her high-waisted, straight-legged jeans and accentuated with a belt.
Charlie moved carefully, cutting the cucumbers into thin slices, her gold bracelets and cherry red nails gliding around. Kitten bit her lip at the natural grace of her lover.
Charlie turned around;
“Do you want mayo on your sandwich, love?” she asked.
Kitten’s eyes widened as her thoughts broke.
“Oh, yes, please, doll.” Kitten bit down her lip and suppressed a laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Several weeks on, Kitten picked Rory up from kindergarten in the afternoon, greeted by Ms McMahon, his teacher, who said a pleasant ‘hello’ to Patricia, the friend who babysat Miss Charlie’s son. Rory didn’t really question any of it, he was as sharp as a whip, but Kitten and Charlie had mulled over how to approach the conversation if, or more likely when, he would start asking questions, many times.
On the walk home, which was only a couple of blocks, as in London everything was thankfully close together, Kitten asked Rory how his day was and he started talking about making beaded jewellery and art projects with feathers and seashells.
“That sounds lovely, munchkin, will I get to see it soon?” Kitten asked, hand in hand with the little boy.
“Yes Kitty, I think it will be dry by tomorrow,” he replied, his yellow backpack bouncing as he walked.
“I’m excited to see!” Kitten told him, genuinely curious at what her little artist had made this time.
On a couple of occasions, the little family had even made art together, and every beastly artless stick figure was cherished.
Kitten bought a colourful set of acrylic paints and three canvases from a craft store downtown, and the three of them had gone finger painting, with The Daily Telegraph newspapers all across the floor to protect the carpet, which may have already had a few colourful stains, which neither women would admit was their doing.
Kitten tried to create an Irish landscape of rolling green hills and stone fences, but it turned out to be more of two green and grey blobs. Charlie laughed at it delightfully, fingers covering her mouth, and Rory joined in, giggling, which made Kitten pout and ask if it was “really that bad?”.
Charlie tried to finger paint a London city skyline, and it was mostly streaks of different colours of grey, but Kitten still giggled and called it cute, hugging her from around the back and kissing her hair. Rory did something flower-inspired, and though neither mother could really see the flowers, just green, pink and blue swirls, they still complimented his skill and hung it up on the fridge with a martini glass-shaped magnet in the corner that Kitten acquired from work.
Eventually they ended painting by tea time and had to clean up, which the women tried to trick Rory into doing by “asking” him to help, which usually worked rather than telling him to, but it didn’t work.
“I don’t want to!” Rory crossed his arms and huffed.
“It doesn’t matter if you want to or not, you have to do it anyways, Rory,” Kitten tried offering gently,
“I’m too tired,” he first whined.
“Well, you can rest after,”
“I’m too hungry,” he then pulled.
“Well, dinner will be on soon.” Kitten reasoned.
Rory soon burst into a crying mess, running into his room and slamming the door. Charlie and Kitten were both equally puzzled in how to approach him. Seemingly, he had made a tantrum out of nothing. It wasn’t his first by a long shot- he had cried in the middle of the store after Charlie denied him an expensive toy, and when she wouldn’t carry him home from the park rather than making him walk on his own two feet.
Kitten wasn’t very disciplinary, and often she and Charlie got into good cop, bad cop, roles, with Charlie having to do most of the telling-off. Usually, a hug and a promise of something nice would cheer him up, but this painting mess taught the women the important lesson of time healing the child’s anger, and he got over it and came out of his room for tea.
Later at night with a much happier Rory sound asleep, Kitten and Charlie deliberated over their little devil’s behaviour in bed together, heads on their pillows.
“I don’t know what to do,” Charlie sighed heavily.
“I don’t think there's anything you or I could do, love,” Kitten offered, staring into Charlie’s brown eyes.
“He’ll grow out of it.” She continued, rubbing up Charlie’s shoulder with her soft, pale manicured fingers.
“Ugh, I can only hope so,” Charlie said. The women were silent for a moment before breaking out into light, airy laughs.
Charlie pushed the white bedsheets down to reveal more of Kitten’s chest, her nipples poking through her pink, lacy slip.
“I was the most naughty child,” Kitten gasped when Charlie pulled down her slip dress and gently grabbed a handful of her petite breast.
“I know, I remember…like when we ran away from Mrs O’Neill when she tried to force us to take our nail polish off,” Charlie said, kissing between Kitten’s breasts, licking a stripe down her sternum.
Kitten laughed a moan, her hand shooting up above her head to brace herself at Charlie’s ministrations.
“In fact…” Charlie continued, making piercing eye contact from between Kitten’s two pink pearly nipples,
“I think you’re still a naughty girl.”
Chapter 6: Me In The New Millenium
Rory blossomed, and Kitten said he had shot up like bamboo, growing at a rate the women couldn't keep up with. By the age of 6, he fit comfortably in the nooks of Charlie and Kitten’s waists when he hugged them. Before the new year had begun, Charlie had begun to look at primary schools, and much to Kitten’s chagrin, they decided it was for the best that she didn’t come along.
Charlie and Rory toured a handful of the local public schools. When Father Liam visited, he told them he would happily and easily help them get into a Catholic school, and that the church could even cover the brunt of the school fees, as long as he put in a good word and application for Charlie as a struggling single mother.
“Thank you, Father, you don’t know how much help it is, really,” Charlie told him when he had come to visit their apartment one Wednesday afternoon.
“It’s the least the Church could do, I mean, really,” He told her, shaking his head and sipping tea.
“I mean, after all they've done. They've put you lot through the wringer, that's for sure,” He said.
“I think it will be good. It seems to be pretty progressive, I mean from what Charlie’s said. As much as a Catholic school can be,” Kitten chimed.
“Yes, these London schools are much above the curve than they ever were back home,” Liam said, rubbing his hands together.
“That seems to be true. They teach a lot of different things, lots of art, science and music in the secondary school,” Charlie said and Kitten nodded.
Sp, Rory was sent to the Catholic school, which had conjoined primary and secondary school campuses, so they wouldn’t have to worry about moving him too much or re-applying for church aid. The teachers and headmasters acted awkward toward Charlie until she mentioned Father Liam’s letter, and then their straight lips turned into sly smiles. Charlie dropped Rory off most mornings from the car, a brown Ford the women shared. Kitten picked him up from school, staying put in the car and Rory knew to run up to it. He had their number plate memorised. Kitten bought pink fluffy dice to hang from the mirror that Rory liked to push around and watch go around in circles. Kitten no longer took the bus home from work.
The women told Rory to explain that Charlie and Kitty were only friends to any teachers or friends at school. He only nodded and continued to play with his toys.
Still, they lived in some fear that Rory would be asked to draw his family and would draw two mums in dresses. They dreaded the day a phone call would come asking them to come into a meeting. Early on in Rory’s talking stages, they made the executive decision that Charlie would be ‘mum’ and Kitten would be called just Kitten, or even Patricia. But Rory decided on ‘Kitty,’ which confused some people into thinking they had a pet cat at home.
“No, we don’t have a cat but I’m asking for one. Kitty is Mum’s best friend,” Rory told them.
At the end of the year, Rory successfully graduated his first year of “grown up” school and had started to outgrow his dreadfully cute uniform, so Kitten made some sewing adjustments so it would last just a bit longer. She loved the matching blue uniforms, with the collared tops and jumper and matching socks. It looked much more darling on Rory than it ever did on her. When sewing, she dreamily recalled the techniques she was taught in secondary school that she applied to her pants to create crawling vines and flowers anywhere she could.
Each new year came with a sigh of relief and a wipe of sweat off the forehead.
Charlie decided to plan a new year’s party at their apartment, inviting her four friends from the salon, her coworkers she had slowly grown closer to over the last years.
The six women popped open bottles of bubbly pink champagne and clinked their glasses together, giddy and delighted in the music. They kept it relatively calm for their neighbour’s sake, but most of them seemed to be celebrating, pop music reverberating through the walls and making the whole world buzz.
Kitten talked extensively with Charlie’s friends, Victoria ‘Vicky,’ Samantha ‘Sammy,’ Angela and Alison. They came in all colours, hairstyles fun and groovy and their clothes were bright and trendy. If they cared or even noticed Kitten’s nature or the truth of the women’s relationship, they did not say anything.
They only buzzed and grooved around in their boots and neon sequin tops, and Kitten joined them in swigging the champagne and swinging to the music.
Rory was allowed to stay up late for once, to watch the TV countdown to the new year on the news channel.
After the clock struck midnight, the ladies gathered their bags and giggled their goodbyes, bidding them one final happy new year with kisses on their cheeks.
At their apartment balcony, a gust of fresh air brushed Kitten’s blonde curls from her face and jangled Charlie’s hoop earrings. People down below were billowing and screaming in the streets.
The women both put their elbows on the thin frame and leant over.
“Welcome to a new year Charlie,” Kitten said, watching a group of teenagers laughing as they ran around below.
“You too, Kitten,” Charlie whispered.
Kitten brushed her hand along Charlie’s jaw, cheek and neck before gently grabbing her by the chin and pulling her in for a passionate kiss.
Chapter 7: They Dare Challenge Me!
“Can boys really be brought up without a father in their life?”
“I mean, maybe there's a grandpa,”
The two teachers deliberated in the office. Mrs Evans and Ms Morris curled their thin blonde-grey eyebrows in different directions.
“I mean, who are we to judge? Harrison is never home anyways. My own Kevin basically isn’t being raised by his father. But at least he has one,” Evans said, picking at the corner of her hangnail.
“I mean, he's, what, seven years old? Surely seven years is enough to find a husband. At least a step-father would be something,” Morris spoke.
“Yeah. I guess so.” Evans nodded.
A knock sounded from the door which made the teachers jump straight from their positions leaning on the desk.
They looked at each other with raised eyebrows and open eyes.
Mrs Evans opened the door.
Kitten stood in a brown Afghan coat with fur trim, blue jeans and camel-coloured boots. Rory stood next to her.
“Hello, miss, you must be Rory’s…” Evans trailed off.
Kitten’s long, blonde wavy hair curled down her body and back, its platinum colour angelic. Kitten brushed a curl away from her mouth.
“Oh, I’m Patricia, Charlie’s friend. I’m sorry she couldn’t be here, she got held up at work,” Kitten held out her hand for the teacher to shake, which she did lightly.
“Oh,” Evans and Morris snuck a glance between each other.
“Well, take a seat,” Ms Morris motioned to the two chairs set out at the desk.
“Thank you,” Kitten said, adjusting her coat before sitting down. Rory followed and sat silently next to her.
The two teachers took a seat across the desk.
“Well, I’m not sure if Charlie told you, but we’re here to discuss Rory’s recent behaviour at lunchtime,” Evans paused. Kitten crossed her legs and shook her foot in her boot.
Rory looked down, fiddling with his fingers dismayed.
“He’s been pushing other kids over, in the puddles and mud,” she continued.
“We’ve had to send a couple of boys home because their uniforms were so dirty,” Morris continued.
“As Rory’s teachers, we’ve already tried putting him in time-out and sat him out of sport and art activities. And we’ve called home many times,” Evans said.
“Oh yes, I think I heard,” Kitten said. The teachers pursed their lips at this.
“Well, we’re here to hopefully have an open conversation with you and Rory and reach a conclusion that will make everyone happy,” Morris said, her hands crossed on the desk.
“Teachers, I’m wondering why he is pushing other boys in the first place. Do you know?” Kitten probed, rubbing a downer Rory on the shoulder.
“We don’t really know, each time we’ve talked to him he won’t budge,” Evans cast an accusatory glimpse at the child.
“Well, maybe he just doesn’t want to tell you,” fucking old hag, Kitten thought.
Kitten looked at the women’s crow's feet and smile lines. Leather like an old handbag.
“That’s why we were hoping Charlie, or you, could shed some light on what’s been happening,” They snided.
Shed some light on your pussys, dears.
“Well, nothing is wrong at home, if that’s what you are asking,”
“We know there have been some unique struggles-”
“We have no struggles in our home,” Kitten interrupted, a matter of fact. She straightened up, gathering herself with a sigh,
“Perhaps the other kids bullied him first.”
“We’ve asked all the kids in his class. None of them have said anything of the sort. It seems Rory is the primary instigator,”
Kitten said nothing, just nodding with her arms crossed. Her blue eyes almost rolled back into her skull.
Kitten stormed out of the school building with Rory by the hand.
“Blithering, bumbling, old hags-!” She whisper-yelled under her breath.
“What does that mean?” Rory giggled.
“Don’t ask. I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Kitten said, reaching the Ford and fumbling through her purse for the keys.
“How much older?” He persisted.
“I don’t know. When you’re sixteen,” She told him just to silent him.
Kitten unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat and Rory buckled himself into the front passenger seat.
“So,” She started.
“Are you going to tell me why you really pushed those kids over?” Kitten looked into Rory’s defiant brown eyes.
“They pushed me first!” He protested.
“I know, I know…” She shushed, “But I want to know why”
“Because they say things…” his lips shook as he crossed his arms tight over his chest.
Kitten pulled him into her, his head on her fluffy sherpa shoulder.
“What kind of things?” She pushed gently.
“Things I can’t say…” he trailed off, blinking down a tear.
“You can tell me anything. You can tell Mum and me anything,” Kitten rubbed and squeezed his arm.
“They say, I’m a pussy because I have no dad. That my dad blew up in a car bomb. They run away from me, saying I’ll bomb them,” He said, wiping his wet salty eyes with the bank of his small hand.
“Oh, munchkin…” Kitten shushed and squeezed the boy even tighter.
Kitten told Charlie, and she shook her head asking what they could possibly do. Charlie put on a stone face, biting her lip while she deliberated.
They decided to tell Rory to continue to stand up for himself. Charlie had a long phone call with Mrs Evans, who said she would try and sort it out.
Time passed, and Rory made friends, and they became an impenetrable circle, sticking their tongues and rude fingers up at anyone who dared say anything.
One early morning not too long after finishing up a special night bartending at the club where it stayed open until 5 am, Kitten walked to the nearby newsstand.
“Have you heard, miss?” The wrinkled man asked under his peaked newsboy cap.
“I haven’t been keeping up with the news lately,” Kitten hummed, eyeing the variety of papers, from the local paper, to more economic ones, and the global politics coverage.
“There's been a new report about a virus going around,” he nodded with wide eyes.
“Oh, what kind?” Kitten asked half-heartedly, bending over to read an artsy paper.
“A gay virus, they call it,” He told the new piece of gossip.
Kitten’s heart dropped to her stomach. She paused, bent over, hands beginning to sweat in her long leather coat’s pockets.
“A gay virus?” She double-checked.
“Oh yes, we have the report on it here,” The man swivelled to the side of the stand and picked up a copy, handing it to her.
“Well I’ll be damned.” Kitten whispered, reading the headline.
Under it, front and centre on the page, was a picture of two men embracing.
Chapter 8: My Time Flies
Walking on the grey, rocky sands of the nearest London beach was one of the families' favourite activities when they had precious time together.
Rory had grabbed a piece of long driftwood and dragged it behind him, making lines in the sand as they walked.
The grey overcast sky paired perfectly with the grey sands of the beach, the tiny waves crashing calmly and bringing wafts of a salty scent.
The women talked as they walked down the beach, too cold to take their boots off, scarves wrapped tightly around their necks. Charlie talked about her new hopeful plans to move jobs into a friend’s new downtown salon, where she will get paid more. Kitten told her it sounded like a wonderful idea, and told her of wanting to find a new job.
“It’s been too long, I need a change of scenery,” Kitten said wistfully, looking out to the ocean.
“I know what you mean, I think we all do,” Charlie nodded, and slipped her hand into Kitten’s.
Hand in hand, they continued further down the beach. They passed a couple of drawings in the sand, big love heart shapes half-trodden over. There were some well-loved and smashed remnants of sand castles. Seagulls sat as the wind ruffled their feathers, blinking slowly. Kitten picked up some shiny seashells and admired their pearly colours before tossing them back into the water.
At some point, Rory caught up to them, still with his driftwood in hand. Without realising, they had reached almost completely the other side of the beach, nearing a rocky brown cliff.
They stop in their tracks and sigh.
“I guess we should make our way over before the tide comes too much in,” Charlie said.
“Yes, we should,” Kitten agreed softly.
Rory dragged the stick around in the crunchy sand, creating curly patterns.
“Here, give me the stick,” Kitten broke the hand holding contact from Charlie as Rory gave her the stick.
She writes a big K in the sand.
Then a plus sign.
Then a big C.
And underneath it, a + R.
K+C+R.
The family make their way down the other side of the beach, and no one but them ever sees the writing in the sand. No one but the ocean, who washes it away. immortalising them.