Chapter 30 Amy
Flynn slept like a baby. Arms splayed wide (how is he still allowed to take up more of the bed even as a woman?), mouth agape, as I twitched next to him for half the night.
Flynn is better at being me than me.
When I wake he is not by my side; my hairy knuckles clutch the covers and I know we haven’t swapped back. With a growing horror I feel what’s happening beneath the duvet. I lift it up, staring in fascinated disgust at the pyramid.
‘Oh my god,’ I whisper.
Leaping out of the bed, I stare down, pacing as if I can will it back down.
‘Oh my god.’
I make the mistake of glancing up and see my reflection in the bronze free-standing full-length mirror. A bleary-eyed Flynn in a muddied top and triangular pants. I can’t help but roar. Roar with fear and panic and misery.
Flynn comes running out of the bathroom in just my pale pink pants, ‘Amy, Amy, what’s happened?’ His eyes are wide, my dark brown curls flying.
Staring at my boyfriend trapped inside my body, I point manically at him. ‘THIS. THIS happened, Flynn.’ I clutch both hands to my head, surprised all over again by what I find. Short, thick hair in my fingers, a different-shaped skull. ‘I am YOU. I am a man. I am a MAN.’
Flynn doesn’t reply and this makes me crosser. Why is he so calm? What does ruffle the guy?
‘Amy, let’s just take it easy, OK …’
‘Why are you so calm? Why aren’t you PANICKING?’
‘I am panicking. I just – there’s no point shouting, is there? It won’t help us.’
The annoying logic of this statement only makes me want to chuck something at his head, but then I get the strange idea that it would be wrong to strike a woman and that makes me want to laugh and cry and collapse into a ball. I plump for sinking into the armchair in the corner and stare dumbly around the room.
‘OK,’ Flynn says, pacing in front of me in my underwear. This is so beyond surreal. ‘So, we haven’t changed back. So, we need to think about what we’re going to do now.’
He continues to talk, his feet sinking into the thick, soft cream carpet as he paces in front of the ruffled super king bed with its luxurious velvet headboard. I stare mesmerized at the large piece of modern art on the wall above it, all bold pinks and purples. It’s a fluid, beautiful image, the colour and lines swirling around each other on the cream canvas. Two figures intertwined so you don’t know where one begins and one ends.
‘We could bang our heads together? We could go on the internet and look up stuff to do with … with lightning …’
All the anger subsides as I stare at the figures in the painting, as if it is a dance between two people, who in that moment are becoming one. I remember what we are doing in this hotel room, the plush surroundings bringing home how special this weekend was meant to be.
‘… Or I could ring my Uncle Bernard. He knows so much stuff and he might know about this. He did physics at uni back in the day … OR … we could …’
‘We have to tell them,’ I say in a quiet voice.
Flynn falls silent and stares at me.
‘We have to come clean. If this, if this thing is permanent then they’ll need to know anyway, right?’ My voice is gruff, hesitant. I feel the weight of it all pressing down on my chest. Could this really be permanent?
Flynn has stepped across to me, and he kneels in front of me on the carpet, his hands on my thighs as he meets my eyes. ‘Amy,’ he says, his voice soft.
I look up at him, realizing my own are filming with unshed tears.
‘Amy, it’s not permanent. It’s not, OK? We just need to work out what’s happened and how we can change it back. You need to keep the faith.’ He squeezes my thighs and I find myself nodding, wanting desperately to feel his optimism.
Flynn is a glass-half-full person when I have to sometimes remind myself the glass has liquid in it. Sometimes this trait can get on my nerves, his ability to constantly see the positives. Right now, though, it’s something for me to cling to. I need to believe him, that this isn’t it, this isn’t how my life is going to be.
Flynn’s energy had drawn me to him; he had this charisma about him, this unchecked energy that meant extravagant hand gestures, big, throaty laughs, spilled drinks and fun. After Dad I had lost a lot of my spark and being close to Flynn had helped make me feel more alive. I blink, realizing that for the last two weeks I’ve been convincing myself of all the reasons we shouldn’t be together, not the reasons we work.
A rap on the door makes us both stiffen, and then we hear my mother’s voice.
Not now, I think.
‘Quick,’ I hiss, throwing half-naked me the throw from the bed. ‘Be me. Get rid of her.’ I dive back under the duvet so she is spared Flynn’s morning glory.
Flynn pales as he wraps the throw around himself.
‘You look like a vampire. Wear it like a towel!’
He doesn’t hear, just opens the door to my mother.
‘Mum!’
‘Amy, honestly, the time! What are you,’ my mum takes in the throw cloak, ‘er, are you doing a skit? Do hurry, the minibus is leaving in five minutes …’
‘Minibus?’ I say, sitting up in bed, head spinning, voice gruff. It can’t be that time already.
‘Not for you, Flynn love,’ my mum says, ‘the boys leave in another half an hour. Oh, and do take care of Geoffrey – he is putting on a brave face about it but I think he might be a bit nervous.’
This extra information only makes me worry more. What are the men doing today?
‘The thing is …’ I say, casting about for excuses.
‘Is this yours, Amy?’ Mum says, flinging open my suitcase. ‘Maybe pop this on?’ She holds up a clean, cream summer dress as Flynn continues to stare at her. She shakes it at him. ‘Come on, Amy, chop, chop! Honestly, what has come over you …’
Flynn takes the proffered dress in a daze. ‘Thank you for this,’ he says stiffly.
I cringe at his robotic tone. Mum doesn’t seem to have noticed.
‘Oh, we mustn’t forget your cozzie!’ my mum says while I leap out of bed and drag Flynn into the bathroom as she returns to the suitcase.
‘Hold on, Mum … Trish,’ I correct, locking the door behind us both. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,’ I mutter as I pace.
Flynn has started circling in here again, the cream dress scrunched up in his hand.
‘Put it on,’ I say, helping him step into it. ‘Where’s my bra?’ I ask, looking around the bathroom and seeing it abandoned over the towel rail.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. ‘Why have you locked yourselves in there? Honestly, you two …’
‘Just going to the loo!’ Flynn calls in my voice.
I cringe and he panics at my expression.
‘I needed a poo!’ he adds, which only makes me slap his arm.
‘Well, let poor Flynn out, then!’ Mum exclaims as I now hit my own head with a hand.
‘She was joking,’ I call back. ‘I just needed her to help me decide what to wear.’ I shrug. Teamwork was definitely not making the dream work.
I quickly help Flynn into the bra and the dress. As I do I can’t help the thought that I am smaller and less lumpy than I often imagined. It must be this strange new perspective, the fact my hand span is bigger, because I’ve worried about my weight on and off for years. The thought flies out of my head as Flynn continues to fret.
‘Flynn, stop fidgeting.’ My new body means I can easily stop him, and I release his arm when the grip feels too much. A strange frisson seizes me, the awareness that I am physically dominant. It’s a foreign feeling, but I can’t help viewing Flynn as being more vulnerable as I smooth his curly hair back, my hair, tucking it gently behind his ears.
‘Are we telling her?’ Flynn asks, his voice soft as my mum shouts.
‘Amy, come on now! Laura will have our guts for garters. We must go.’
There’s another knock and we hear her footsteps, ‘Oh Laura. It’s fine … Amy’s just coming!’
Both our eyes widen as we hear Laura move inside the room. ‘Come on, Amy.’
‘Coming!’ Flynn cries out in a strangled voice. ‘Shall I go?’ he whispers urgently.
I close my eyes, the bathroom spinning. ‘I … I …’ I don’t know what to do. I can’t think straight. I try to breathe. ‘OK, it’s too late to decide now so let’s just get through this morning. So, don’t say anything, OK? And try to act like I’d act.’
Flynn nods, ‘OK. How do you act?’
‘AMY!’ Laura shouts from outside, ‘Come on!’
‘Flynn, you’ve seen how I act. Just be relaxed, treat Laura like she’s your sister, you know, use nicknames, listen to her, just … be me.’
‘Be you,’ he repeats, his mouth quivering. His worried expression makes me soften.
‘AMY!’
I ready myself to unlock the door as I call out to them both. ‘She’s just coming.’
I nod at him.
‘COMING, DICKHEAD!’ he shouts.
I frown.
‘I was using a nickname!’ he hisses, panicked.
‘Well, maybe don’t sound like you want to pickle her liver.’
‘COMING, dickHEAD!’
I cringe then readjust my face. ‘Maybe no nicknames.’
I open the door to see Laura leaving. ‘I’ll see you both down there,’ she calls.
‘Amy, we really do need to go,’ Mum says.
Flynn nods at me, paler now. He steps out, adjusting the dress self-consciously as my mother says. ‘Great. Amy – I’ve got your cozzie!’
Flynn smiles nervously, ‘Can’t wait,’ he squeaks. ‘Mum! Mummy!’ Then, just before he follows my mother out, he grabs my arm. ‘Hey. What’s a cozzie?’
Oh Christ.