That Girl and her Fairy Godmother

The passive-aggressive, chubby, blonde-streaked, accented yob-girl that had left a year ago was now much nicer, more patient and, thanks to Mrs Dixon's advice and shopping trips, was actually Cinderella and well dressed with perfect hair and a perfect complexion aided by make-up that looked classy rather than what the Bitches thought was sexy.

I parked the car that I'd borrowed from the centre in the railway station car park and walked the half mile home, after all I knew that Dad would demand a lift to somewhere he didn't really want to go 'for a laugh', my nasty bitchy step-sister Clarice would manage to damage it in some way or worse, and that Mum would think of something or someone that needed moving and I just couldn't be doing with the inevitable mess I would get from which ever grubby, dirty-nappied, younger step-sibling that would involve.

Steph was 'out' of course, so after Dad, two of his kids and I finished the Uber Eats delivered MacDonald's meal, I made my goodbyes just as Clarice and Steph arrived back, both open-mouthed at my transformation. Steph was very complimentary but Clarice just stormed off.

I was walking back to the railway station dressed in my smart pencil skirt and raincoat with an umbrella low against the faint drizzle pleased with the reaction I'd caused, when I saw a group of Jackson's Park Bitches clicky-clacking their way along the other side of the street at speed and heading for Dad's place.

I overheard one of them recognising my one-time bestie Jodie,

"Clarice says you can hardly reco'nise the fuckin' bitch, cow's lost over a fuckin' stone!" she shouted if such a thing was impossible. Obviously, my bitchy stepsister had spread the news the second she came home and found me there, "says she's nursing in a fuckin' care 'ome, wearin' a fuckin' BURBERRY!"

There was a general grumble of disapproval.

"Yeah, fucking bitch must think she's all THAT!" shouted a second, making an exaggerated hand gesture in the air, the expensive looking but probably fake baseball cap she was wearing pulled down so far over her face that it was hard to make out who she was, and the tightly folded arms over the hooded puffa jacket made the body shape indistinguishable from the other high-heeled harridans advancing on my old house like an avenging horde of over-made-up slutty teenage shield-maidens that happened to work part-time in a girl band.

I lowered my brolley and kept walking, happy that at five in the evening looking like a grown-up, in a street with half of the street lamps not working I had gone completely unrecognised shaking off the fear that the five girls I'd left behind all that time ago would find a reason to knock seven shades of shit out of me, not only for moving on but daring to look good into the bargain.

I was soon back in the car, safely locked in and listening to the radio. I drove out of the car park and saw that crowd of Jackson's Park Bitches, those sworn-since-childhood BFF's of my previous life, were chasing along the road, almost running through the pouring rain towards the station now led by Clarice and followed by some of the boys that we hung around with, three of whom I'd had sex with, one of them without my consent. I shivered but remembered Mrs Dixon's words, 'history Darling, just history', and 'you can't be hurt by local gossip if you aren't local'.

I stopped myself winding down the window and shouting 'fuck you bitches' instead sliding past unrecognised in the almost new, white seven-seater people carrier, contenting myself with a smile and a wave to one of the younger lads who's name I couldn't even remember running to catch up with the main gang, who stepped out into the road staring and pointing at the back of the car as he recognised me.

I never went back, instead meeting Grandma in the holiday park chalet I'd managed to book for her with my staff discount along with some of her friends that spring.

The next summer holiday season was fantastic with the request that Miss Oliver return to the care centre as Mrs Dixon was due back. I hated to move away from the tiny tots in the crèche but wanted to meet and catch up with my friend desperately.

We travelled further afield, and I took Mrs Dixon from the south-coast north to Essex and Cambridgeshire and where the bomber stations had been. We took more walks, shopped, ate out and stayed in the occasional hotel for a few nights before heading through London and more visits there.

Mrs Dixon headed home as I began my very last college module, the work placements taken care of by my employer. Before I realised it another Christmas had come and gone and further visits from Mrs Dixon and we would always carry on from where we'd left off.

Now all Mrs D was interested in was which University I was going to attend. The one chosen was in East Sussex and not far from several of the centres I'd worked at for nearly two years now. With Mrs Dixon looking over my shoulder, I applied for a nursing degree.

A very excited Carol the HR manager insisted that she drive me there to my interviews,

"I've been to Uni' interviews with both of my daughters Tracy," she said, "and in Dorothy's absence I do feel rather responsible -- 'in loco parentis' honey!" and she gave me a huge hug and promised she would wait outside.

Three hours later and sat in her car sipping from Starbucks lattes and munching on blueberry muffins, I told her what had been involved in the test and then the interview and as we chatted more my phone beeped to tell me that 'I'd got mail'.

I looked at Carol and bit my lip, not this quick surely? With a trembling finger I tapped the message from the University that told me that they were most pleased with my excellent interview and looked forward to meeting me that September. If I made them my first choice they would pay me a grant in my first year.

Carol the HR manager screeched, clapped her hands in a real delight and put down her mug, hugging me and seemed almost as pleased as I was. She brought me back to her office where I applied for the necessary student finance. The close proximity meant that I would be able to return to the centre when on holiday from my University course which was just what all of my friends used to do, and also took care of where I would live when not in halls of residence or the flat share I would be paying for with my student loan.

I phoned Mrs Dixon and she was delighted and promised to see me for a catch up and to celebrate my success properly.

Education: More than just book-learning.

She did and three months later I was there to meet her train and drive her back to what she often called her second home.

"Tracy, have you had your holiday this year?" I admitted that I hadn't really had a holiday since my early teens, "Well I think it's time you had one. Do you have a passport?"

"Yes!" I said brightly, I'd got one at the same time I got my driving licence using the same photograph and information.

"Excellent, pack a bag," she pursed her lips, "yeeeees, SIX days worth of clothes I think!"

We drove to Portsmouth where we got onto a night ferry called 'the Spirit of Normandy' and after a very comfortable night in first class, breakfast and docking in Caen, I was driving on the wrong side of the road! It came very quickly though and we found a very nice hotel that she booked a suite in.

The very next day we drove to Arromanche and Mrs D showed me the place that she had come ashore some months after D-Day with her husband and the rest of their team. We checked out museums, we ate the most wonderful cuisine all ordered in Mrs D's very good French; I could remember a bit having studied it for GCSE and most of it came back as we toured and I actually used it.

I drove all across Normandy; Bayeux, Cherbourg, Harfleur, Rennes with her teaching me more French and more history, not only of World War Two but of Henry the Fifth and that period. At every big city she would find another fashion store and I would taken in for 'just a little something extra for Cinderella's wardrobe'.

Back in England she was to holiday with her family and gave me an extra special hug when she left, telling me that I was going to do brilliantly at University; yes we cried some more, but I knew that I could chat with her on-line almost any time, and have access to my confidence booster, the fairy godmother that always had my corner.

There was a great farewell party with lots of the summer staff heading back to their colleges and universities of which I was finally one, off to be a Fresher. Before our French trip Mrs Dixon had finally ridded me of my now battered but well-travelled 'Sports Direct' bag and I headed off with my dark rucksack and bright red wheeled suitcase.

The HR Manager had kept me at the medical centres at both sites and almost constantly working with the nurses now, except for when I was looking after Mrs Dixon, so when I eventually collected the key to my University room and with my six mostly nursing flatmates it took me no time to get used to the more cerebral quality of our new relationships.

That night we put on our jeans and our fresher's night T-shirts and went out to get to know each other and it was fantastic and went on for a whole week!

In the most direct contrast to the Bitches, most of my new flat mates had been to good schools, at least schools that weren't in special measures, and had kept their virginities right through to well into their Freshman year. Not me, mine hadn't even survived my senior school.

I didn't shout that from the rooftops of course but the dates just didn't come. I told Mrs Dixon and that it gave me more time for study, and my flatmates were all very much in the same situation.

What really came home was that I was a good two or three years older than my compatriots and my more mature attitude and amazing wardrobe had most of the tongue-tied eighteen to twenty one year-old boys hiding like wall flowers from me at the freshers events. That would soon change and in a totally unexpected direction.

I'd stayed in my room for my first student Christmas, having Accident and Emergency placements I had to cover rather than head back to the Holiday Centre for six weeks. I had booked dinner in the Union Bar with some other undergrads staying over and brought together by the Student Union and had been assured a great time. I'd already had my 'Halls Christmas' where the seven residents of our flat had our Christmas lunch the week before and shared presents, played games and all that.

That morning I'd had a phone call from Dad who of course made some stupid comment about me almost being a doctor. I rang Mum but the phone was picked up by an undisclosed child who just shouted down the phone about presents, while in the background I could hear the piercing scream of my irate mother, and a deeper voice in the back ground -- I guessed it was Mum preparing for a nice dramatic break-up.

I rang Grandma who again complained that I should have come to see her for a few days, so I finally explained about Clarice and the local harpies trying to catch up with me. I promised I would meet up with her somewhere quieter and away from the estate.

I opened the few cards from family and of course the present from Mrs Dixon, which was the most amazing Little Black Dress and a matching handbag.

I put on my sexiest undies and my new little black dress with my plastic pearls and a beige jacket bought from a costumier in Le Mans that I knew would match perfectly and walked across to the Union for the day. After the fantastic Christmas lunch, the evening was spent in the Union bar and I didn't drink to excess. After the second hour or so I was sitting in almost completely female company after some dancing and had removed my jacket and everyone complimented me on my 'day to night' costume change. I noticed that the Oceanography student to my left was sneaking looks at me and had a certain flush to her cheeks.

I started to sneak looks at the girl whose name was Anita and it looked as if she was checking me out! Anita must have noticed her checking out was being checked out and not only did she smile, I could see that my neighbour's very large bust was being pushed up and out.

I reached forward for my drink and took a long slug, my mind going back to those warm afternoons walking with Mrs Dixon along the footpaths of her youth, pointing out the second floor room in the government style red brick building that she had shared with Diana.

While Mrs Dixon hadn't gone into massive detail, I had spent several nights thinking about two young girls together and looking up what and how Lesbians did their thing, eventually masturbating to a very nice guilt-free orgasm.

Here I was getting the same kind of sizing up that I'd undergone with many boys when I was back home, only this time it was from an extremely pretty girl with jet black hair. After my few glasses of wine I felt more turned on than any of those appalling teenage boys had ever made me feel.

"Can I get you another one... Tracy?" said Anita, in the sweetest, softest Southern Irish accent.

"Please," I said sitting up straight and turning to my new friend, "Another glass of the white please."

"How about something a little different," said Anita with a cheeky grin. I wasn't sure exactly how different Anita wanted it to be.

I lazily closed my eyes coming back with a double entendre I didn't even realise was one until a few seconds after.

"Try me..."

Anita grinned and was up and to the bar and back in a few moments with a tall straight glass packed with ice and a black plastic straw pushed in.

"Try that," said Anita, and I took a sip. my eyes popping wide at the new and very pleasant taste. "It's apricot gin and tonic," she added, "It's quite yummy!"

"That it is!" I said turning to face my new friend and drinking buddy.

We started to chat; that innocent, gentle chat that many people have that doesn't necessarily indicate that anything else is in the offing.

Anita discussed her plans; this was her third and final year although she was seriously considering coming back for a fourth and completing a masters' degree. She had thought about flying home to Ireland but it was such an expense and such a pain and she was getting double and sometimes triple time for the bar job she had been working through the Christmas break and that would pay towards her long summer holiday or even some world travel.

I added that I was doing a nursing degree and had chosen a specialism in emergency medicine as I had a knack of dealing with people scared and in pain, calming them and treating for shock brilliantly, all of my supervisors said so. I had also thought about becoming a nursing officer in the Royal Air Force as an old friend had talked about the life and how great it seemed and the options for world travel were also extremely good.

Anita seemed impressed as soon as I mentioned nursing.

"Me Ma' is a district nurse back home!" she crooned, "was something I thought about but it kinda runs in the family and I wanted a break with tradition. Is nursing in your family?"

I stifled a laugh, my grandfather had worked in the nearby train repair yard until that closed, my father had lost his job in one of the local companies that had relied on the train yard, and no one in my family really seemed to have had any kind of career since, not unless jobbing carpentry, taxi driving and shelf stacking in one of the many supermarkets locally could be considered a career. And that went for both of my step-families.

"No," I took another sip of my drink, "I'm the first in family to go to university."

"Your parents must be so proud!" said the Irish girl, her accent more noticeable now the booze was kicking in and she was more relaxed.

"My parents are divorced several times over, and my Mum's only concern was that I didn't come home with a degree and no money and expect to ponce off of her and her new husband." I sipped more gin, "like I'd ever go back to her!"

"And your Daddy?"

"Not so bad; although he did joke that once I got a job in the health service I could get him all of his prescriptions for free and get him a sick-note pad." I closed my eyes and shaded them with my hand.

Anita laughed.

"Aww Jasus honey," she chuckled placing a warm hand on my bare arm, "that's family for yah!" She gave arm a faint squeeze and leaned a little bit closer.

I talked about my large family and how the moment I moved out for my first holiday camp job I was told in no uncertain terms that my room wouldn't be there.

"Large families," sighed Anita, "I come from a Catholic family in County Clare Babe," she left her hand on my arm, "while I can't say that there won't be a bed for me when I go home, I did share top and tail with my big sister until I was six and we got a bigger house, was sharing a room with her until I moved to England to study. My sister has moved out and has graduated of course so she's hardly at home now."

Anita turned in her chair and twisted slightly so she could link arms with me.

After an hour of discussing families and sharing bedrooms, and a second apricot gin and tonic, a double this time, we both decided it was time to go home.

"Where are your rooms," said Anita still arm in arm with me.

"Just over there," I said pointing across the road to the mock Georgian three storey buildings made to look like town houses that were actually large flats, "you?"

"Oh, over in Princess Court," said Anita, "A bit of a walk..."

"Rubbish!" I said thinking on my feet and via my sexual subconscious, "there's at least another six empty beds over at my place!"

Arm in arm and a bit giggly we scooted across the dual carriage way avoiding the underpass and the roughs sleeper bound to be there, dodging the few cars out on Christmas evening and after a brief search found the front door key and let ourselves in to the cold, empty and damp foyer and into the lift to the third floor. I had initially hated it here when I was on my own, the place was very big but was normally full of noisy, busy, bouncy undergraduate girls and boys all living the best days of their lives, but since they had all drifted off a week before it was quite sepulchral.

"Coffee?" I said heading to the central kitchen by the entrance to my flat.

"Not for me," said Anita, "I'll be needing to get up in the night as it is!"

"Right," I said shaking the door handle of the room to my immediate right, the home of our non-nursing political science and history undergrad Melanie. The door was locked, "Shit, plenty more along here!" I announced and trotted along swinging a left towards the front room that was mine. I turned another two door handles on the way, again all locked. "I don't think they trust me!" I said reaching my room and using the key to unlock it.

Coming from the upbringing I'd had, I was a tidy bedroom fanatic and there was nothing bar last night's panties hanging over the edge of my laundry basket to suggest the domestic war zones I'd been raised in.

"Nice room!" said Anita, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

"I like it," I waved a proud hand around indicating my bookshelves, built in wardrobe and chest of drawers and the sink in the corner of the room.

Anita patted the bed beside her,

"Tracy, I was raised sharing a bed and it wasn't a lovely big double like this one," she looked up all innocence at me, "If all of the other rooms are locked that is."

"I'll check," I said, slipped out into the corridor and waited for the count of thirty and went back in.

All the other rooms were locked and I had known that from the start. While the flat was occupied, the rooms were all open and we all came and went as we pleased but under strict instructions from the management company the rooms all had to be locked while unoccupied. The rooms all contained TV's, CD players, mobile phone chargers, printers and that kind of tech that went with 21st century students and the many notices on all that company's properties told prospective tenants and burglars alike that this was the case and security was taken really seriously.