Signed, Karen

They look so out of place at me Da's.

They tread softly, unsure where to stand. They've removed their shoes, careful not to track mud in on the carpet. It'd be fine if they did. Despite me Da's airs and graces, treatin’ it like it were Buckingham Palace, this floor has seen much worse. Much, much worse. Me blood. Sweat. Tears. And maybe a bit'a spunk from when me and Kalani hooked up and went at it on New Year's, while Da were down the boozer.

Never before have there been more puffs, dykes, and dolls in this place - at the same time. Normally, it's just one... me. Well, me and the string of partners I bring in tow when I know Da is gettin’ absolutely hammered.

When the cat’s away and all.

"Make youselves comfortable. Just... not too comfortable. You'se need to be gone by five. That's when me Da gets back."

"Why? Ya not allowed guests like?"

"He … he don't really know about me. Or the kind of company I keep."

"What ya mean like?"

"Queers. Fairies. Benders. Dolls."

"Is he blind?... Sorry."

"He probably does know. Maybe that's why he kicks twelve bells of shite out of me every other night. He’s a proper hard man."

"How hard we talkin'. Kinda want to meet him."

"Sophia!"

"He wouldn't go for ya anyway. You're not his type."

"Then he really is blind."

"And you're a slag."

"Takes one to know one."

I raise an imaginary glass and cheers her. Yeah, I am a slag. A proud slag. A bent, queer, fairy doll who likes to have fun. Because let's face it - this world is goin' to hell in a handcart - might as well enjoy meself while Rome burns.

"I think I know this area. Is this near the Houston Street’s johns?"

"Ten minutes that way, on foot."

"Gotcha. Used to do a bit of Bumbury 'round there. And made a fair amount of pocket money while I were at it."

"Bum what?"

Sophia asked, helpin’ herself to me Da’s Stella.

"It's what I call cottagin’."

"While payin’ tribute to the late, great Oscar. Sophia! No! The good stuff’s on the bookshelf.”

“Huh? The bookshelf?”

“Yeah. Check in The Good Ol’ King James."

“Oh, bless ya. Didn’t take ya for the religious type.”

“I’m not. Neither’s Da. Though he does double duty on a Sunday.”

“Hmm. Bottom’s up.”

Sophia eagerly swigs from the half-empty bottle of Da’s Jackie D, then passes it to me. I do the same, passin’ it to Ash.

“So, who’s Oscar?”

“Ya don’t know Oscar? Wilde.”

“Jee, I were only askin’. It ain’t that wild.”

“No. I ... Nay mind. So, ya used to Bumbury, Ash?”

"Yeah. I were pretty good at it, if I don’t say so meself. I were so sad when Bumbury finally had to die here in this lovely little town... but like Lazarus, he’ll rise again, I’ve no doubt."

"I’ll resurrect him for ya if ya like? Will piss me Da off to no end if he knows I knew a friend called Bumbury. I can just hear him now callin' us both bummer boys. He'd surely die."

"How does he not know ya're a doll?"

Sophia takes another larger drink.

"Because, when I wanna, I hide it well. That and he's always half-cocked."

"... Huh?"

"Drunk, Sophia. Drunk."

"Ah."

"So, it's Karen now. Bruno, when Da gets back."

"So, we don't talk about Bruno?"

"Exactly. Hmm. Silencio, Bruno."

"¡Silencio, Bruno!"

"Do ya love ya Da?"

"... I don't know. He's a violent alcoholic who has made a name for himself shaggin' half the town... Like father, like daughter, I suppose... No. No, I don't. I hate him. Worse even, I fear him. Fear what’ll happen if he knows the truth, ya know? But I have nowhere else to go. Not with Ma globe-trottin'... lucky cow. She gets to go to Turkey. And Greece. And Cyprus. I get left here with our town’s answer to fuckin' Jake Paul. But it's alright. At least she remembers to send a postcard. “Wish ya were here, XO XO”. I have one in me room. It's a bit bloody from when I were readin' it with a split lip... I burnt the tea. And Da gave me the belt."

"Fuckin' Hell, Karen. Why didn't ya say owt?"

"I didn't want to worry you'se."

"Pack a bag."

"What?"

"Pack a bag. You're stayin' at mine. No arguments."

"I can't... Me Da..."

"Can suck me phalloplasty cock."

"Ash..."

"Come on! Quick now. Before it gets to five."

"... Me bedrooms upstairs. I should still have a big bag somewhere."

"Anythin' ya can't take, I'll have a shag 'round. See if we can’t get ya enough for a brand new wardrobe."

"He'll kill me."

"He’ll have to find ya first. Ya're nineteen, duck, not five. He has no right to keep ya here.”

"And if he tries anythin’, I’ll kick his bollocks so hard he'll be able to taste them. Then we’ll see if he still thinks himself such a hard man."

I give them the largest of grins.

"There's a lasagne in the fridge. Made it this mornin' for me and Da for tea tonight. Bag that as well... I ain't Shirley Fuckin' Valentine, he can make his own damn tea from now on."

“And this?”

Sophia holds up the bottle.

“Take that too.”

*********

By four thirty, I were gone.

I made sure to leave me Da a note. And a fiver. I told him to buy himself somethin' nice. Maybe a brain, heart, or courage?

I were off to me new home.

I signed it, Karen.