I woke up by mid-morning, feeling a weight on my chest; as I opened my eyes I was greeted by Conroy’s black face, staring at me from a couple inches away. He meowed.

“Meow and good morning to you too,” I replied sleepily, reaching up with my hand to pet him. He gratefully accepted the attention I was giving him and started purring. I could get used to waking up like this.

After getting up and getting dressed (in the same clothes as the day before) I walked downstairs. “Michelle?” I called. “Where are you?” There was no answer, but there was a note on the living room table, written in a neat and tidy handwriting:

Frank,

Gone to work. Back in the afternoon.

Milk and jam are in the fridge,

bread is on the counter. You can

have yesterday’s leftovers for lunch.

See you later.

-M.

Then, scribbled below that, as if she’d remembered after signing the note:

Also, please feed Conroy. Cat

food’s in the bottom cupboard.

I looked at the cat, who meowed again. “So that’s why you woke me up, you little scamp.”

After searching for a bit (turns out there are several “bottom cupboard”-s in a kitchen) I found Conroy’s food, and filled his bowl; then I made my own breakfast, and ate it while making plans for the day. I really needed to buy some basic necessities: some clothes, underwear, sleepwear, toiletries. And I needed to start looking for a job; that meant… Writing a CV, probably. And getting some way for employers to contact me, a cellphone would do. But for the time being, I decided to just go for a walk and enjoy being free, and to get an idea of what was in the neighbourhood. Get the lay of the land, so to speak.

I put the dirty dishes in the sink, put on my shoes, opened the front door and walked outside. I stood there for a second, just enjoying the brisk spring air and the heat of the Sun’s light on my skin.

And then I heard a soft click behind me.

I turned around, and saw that the door had closed on its own; it probably had a spring hinge I hadn’t noticed. No big deal.

Except there was no door handle on the outside, just a keyhole.

Which meant I was locked out.

Crap.

Just to be sure, I pushed the door, putting a bit of strength into it.

Yep. Locked.

I sighed. I’d been out of jail for less than a day, and I’d already fucked up. Ah well, no use crying over spilt milk: Michelle would let me in when she came back from work. (Speaking of which, I had no idea what she did for a living. What jobs is an ex-con trans woman qualified for?)

I searched my pockets for something that could help my predicament, and found some money; a twenty, a fiver, and some change. They’d been there probably… Well, since I’d been sent to jail; when I changed into my prison uniform my clothes had been put into storage until yesterday, when I’d been given them back. The cash was an unexpected windfall: it was enough for lunch, and since I’d already been planning on exploring the neighbourhood, might as well get a head start on that.

I went down the few steps that led to the house’s front door, picked a direction at random (right), and started walking.

Some time later I more or less had the lay of the land of this part of the city. It was a mostly residential neighbourhood, but there were several grocery stores a short walk away from Michelle’s house, along with some speciality shops and a couple parks. And further on residential turned into commercial, but I’d only saw the beginning of what I assumed was a long shop-lined street, since I’d already been walking for almost an hour and would have to make my way back. Though it seemed that there were plenty of bus stops along the way, so that wouldn’t really be a problem too.

I didn’t have a watch or a cellphone to check the time, but I was getting hungry so I stopped into a pub to have a sandwich and a pint. The clock inside said it was almost half past noon, so after my lunch I walked all the way back to the house. It must have been two in the afternoon or thereabouts when I reached it; I tried the door but it was still locked, I rang the doorbell but got no answer. It seemed Michelle was still out.

Resigned to having to wait, I sat down on the front step and leaned back onto the door frame; the early afternoon sun was warming me up and I was tired from the walk, so before long I fell asleep.

 

“Wake up, man.”

I felt something hard prodding me in the shoulder.

“Come on, mate, wake up.”

I opened my eyes and looked up, using my hand to shield my face from the light: two policemen were looking down at me. One of them was holding a baton, which was probably what he’d used to prod me with, but he put it away when he saw I was awake.

“Good afternoon, sir!” said the closest one in a chippy tone. “I’m Sergeant Anthony James and this is Constable Charles Johnson. Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”

Aw, crap.

“Not at all, sir,” I replied, trying to hide my discomfort; from past experience I was deeply distrusting of “helpful” policemen. Also, the one in the back (Charles, was it?) was looking at me with a piercing stare, his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s this all about?”

“Well, we’ve received a call that a suspicious-looking man was going about the neighbourhood, walking around, trying doors, looking into windows and such.” He gave me a pointed look. “Have you seen anyone that might fit the description?”

I gave him my best innocent smile. “No, officer, I haven’t.”

“Alright then,” he replied. “Just a couple more things. You live here, I gather?” he said, waving at the house.

“I do.” Maybe I would get out of this without too much trouble. “Though like an idiot, I managed to lock myself out. I’m waiting for my room-mate to come back from work.”

“Huh,” he said, clearly disbelieving. “So I guess you don’t have any ID to show us? Can you tell us your name?”

“Sure,” I answered. “I’m Frank--”

“Frank Miles,” said Charles, his brow still furrowed. “Knew I’d seen you before.”

“You know him, Charlie?” asked Anthony, turning to face him.

“As a matter of fact I do,” answered the Constable. “He was the first arrest I ever made, a few years back, just after joining the force.”

Just my luck. I didn’t remember him, I was way drunk that night when they grabbed me; but apparently I had made an impression.

“Oh really?” Anthony said, turning back to me. “What did you get him for?”

“He put a bloke in the hospital. Nearly killed him, as I recall,” Charles replied. “Last I heard he got a few years, and that only because he wasn’t the one who started the fight. If he had, he would have been looking at ten to twenty. So you got out, huh, Frank?”

“I did,” I said matter-of-factly. “Just yesterday.”

“And you’re sleeping here on the doorstep of a house, in a nice neighbourhood, because…?” asked Anthony.

I sighed. “It’s just like I told you. I live here, I managed to lock myself out, and I’m waiting for my room-mate to get back.”

“I see,” said Anthony. I could see the distrust in his eyes. “And this room-mate would be?”

“Just a friend from way back.”

“Mmhmm.” He clearly wasn’t buying it, even though it was the truth. “Alright, Frank, why don’t we continue this conversation down at the station?”

I sighed again. Figures. Even as I’m trying to get a new head-start on life. “Fine,” I said, and I got up. As we started down the street towards their car, parked a couple dozen metres away, we heard Michelle’s voice behind us.

“’Afternoon, gents. What’s this all about?”

We turned to face her, and the breath caught in my throat. She was wearing a close-fitting dark blue skirt suit with black tights, black low-heeled shoes, and a white blouse, and a light jacket on top of that; the ensemble was completed by a purse hanging off her shoulder, and her strawberry blonde hair was loose, cascading down to just below her neck. Her face was subtly made up, just highlighting her natural features without being garish.

She looked stunning.

“Good afternoon, miss,” said Charles, with a slight tip of his cap. “Nothing to worry about.”

Michelle gave them a sweet smile. “You’re not giving my friend Frank a hard time, I hope?”

Charles and Anthony exchanged a glance. “Your… Friend?” Anthony asked.

“Yep, my friend,” repeated Michelle. “Room-mate, if you prefer. We live right in this here house, 172 Marshall Drive. See?”

She walked up to the door and opened it with a keyring she retrieved from her purse.

“Huh,” said Anthony. “And how long has he been living here for, miss...?”

“Michelle O’Hagan. And just since yesterday,” she replied. “I’m giving him a place to stay until he finds his own.” She shrugged. “Beats living under a bridge, doesn’t it?”

The two policemen digested what she’d said for a couple seconds, then Charles nodded. “Alright, stories pretty much match up. Guess you’re free to go, Frank.”

“Good,” I said. “Thank you, Charlie. Thank you, Tony,” I said, nodding to each in turn.

“Don’t push it, mate,” warned the Sergeant, raising his finger.

“Sorry,” I replied. Guess I had been a bit too snippy.

The two policemen tipped their hats again, said goodbye, and walked back to their car. I turned to Michelle.

“Thanks for the save, I was worried there for a bit.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she said with a smile. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“Funny story, I’m an idiot who didn’t notice the spring hinge in the door and it locked behind me,” I replied. “So I went for a walk into town, and then sat down out here to wait for you to get back, and someone called the cops on me I guess?”

“That was probably old man Stevens,” she said. “He lives across the street. He’s a good man, but a bit distrustful of folks he doesn’t know, especially shady-looking blokes.”

“Hey now, I’m not shady!” I protested. “Anyway, I wanna ask… What’s with the outfit?”

“What d’you think? I’ve been at work ‘till now, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

I looked at her up and down again. “...You have a job that requires you to wear a suit? Really?”

She crossed her arms in front of her and gave me a capital-L Look. “Why, what did you think I do for a living? A girl could get offended.”

“Sorry,” I replied, sheepishly.

She smirked. “Don’t worry, just kidding. Anyway the answer is yes. I’m a sales manager in an export firm.”

“Huh.” Never would have guessed.

“Speaking of clothing, d’you wanna go shopping? I guess you made a list of stuff you need to buy, didn’t you?” Michelle said brightly.

“What, right now?”

“No time like the present! Let’s see, it’s… Three PM, so we have plenty of sunlight left.” She smiled. “Just let me slip into something more comfortable, this suit is a bit stuffy. Hold on for a few minutes, okay?”

She opened the door again and walked in, greeted by a meow. “And please feed Conroy again, or we’ll never hear the end of it when we come back tonight,” she said with a small laugh.

I shook my head. This girl was like a whirlwind, just doing her own thing and dragging people along with her.

Not that I disliked it.