he following morning brought none of that slow realisation that I was
now in a different body, mainly because I woke up with both hands
between my thighs, confirming only too quickly things were Not Right. I
groaned, rolled over and spat a thick lock of Francesca's hair out of my
mouth. And yet, apart from the obvious, I didn't feel too bad. In fact,
I felt more alert and awake than I had for a long time. Normally I
didn't achieve full consciousness until up I'd had a shower and was at
least one cup of strong coffee down, but to my surprise, I already felt
pretty much good to go.

Cautiously, I pushed aside the duvet and got up. No aches, no pains. I
raised my arms up above my head and stretched my entire body, right down
to the toes I was wiggling against the thick pile carpet, and it felt
good, but then I realised I needed to take a piss, and then I realised
that although there was every possibility my body already had a hand on
its penis right this second, I was about a mile and a half away from it.
Still, I had a plan for finding out what had gone wrong between me and
Katie, the sun was streaming in through the linen curtains, I could hear
birds chirping in the garden, things could be worse.

Only when I was sat on the toilet, staring into space as I emptied
Francesca's bladder, did it occur to me: I really was twenty-one again.
I'd sworn to myself as I braced for the big four oh that I didn't really
feel any different to when I'd been a student myself, but now I actually
was a student again, technically at least, I could categorically say I
was wrong. Being in a body that was barely into its twenties felt pretty
damn great. There were certainly far worse bodies I could be spending
some time in. Would spending time as one of Rob's battered, cauliflower-
eared rugby mates be preferable, right now, just because they had a
penis?

As I finished up and ran the shower, Francesca's small hands working to
unbutton her pyjama top, I sneakily tracked my reflection in the
bathroom mirror, watching as the curves of her breasts were revealed,
then her neat pale shoulders as I let the top drop to the floor. I
turned sideways, bouncing a little on the balls of my feet, cupping her
breasts in both hands, rubbing my thumbs against silky nipples, then
reaching down to grab my behind, squeezing hard, feeling the toned
muscles of a dancer beneath the soft rounded buttocks.

Until now I'd been planning to do an impression of Francesca, pull on
the mask of a posh, confident, rather arch female student to put Katie
at her ease. And yet even though I looked exactly like her from the
outside, I didn't feel like her. But somehow, this morning, I could feel
the role of Francesca settling around me, or perhaps it was me, who'd
stretched and elbowed and yawned my way into more fully inhabiting her.
And if I felt like this, like Francesca was someone I could be, rather
than impersonate, Katie wouldn't suspect a thing.

"Well, hello," I said into the mirror, flipping my hair up so it landed
around my shoulders like a soft dark cloud. "Fancy seeing you here."

That second shower lasted significantly longer than the first and I
didn't step out until I was pink and glowing, and sure that I'd cleaned
every last inch of me.

For a moment, when I got downstairs, I didn't see Rob at all. I saw
Banshari on the sofa, already in a bright blue and surprisingly short
hockey dress, hair neatly pulled back with a hairband, thick socks
pulled up to her knees. She was staring intently at a laptop, the screen
showing two teams of girls screaming obscenities at each other while
wielding their sticks much in the way a riot cop wields a truncheon.
Then I saw she had a sausage sandwich in one hand, the centre of which
appeared to have been consumed in one bite.

"Hey Rob," I said relieved. He turned and grunted at me through a
second mouthful. A worrying thought seized me.

"Um," I said. "Are you sure Banshari's not a vegetarian?"

He shook his head, ponytail bobbing, and held up Banshari's phone while
he forced down the last of the sandwich.

"We've been texting all morning," he said finally, crumbs going
everywhere. "I was asking about the car, so I got the details, then we
got into tactics for the match. The other side have got this big blonde
who's an absolute legend apparently, got to look out for her."

I stared at him. "You've been texting?"

"We were, but then I thought it was easier to call her. We've been
comparing notes, sort of thing. They were having problems with the
shower, so I had to tell them about that pipe you have to bang with the
wrench, you know."

"Okay," I said because I didn't know what else to say.

"Also, because I only just thought of it, I asked about their periods?
But Banshari's not due until next week and Francesca's the week after
that, so we'll be fine. They did used to be in sync, apparently, but it
all drifted a bit this summer."

My legs had gone wobbly again, so I sat down in the nearest armchair,
from which I noted distantly that apparently hockey players wore shorts
under their dresses, so Rob wasn't going to show quite as much as I'd
thought. Although they were quite tight-fitting.

"You, er, ready for the match then?" I managed finally.

Rob grinned proudly and poked his chest, which to my surprise, barely
moved. "High impact sports bra, mate. I'm strapped in and good to go."

I had to say, purely from an objective point of view, Banshari, her
physical form at least, did look more prepared for a full-blooded hockey
match that I would have guessed from yesterday's short summery dress
affair. She may have been curvy, but there was a taut, compact form
under there, and Rob was clearly looking forward to getting it on the
pitch and putting it through its paces.

I suddenly realised Rob was looking me up and down. "What?" I asked
warily.

"You look like you're about to give a poetry lecture or something."

I looked down at myself. Unlike Rob, I wasn't ready for the easy flow of
a skirt, albeit with supportive undergarments, so I'd picked out a pair
of tweed trousers and a soft stripey top. In my mind this was an
acceptable compromise between being me and trying to pass as Francesca,
but I had to admit, even just wearing a pair of trousers was a very
different experience when they were on Francesca's body. The waistband
buttoned up almost to my new bellybutton (an innie, thankfully, there
were some changes which were just too drastic to contemplate). The
material was flappy around my calves but considerably less so around my
arse. In fact, having checked out my rear reflection in the bedroom
mirror, I'd had to go back and find a differently shaped pair of pants,
which to my mind, kind of defeated the objective of wearing tweed in the
first place. Also, I'd had to find a padded bra, because even with a
vest on underneath the stripey top, Francesca's nipples were determined
to do their thing.

Other than that, I thought I'd got away with a slightly androgynous look
that I least meant I didn't have to faff about with eyeliner. I'd tried
tying my hair back, but that made me look like a minor lesbian in a
Thirties movie, so I'd fluffed it out instead.

"Francesca says hi, by the way," said Rob, licking the last of the
sausage sandwich off his fingers and turning back to YouTube.

"Francesca says what?" I said in a voice that that would have sounded
high even for its original owner.

"She wanted me to tell you she's got a minor peanut allergy. Won't kill
you or anything, but you'll feel pretty sick, so avoid them. Also don't
drink gin, it makes her cry."

"Jesus, I mean that's good to know, but... how did she sound? How did I
sound?"

"Honestly, she did sound a lot like you. Bit posher, obviously, but if I
didn't know better, I'd have thought it was you. I got Banshari to put
some 'look yous' in, you know, try and bring the sound of the valleys,
sort of thing."

I sat back in the armchair, stunned, and slightly uncomfortable at the
sensation of the bra strap pushing into my back. Francesca, of course,
was not currently having to worry about bra straps, or what pants to
wear, or having to sit down to take a piss. I bet she was thoroughly
enjoying the whole standing up situation, to be honest. And I was lucky
if that was all she was enjoying.

Rob closed the laptop with a decisive click, grabbed the hockey stick
leaning against the table and slung a sports bag over his shoulder. "We
going to the match, then? It's time me and a load of ladies I barely
know got hot and heavy and covered in mud."

I winced. "You're not going to say things like that when we get there,
are you?"

He cackled and slapped me on the arse with the stick.

"Oh Jesus," I sighed.

"One more thing," said Rob. "Francesca said if you're driving, you need
to wear her glasses, they're on the side over there."

I opened the case and took them out. They looked expensive, because of
course they did. Black-framed, rather severe. I put them on - no huge
difference, although the far end of the kitchen swung into focus more
clearly than before.

I checked out my reflection in the hallway mirror. They made Francesca
suddenly look older and... not severe, exactly, but someone who wouldn't
put up with too much shit. I'd never worked out how to give off that
vibe. My students were decent enough to shut up when I grumbled at them
for talking in my lectures, but I'd never got the impression they were
the least bit intimidated by me. Apparently, if you were Francesca, the
right set of glasses was all it took. I raised one humourless eyebrow,
something that in my old body made me look confused, but on Francesca,
gave the impression things were about to get very tense indeed.

"Cor, bloody hell," breathed Rob. "Now you look like you're going to
give a sexy poetry lecture. Sign me up."

"Fuck's sake," I said. "Let's just find the car, shall we?"

Francesca's car turned out to be a smart silver hatchback, a hybrid,
obviously. I could tell Rob was desperate to drive it, but Banshari, it
turned out, didn't have a driving license. Or, quite possibly, feet that
would reach the pedals. So, it was my turn to put on the special driving
glasses once again.

The first thing we did was wince simultaneously as we pulled our
seatbelts across our chests, then again as we came to a sudden stop as a
car overtook at high speed just as I was pulling out of the parking
space. I had to take a breath after the second one.

"I'm going to have a new respect for these things when I get back," said
Rob, patting his chest as I finally got onto the road. "Treat them with
a little more tenderness, do you know what I mean. My motorboating days
are over."

I chose to ignore that last bit. "'Get back'? Is that what we're calling
it?"

Rob shrugged. "You're the master linguist." I could see him trying to
conceal a smirk and sighed.

"You're sniggering because it sounds rude," I said, "but honestly, all I
can think is how astonishingly cute you look in your little hockey
dress."

Rob smoothed his hem across his thighs. "Mate, if I'd know this is what
it took to get you to come to a game with me, I've have put one on long
ago."

"Oh," I said, and then, once I'd navigated a particularly tricky
junction, "You could just ask, you know?"

He said nothing. The truth was, one of the bonuses of having Rob as a
housemate was his wide range of activities and extensive social life
meant I got the place to myself for a decent amount of time. It had
never occurred to me he might actually want me along.

"I'm sorry," I said finally. "I'll start coming to the big games, if you
like? As long as you don't mind me not knowing what the hell is going
on."

"That would be good," said Rob, and thankfully didn't make a thing of
it. "Just a bit of tactical support every now and then, you know?"

I nodded. "Like a sports bra."

"Exactly."

I dropped Rob off at the main sports centre before circling back to find
somewhere to park, and felt a moment of panic, watching him walking
towards a group of girls, all of whom were taller than him. They'll know
it's not Banshari, I thought, my heart suddenly in my mouth. What if
they started screaming, or called the police? But he just fitted right
in amongst them, hugs all round, and then they disappeared inside, a
mass of blue dresses, sticks and ponytails and my panic vanished,
replaced by a burst of pride. Christ, it was like I was his mum or
something. I decided the glasses weren't helping and tucked them away.

Still, I didn't feel less like a mum as I joined the small number of
spectators, mostly female, gathered at the edge of the muddy pitch,
Francesca's ankle boots already sinking into the mud. All the other
students were in fleeces and walking boots. It occurred to me then that
maybe Francesca and Banshari formed the same Venn diagram of bookishness
and extrovert as me and Rob. Maybe that was why the ritual had worked.
And then it occurred to me I had thought of the "other" students. Okay,
maybe I was getting into the role.

Which was handy, because I suddenly noticed a male student, in a rugby
top and long scarf which strongly suggested he'd come from a public
school, waving at someone, and then I realised that someone was me.

"Hey, Fran!" And then he'd pulled me in for a hug and placed a kiss on
the side of my face, bending down to do it. He seemed the same height as
Rob, the real Rob, but in reality was probably around five ten or
something. Whatever height he was, I'd just been kissed by a strange man
and I didn't like it. Oh, and the hug was still happening, apparently.

"Hey... you!" I managed once he'd let me go. He smiled at me, as though
he was waiting for something more.

"I, um, thought I'd come and cheer Banshari on, you know," I managed, in
my best Francesca voice.

"Sure, sure," he said. He sounded a bit transatlantic, Canadian, maybe?
"She's going to be up against it today, it sounds like something of a
grudge match."

And then he started telling me about the other team, their training
regime and their strong and weak points, going back for the last three
years. It was annoying but at least I didn't to have to do anything
other than murmur, "Really?" or "Oh, right" every now and then.
Certainly, it didn't seem like he was about to gasp and shout, "Who are
you and what have you done with the real Francesca?!" so I could maybe
even relax a bit.

That said, it was a relief when Rob's team jogged out onto the pitch. I
clapped, and my companion, whoever he was, finally shut up as the
whistle blew.

And Rob was everywhere. He was like a whirlwind, constantly on the ball,
always at the heels of the other team's striker (all in black and white
stripes - I felt fashion-wise, they looked slightly better), or goal
scorer or whatever she was called, legs pumping as he charged the length
of the pitch, always shouting for the ball when his team had it, always
trying to tackle when it was in the other team's possession. The only
problem was, he was terrible.

The crowd could sense it. Their cheers for Banshari (I managed to shout
"Come on, Rob" once before I realised what I'd done, but luckily no-one
seemed to have noticed), which had started out enthusiastic and loud,
were dwindling away in confusion. It occurred to me that maybe it had
been for the best I'd never attended one of his sporting events before,
because apparently, he was rubbish. Maybe I'd just assumed he was good
at sports because he went on about them all the time. I mean, I did
seminars about poetry, but I was happy to admit I couldn't put two
stanzas together. God, this was embarrassing.

The other scored a goal, then another one. The guy next to me fell
quiet, as did any members of the crowd who'd come to support the locals.

And then I saw it. Rob, head down, trying and take the ball off a player
on the other team, while they neatly spun around him and kept going. His
teeth were clenched, as were his fists, around the hockey stick, while
he hunched over, furious.

The half-time whistle blew then, to a groan from the locals. Luckily,
Rob had to move past me to join his dejected team-mates.

"Hey!" I called, as Rob slumped past. "Banshari!" And of course, he
didn't hear that, so just as I was about to lose him, I hissed, "Rob!"
Luckily the guy who'd been talking to me had drifted off to explain to
another female student how goals worked or something.

He trotted over to me, scowling. "What?"

"You're using your shoulders," I whispered.

He looked confused. "You're pushing with your shoulders," I continued,
"like you're going to bludgeon your way through them. Banshari isn't all
about shoulders, she's about hips. You've got a great arse, you need to
use it!"

He blinked at me, but one of his team-mates was already tugging him
towards the sports centre.

Thankfully, no-one else tried to talk to me during half-time, and ten
minutes later, both teams trotted back out onto the pitch. A couple of
Rob's teammates were still talking to him intensely as they emerged, a
"get your act together" talk, I assumed, although it ended with everyone
involved hugging everyone else. Maybe that's how the dude version of it
would have concluded as well, I was starting to realise I had no idea
how Rob's world really worked.

The second half kicked off with the opposing team confidently taking the
ball and being blocked by Rob - and going straight round him. I sighed,
but at least they didn't score. The rest of Rob's team seemed to have
pulled themselves together, perhaps realising they'd been over-reliant
on their star striker. Maybe not a bad thing in the long run, and maybe
Rob could take some cheer in injecting some team spirit in Banshari's
team, even if it was via the unorthodox method of not being anywhere
near as good as he'd hoped at women's hockey.

Except... that was when something changed. Rob's opposite number had
possession of the ball and charged straight towards him, clearly
confident that despite her noise and aggression the short, curvy Asian
girl didn't pose the slightest threat. Rob glared at her, hunkered down
- then straightened instead, raising up on the toes of his boots and
loosening his hold on his stick. The striker faltered, just for a
moment, but it was enough. Rob was on her, seizing the ball with his
stick then pirouetting gracefully and darting forward, like an unwound
spring, towards the other team's goal, where he flicked the ball in
before the goalie knew what had happened.

I yelled, clapping, not even minding how high-pitched my voice came out.

Rob didn't score for the rest of the match, but only because once he'd
realised how Banshari and hockey went together, he was gracious to a
fault, focusing on setting up the other players in his team. He was an
absolute joy to watch: spinning, darting, making feints, then flicking
the ball to a team mate; all coming from the hips, driving himself
forward. It was more like watching a dance performance than a sporting
event.

They won, by one goal. Rob disappeared into a throng of blue kits,
emerging with an absurd grin, waving at me excitedly. I waved back,
trying not to feel like I was responsible for an entire team winning a
game I had no idea how to play, although in a way I was.

I noticed then that tall Canadian-possibly guy was chatting to a couple
of male friends further down the pitch. I nudged a girl next to me, a
redhead in some sort of flowery dungaree affair and pointed, as subtly
as I could.

"Excuse me, you don't know that guy's name, do you? He'd been talking to
me for ages, and it's been really bugging me. Annoying me," I corrected
myself swiftly. "Bugging me" didn't sound right coming out of
Francesca's mouth.

The girl stared. "That guy? The guy I wanted to ask out, but you warned
me off because you said you wanted to go out with him but never did? And
then by the time I realised that, he was seeing someone else?"

"Um," I managed. "Yes."

"He's called 'David'," she said, glaring at me frostily. "Jesus Christ,
Francesca!"

She stomped off, just as Rob turned up, streaked in mud and grinning
wildly, accompanied by an elated hockey player on each side. I glanced
quickly at the girl's retreating back. I should have been mortified by
that exchange, I certainly would have been if anything like that had
happened in my old body, but all I could think was "She called me
Francesca! This might work!"

"Hey, Banshari," I said. "What a fantastic game! I thought you did
amazingly!" I nearly said "amazeballs', but suspected it was probably
out of date.

Rob was beaming. "So, me and the team thought we'd stay here and
celebrate for a bit? Tan here said she's happy to drop me back later,
so, see you back at the house! And, um," - he looked almost shy for a
second - "thanks for the tip, I think that really swung it."

It definitely did, I thought, watching the three of them heading back to
the sports centre where I had a feeling things were going to get rowdy.
But Rob looked like he could handle himself. Also... he seemed to have
taken the "lead from the hips" things to heart. Looking at the three
girls heading back across the pitch, Rob having to skip a little to keep
up with the others, there was a naturalness to his movements that hadn't
been there before, not the exaggerated wiggle that had been there when
he was learning to walk in Banshari's ridiculous platform trainers, but
a more natural sway, like he'd finally tuned in to Banshari's body. And
I couldn't help noticing that for all Banshari's obvious assets up
front, she did also have a really nice arse.

Distracted as I was, it took me a moment to realise someone had moved
quietly to stand beside me as I watched Rob go. I looked over, seeing a
tallish man, too old to be a student, with short, neatly cut hair and
stubble, wrapped in a long coat that was just like one I had back home.
My actual home. Then his dark eyes met mine and I realised his face,
too, was familiar, because until recently it had been mine.

"We have to talk," said Francesca, quietly.