Only when I was back out on the pavement, Saturday shoppers veering
around me, did I realise I had absolutely no idea what to do next. Part
of me thought I should take advantage of the situation and embrace full-
Francesca-ness. I could get my nails done, although my nails looked
fine. I could get a haircut but looking at my reflection in the shop
opposite there was no indication I needed a haircut. I could go full
girly clothes shopping, but I didn't even know what size Francesca was.
Or get her a load of clothes she'd probably never wear. Or, thinking
about it further, spend any time in a changing room at all. In the end I
decided to do what I did almost every Saturday.

The cinema foyer was full of cardboard cut-outs of superheroes, cartoon
characters, action heroes. But seeing a film wasn't why I had come here.
I did see films here but never on a Saturday morning. Instead, I took
the stairs up to the little coffee shop on the first floor, its walls
covered with framed pictures of every movie star that had ever been or
ever would be and ordered my second americano of the day (daring) and a
small pastry. While I waited for the coffee to arrive, I took the
expensive notebook out of its paper bag and laid alongside it the
weighty and even more expensive pen I had bought to go with it.

The place was nearly empty. It usually was before the films started
playing. For as long as I'd been in this city, I'd come here on a
Saturday morning, sip a coffee and genuinely intend to write something.
Anything. A short story, the opening scene of the screenplay I was
always thinking about writing without the faintest idea what it would be
about. I had a dozen notebooks, each of which had some nonsense in the
first few pages with the rest blank.

Not this time. I wasn't going to be an academic forever. When I got back
in my body I was going to find a way out. And in order to do that, I had
to come up with something. Because if this whole experience didn't spark
off something, then what was it for?

I clicked the pen and wrote "Saturday morning', noting absently it
wasn't in my usual handwriting. The words were smaller, neater, the
loops all the same size, unlike my normal writing style. Okay then, that
was what Francesca's handwriting looked like. And... I added the date.
And underlined it. Twice. Beyond that my mind was blank.

It was fine. I had the whole morning. I could just sit here and drink
coffee until I wrote something or died of an over-stimulated heart. How
many coffees would that take? Another eight? Nine?

Thank God a shadow finally fell upon me. My first coffee. It had begun.
I took a deep breath and looked up, ready to thank the pleasant Polish
girl who always brought me my drinks and sometimes slipped two tiny
biscuits onto the saucer. She might even wonder why of all the seats in
the mostly empty place, I'd chosen to sit where the frowning man usually
sat.

But it wasn't her. It was Katie.

She sat opposite me, waited until the Polish girl had brought me my
actual coffee and left again, then took my notebook and read the single
line before spinning it round again and pushing it back towards me. Then
she leaned forwards and stared into my frankly terrified eyes with a
steady gaze that had neither hostility nor rejection in it. Finally, she
said, "It's you, isn't it? It actually is you."

Unable to get a word out, I nodded.

The Polish girl circled back. "You would like a coffee?"

Katie nodded, holding her card out without her gaze leaving mine. "Yes.
A really really strong one."

We sat in silence until Katie's coffee arrived. I didn't know what to
say, Katie, I guessed, was absorbing the fact that the world which until
recently had made sense, and no-one moved around into different bodies,
had gone forever.

"Can we go over there?" asked Katie, pointing to a sofa in the corner,
under a framed poster of Steve Martin in Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid. I
didn't know how she felt about Steve Martin, but she always preferred
sitting in corners.

"At first, I thought, you know, shit, the first student I ever
spontaneously decided to have some sort of fling with has serious mental
health problems, which makes me the worst mentor ever because I really
should have spotted the signs earlier. And then I just tried to put it
all behind me and move on, because that's what I do. It's what I'm best
at."

I didn't know what to say and the Polish girl was coming back anyway.
She must have sensed some kind of serious conversation was in the
offing, from the way she was hovering, a worried look on her face. But
the plate she set down before us had two enormous pastries on it.

"We made too many," she said. "You look like you might be here a while.
You want other coffees, you just nod."

Female solidarity pastries. We both managed to smile at her, and she
moved away. The sofa wasn't that big and all I could think about was how
part of my thigh was now alongside Katies. She was wearing deep black
jeans and what I think was a man's shirt, crisp, white, loosely open at
the neck, the cuffs rolled back to her elbows, three fine silver
interlinked necklaces around her throat, her hair tied up with just a
smudge of makeup on. She looked incredible.

"But then," she continued softly. "I started to think, what if Francesca
tells the university what happened? I could lose my job."

"I wouldn't-" I started, but my voice caught in my throat. "I mean, she
wouldn't."

She laid a warning hand on my leg, and I shut up, staring at it. Funny
how similar her hands were to Francesca's, long fingers, neat oval
nails, no varnish.

"Anyway," she said. "I was fretting, couldn't sleep. But the thing that
kept going over and over in my mind wasn't the crazy stuff, not exactly.
It was the thing you said about the flush. Because the more I thought
about it, the more I couldn't think of a single person I'd said that to.
And then I realised if I went with the batshit stuff you'd said, even
just as a hypothetical thing, it explained all the other stuff that had
been worrying me. Like how when I saw the both of you at the university,
the person I thought was you just didn't notice me at all. Or at the
mentoring event, you didn't react to half the galleries I'd mentioned,
like they were all the same to you suddenly. Or at my place when all you
had on was my dressing gown and I'd never wanted to kiss Francesca
before, always thought she was pretty as hell, obviously, objectively
she's - you're - gorgeous, but not like that."

I nodded carefully. I didn't want to ruin anything.

"I woke up this morning and I thought no, it's too ridiculous. I'm just
embarrassed about picking a wrong 'un. So, I set myself a challenge. I'd
sneak into this little coffee shop you come to every Saturday morning,
when you get the chance, and if I saw you here, the real you, at your
table with a notebook I'd know the whole thing was rubbish. But I saw
Francesca instead. And then I just knew. It's you, isn't it, Andy?"

I turned to her. My eyes were filled with tears. She gasped because she
might have believed I was telling the truth but up until that point
she'd hadn't really known.

"It's true?" she whispered.

I nodded. "It's completely mad, I know, but yes, I swear." I blinked at
her. "Shit, I hadn't cried for years before this."

She passed me a napkin, waited until I'd dapped my eyes. She was staring
at me now, not in horror, not even in disbelief, but because... well,
because she was finally seeing me. "What's it like?"

"What's it like?" I shrugged. "Which bit? Having a body that's fifteen
years younger and a completely different shape? Or having everyone call
you by a different name and having no idea you barely know what they're
talking about half the time?"

"Um," said Katie cautiously. "Let's start with the first bit."

"Well," I said, gesturing downwards. "The boobs are nice, obviously."

"Sure," said Katie. "And, erm, everything else?"

"Feels weird being shorter. And more vulnerable too, it's like her
skin's thinner than mine, softer too. I feel more tuned into everything
but also like I could get hurt at any moment."

"And what about-" Katie's gaze flickered briefly down to my crotch. "You
having, erm. Or you not having..."

"A penis anymore?" I said rather tartly. The Polish girl cleaning two
tables away suddenly paused with her cloth for a moment, then resumed
twice as hard as before. "I seem to have adjusted, for the time being,"
I said dryly.

"You don't feel you're, you know, a man trapped in a woman's body?" She
winced then. "I'm sorry, that's such a cliche."

I shook my head. "No, it's okay. I did feel like that at first, but
now... I don't think I have any dysphoria, exactly. I mean, I do think I
ought to have something else, you know, down there, but it's like my
mind's accepted where it is for the time being. Maybe it gets easier the
longer I'm in here."

"Oh my God," said Katie suddenly. "I forgot. You said this happened to
Rob too? Whose body is he in?"

"Francesca's friend Banshari," I said, but Katie shook her head. She
clearly had no idea who Banshari was. "How's he doing?" she asked. "Is
he freaking out?"

I found myself grinning suddenly. "Do you want to see Rob?"

"Don't go any closer," I hissed. "He'll spot us."

We were just in the entrance to Flaherty's. I looked around until I saw
them: Jake sitting behind a mound of fries and a tall beer and Rob,
sitting next to him, stuffing a burger into his mouth. Both were staring
at a huge wall screen showing enormous men in small shorts smashing each
other into the ground in pursuit of something that looked like a rugby
ball but probably wasn't.

As we watched, someone scored a try, or a goal or something, and
whatever it was, everyone in the bar, Jake and Rob included, leaped to
their feet, yelling in triumph and punching the air. Rob raised his fist
high then got a polite tap on the shoulder from Jake, who shouted
something in his ear.

We ducked back before they could see us.

"Oh wow," said Katie. "Okay, although I suppose he got off a lot more
lightly than you."

"He did?" I asked, puzzled. "How do you figure?"

"He's still pretty big," said Katie. "And this Banshari dude's got a
nice surfer haircut now, didn't Rob have a buzz cut before? Still
getting plenty of attention, too, that chick in the dungarees with the
fantastic cleavage is really into him, I can tell."

I risked a quick look back. Rob was facing Jake now, his face turned
obediently upwards so Jake could dab at it carefully with a napkin to
remove the blob of ketchup to one side. He wasn't trying to cop a feel
or anything. Banshari was right, Jake was a gentleman.

"Um," I said carefully. "Rob is the chick in the dungarees with the
fantastic cleavage."

Katie didn't say much after that. We went back to hers, mainly because
we were having the sort of conversation where you had to drop your voice
every time someone walked past, and it was getting annoying.

"Cup of tea?" asked Katie. "You like Earl Grey, don't you?"

"I do," I said annoyed at the dopamine rush provoked by Katie
remembering what tea I liked. It had only been a month. It was the least
she could do. "But Francesca seems to prefer the herbal stuff."

Katie's hand froze halfway to the cupboard. "So, some of you is you and
some of you is... her?"

"If you're asking who you had sex with yesterday," I said evenly, "that
was me."

She brought me my tea in silence and sat next to me on the sofa again.
"That honestly wasn't what I was asking. Although now you mention it-"

As I reached forward for the tea she punched me in the boob, not hard,
but hard enough to hurt. Really hurt, actually.

I gasped. "Jesus!" Folding my arms across my chest I doubled over in
pain. Katie looked at me evenly.

"That's for not telling me who you really were before we did it."

I made a high-pitched whining sound for some time before I was able to
make words again. "You wouldn't have believed me!"

Her gaze was stern. "That's not the point and you know it."

I did know. Slowly, I unfolded my arms. Wow, that actually had hurt as
much as being kicked in the balls. Who knew?

"I deserved that," I panted. "I should have said something. In my
defence-" I thought she was going to punch me again and held up a hand
in warning but she just glared at me. "You did make the first move. It
wouldn't have occurred to me for a moment."

"Because you didn't think I liked girls?"

"Because I didn't come over for sex! I didn't even want to come in, just
that stupid lorry splashed me. All I wanted to know was..."

It hung there for a while. Katie wasn't glaring at me now, but she
wasn't going to help me out either. It was up to me to say it.

"I wanted to know why we'd broken up. At first, I didn't even know we
had broken up, then I realised you were ghosting me. I wanted to know
why but also, I wanted to know if we had another chance."

"Ah," said Katie, in a small sad voice.

It turned out it was nothing to do with me. Not exactly. It was nothing
to do with her sometimes liking girls either.

"Partly, it's the way guys look at me," she said. She was huddled up at
the end of the sofa now, clutching her tea like some kind of talisman.
"Like they either want me, or if they're with me, like they've won the
jackpot. It gets so boring."

I didn't know what to say to that, mainly because I knew I was as guilty
of it as anyone else.

"You must have noticed what it's like, these past few days," she said
softly. "Francesca's insanely attractive. And you're not exactly dressed
in sackcloth and ashes."

I coughed awkwardly. I'd tucked Francesca's legs underneath me, which
looked weirdly demure, but otherwise I'd become self-conscious Katie
could see my pants. But yeah, Francesca looked great in that skirt and I
kind of... wanted her to continue looking great.

"It's not the looks," I said. "I noticed I do get them, but I'm not sure
my radar's really attuned to them, to be honest. It's the way dudes find
excuses to touch you, like if they're going past in a crowded room or
something. It creeps me out."

"And you haven't even been on public transport yet, I'll bet. It's Ubers
all the way for our Francesca."

I nodded grudgingly, feeling oddly disloyal. It wasn't Francesca's fault
she was loaded. It wasn't like she was a drug dealer or some dodgy
influencer hawking weight loss tea to impressionable teens.

"So, the first part of any relationship is going out with a dude who
looks like the cat that got the cream the whole time," she continued.
"But eventually that wears off. And if the relationship gets past that
stage there's all that other stuff."

She took in my puzzled expression. "Kids," she clarified.

I blinked. "Bloody hell, we were only going out for six months."

"And if it went on for six years, what then?"

The stupid thing is, I hadn't really thought about it. I did want kids,
eventually, I supposed.

"I don't mind kids," she said softly. "But I don't want to be a mum. I
just can't do it. Not after... all that."

Katie's own mother had been a disaster. We'd barely talked about it, but
clearly the woman had been a mess. Narcissistic, dumping young Katie
from relative to relative, swooping back into her life whenever she was
bored then dumping her again.

"I get scared," she said simply. "Easier to just throw it all in the
air and start all over again."

For a moment, I wanted to say start again with me, now. A new beginning.
Then I remembered I'd be me again in a few days and we'd be back to
where we started.

Katie yawned, stretched her arms out before her, stared at them like
she'd never seen them before. "I can't imagine what it's like," she
said, sounding almost envious. "Suddenly being someone else. Not having
all that... baggage."

"It's just someone else's baggage now," I said, thinking of that girl,
Gemma. I seemed to have smoothed that one over, but if I stayed in this
body much longer, think how many other Gemmas there must be.

"I'm trying to imagine suddenly having a penis," Katie announced,
staring down at herself. I nearly spat out my tea, sitcom-style. Then
she looked up at me. "Wait, have you had a period yet?"

"I've only been Francesca for four days! And no, she's not due for
another ten or sometime, so I lucked out there. Banshari too. I
appreciate I'm not getting the full experience, not shedding my womb
lining or being groped on public transport." I couldn't help sounding
tetchy.

She patted me comfortingly. "You've got a few days left. Who knows what
terrible things could happen."

The vibes were very different to the last time I'd been here. She felt
like a wise older sister now. I put the empty cup down.

"Yes, and then I'm me again. So, how are we going to deal with that?"

She gazed at me, evenly. "Are you asking if we're going to get back
together?"

Once again, it didn't feel like the right time to being up the mini-
break.

"I suppose I am."

She reached out and took my hand and I knew right away it wasn't going
to happen. "If I was going to give it a go with anyone, it would be you.
But... something has to change, and I don't know what. Or I have to
change, or something. I'm sorry, because honestly, I do think I... like
you very much. I mean, I liked you anyway, but I really like this
version of you."

"Because of the boobs?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because I think you understand me better now, in a
way no man ever has. I don't see that changing even when you've lost
those lovely boobs."

I refused to let me distract me, even though I couldn't deny hearing
those words did start me tingling.

"I have to ask," I said abruptly. "The sex we had yesterday versus...
before. How did it rate?"

"Definitely better."

I gaped at her. "Bloody hell, don't sugar coat it!"

"You did ask. I did think at the time it was weird how you seemed to
know all my special tricks but were wigging out like you'd never been
touched before." She laughed. "Oh God, you're blushing. It's absolutely
adorable. And for the record, I've never seen Francesca blush all the
time I've mentored her, so that one's on you."

She looked more serious suddenly. "To be honest though, I don't think
being with another girl really works for me long-term. It's really
intense, but it fades just as quickly." She gazed at me levelly. "If you
really were her and this had happened? I guarantee within three months
the sex would have stopped and we'd be buying furniture together while
secretly I was thinking about how quickly I could untangle myself and
run away."

"Wow," I managed. "So, when I'm back to being a dude this probably isn't
going to work out, but also if something went really wrong and I stayed
as Francesca, it wouldn't work out either."

"I'm really sorry," she said. "Wait, do you have any reason to think
something could go wrong?"

"It's a ritual some students got from the dark web," I said. "I'm sure
it's completely fool proof." Although despite the irony, I did feel
something of a shiver.