A children’s game by Kate Assheton

It was one of those daft things that children do. My older sister was about six at the time and she had some of her friends round for her birthday party – strictly no boys except me because my mother had insisted, not because Lucy wanted me there. The girls were sitting round in a circle and Lucy had cut pictures from one of mother’s magazines.

"You have to keep the picture folded," she said. "Then we close our eyes and the picture will be us when we are grown up."

The pictures were passed round but there was none for me and I protested.

"Give Mark one," said my mother and so, unwillingly Lucy found a picture that she had folded and thrust it into my hands.

"Close your eyes," said Lucy and when we had all done so she chanted, "Spoon and saucer, plate and cup – this is me when I grow up."

I don’t know where she had got the words from but they were impressive to us and we all very solemnly opened our pictures. One girl had a ballerina, one a lady doctor, another a show jumper.

"What has Mark got?" asked one little girl and the others joined in in chorus.

I peeped at my picture and felt embarrassed because my picture was of a girl in a beautiful deep blue bridesmaid’s dress. She looked gorgeous and I felt a strange warm feeling deep inside – I still remember it – but then Lucy snatched my picture and showed the girls and they all began to laugh and started chanting "Mark will be a bridesmaid." I was upset and burst into tears so that mother had to come to the rescue. To my anxious query about whether I would have to be a bridesmaid she reassured me.

"Don’t worry, Mark, it’s only a game," she said and though I stopped crying and the girls soon forgot the incident it ingrained itself on my memory so that from time to time as I grew older the picture of the lovely girl in her beautiful bridesmaid’s dress flashed before my eyes and I felt the same warm feeling deep inside me.

A couple of years ago I was sitting in the hall of the local school as a member of the local amateur dramatic society. We were not actually in rehearsal at that time and were doing some improvisation. Each of us was given a paper describing a character that we had to think ourselves into; the girls had female characters and the lads male but somehow my paper got mixed up. Imagine my surprise when I read "You are a bridesmaid at a friend’s wedding." I gasped audibly and the producer came and looked at my paper and laughed.

"We had better get you another character," she said and everyone joined in the good-natured banter. But in my heart I felt again the warmth that I had experienced as a child.

At the end of the rehearsal, one of the girls in the group, a sensitive girl who was called Jane came over to me as I as sitting musing about the strange co-incidence.

"Hi, Mark," she said. "You look very thoughtful. And I saw your face when you read the character. You looked so, sort of blissful."

Then I told her about my childhood experience and she listened attentively. She did not laugh as I had expected but went away with a thoughtful expression on her face.

A few days later I received a phone call from Jane.

"Hi Mark," she said. "I have been thinking about what you told me, you know, about being a bridesmaid. You know I am getting married in the summer. I talked it over with Iain and we came up with a suggestion. Nobody who is going to the wedding knows you so we wondered if you might like to be our bridesmaid. We can say that you are a college friend of mine. I am sure you can do it."

I was taken aback and could not answer for quite a while. What a turmoil of thoughts raced through my mind when Jane said this but over them all there floated the memory of that picture from so long ago and the warm feeling that always went with it. The opportunity was too good to turn down.

I met Jane and Iain that weekend.

"We will have to see about turning you into the girl of your dreams," said Jane, looking me up and down. "Do you mind if I phone my cousin Debbie who is a beautician working for a modelling agency?"

I could not do anything but agree to everything Jane suggested. The whole situation was so unreal. I met Debbie the following weekend and she set to work at once on my transformation.

"We need a name for you," said Iain. "We can’t call you Mark if you are a girl. What do you think you should be called?"

The name Catriona just popped into my mind along with the strongest feeling about my bridesmaid’s dress that I had ever experienced. And so Catriona I became. Debbie had brought along a number of wigs for me to try as well as a skirt and top for me to wear to practice being a girl. She tried me as a brunette and though I looked stunning it did not feel right. A short blonde wig looked well on me but I was still unsure. Then she got out a long blonde wig. It was straight and cut to surround my face in a golden frame and I loved the feel of the hair caressing my shoulders but I knew that this was not the one. Then she took out a ginger coloured wig.

"The colour is dark rust," she said as she fitted the cap over my head.

The wig was straight and just shoulder length and framed my face perfectly. I looked into the mirror, saw how well the colour matched my hazel eyes and sighed happily.

"This is the right hair for Catriona," said Jane as she saw my reaction to the wig. And when Debbie had made up my face and put my bra and knickers on me I felt completely at peace. I knew that when I had put on my skirt and top I would have begun to become Catriona.

Over the next few weeks I underwent beauty treatments at Debbie’s salon, having all the hair waxed away from my body and a treatment on my face to rid me of my beard. And each time I made a step in the direction of becoming Catriona the more contented I felt. Now it was a matter of finding the right bridesmaid’s dress.

I went shopping for the dress with Jane. By now I was confident enough to make myself up and my voice had become more feminine as the days went by, acquiring a slight Scottish lilt that crept in unasked. It was not an easy task because I knew that there was only one dress that Catriona could possibly wear. Of course, I loved many of the dresses that I had on. They ranged from the most simple to the most dramatic. One that I tried on was made of pink satin. The bodice was tight but the skirt was held out by a crinoline petticoat. Jane loved it. The material of the skirt was swagged and there was a series of small bows that suggested a romantic shepherdess. The final foot of the dress was white lace that looped around the skirt and then fell to the ground. A ruffle went right round the wide neck and this was trimmed with yet more lace, as were the short puff sleeves. I certainly looked beautiful in the dress and I had to parade several times around the shop to the delight both of Jane and the owner. My hair fell softly around my neck and I knew that I made a gorgeous girl. But even when I was given a pair of long pink satin gloves and a string of pearls around my neck it still did not feel right.

At another boutique I was dressed in a gold fitted dress with short sleeves and a wide round neck and again I felt beautiful. The dress was tight on my hips and I felt utterly feminine when I wore it but the glow was not there, the warmth that would tell me when I had found the right dress. And it did not go well with my hair. I really adored another dress which was made of creamy organza with a tight embroidered bodice and thin straps but the feeling was again missing. Another dress, in pale lilac satin with long gauzy medieval sleeves looked stunning and felt wonderful on but it was not the one. Somehow the colour made my face look pale and flat.

"Can you give us any more idea about your dream dress?" asked Jane one evening as we sat sipping tea after another fruitless search.

I crossed my legs in my brief miniskirt and put my hands over my eyes trying to remember something so long ago in the past. I felt the softness of my golden wig in my hands, the bra with its silicone falsies tight on my chest. I had to get into the mind of the girl I knew was the real Catriona. Several seconds passed and at last something came.

"The dress must be blue," I said. "Apart from that there is nothing."

And so the following weekend we concentrated on blue dresses. The first one I tried on was beautiful. It was a rich blue satin with thin straps, a fitted bodice and long a line skirt that fell to my feet. For a long time I revelled in that dress, enjoying the smoothness of the satin in my hands and the heavy movement of the dress as I walked. There was a satin stole that went with the dress and I draped it over my upper arms. Jane was beginning to feel relieved that the search was over but no. This dress, though lovely, was not the one. Another satin strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline was gorgeous and the boutique owner was very impressed at how I looked in it but again the special glow was missing. I think that by now Jane was beginning to regret agreeing to bring my dream to reality. We had visited every bridal boutique in the area and I had tried on dozens of dresses. I think she was beginning even to suspect my motives. The wedding was now only three weeks away and though all the other preparations were well in hand the bridesmaid was still not clothed.

"If we don’t find the dress this afternoon I will wear the blue satin," I said though I knew that the beauty of the day would be marred for me. Fed up with traipsing round the town we had decided to get a bar lunch in a neighbouring village. The weather was perfect and I sat in my miniskirt and strappy top enjoying the feel of the sun on my feminine body. I felt completely at peace and I told Jane so.

"Does that mean that the blue satin will be right after all?" she asked and I was just about to answer when suddenly I noticed a sign on a boutique at the other side of the village green. "Country Brides" it read. Jane noticed it too and laughed.

"Not another one!" she exclaimed. "Oh well, we might as well try."

We finished our lunch and, leaving the car in the pub car park, we walked across the green. The sun seemed unusually warm and bright and the birds seemed to be singing more sweetly than I had ever heard them before. I put this down to the fact that we were in the country away from the noise of the traffic. The little shop was quaint with a bow window with bottle glass panes and a low door where you had to stoop to enter. The owner of the boutique was a middle-aged lady and she reminded me of my mother. I explained that I was looking for a special blue dress and the lady looked thoughtful.

"We don’t carry much stock, my dear," she said. "In fact, I think there is only one blue dress in your size."

"If it isn’t the right one," I said to Jane, "we will go back and buy the blue satin."

The boutique owner was gone for what seemed an age but then she returned carrying a dress in a long white plastic cover. And the instant she unzipped the cover I knew that this was the dress that I had been searching for for so long. And the moment I put it on there was such a flooding of warmth through my whole body that I felt I might pass out with pleasure. A ray of bright sunlight suddenly illuminated the shop and I was back once more in that house at my sister’s party, holding that piece of folded paper and hearing the taunts of my sister’s friends as they realised that I had been given a picture of a girl in a bridesmaid’s dress. I could hear their mocking chant of "Mark’s going to be a bridesmaid" but I only smiled. They were wrong of course. It wasn’t Mark who was going to be the bridesmaid but Catriona.

My preparations for the wedding were nothing if not thorough. Every unwanted hair on my body was waxed away and my face was as smooth as any girl’s. I had acrylic extensions to my fingernails and, at the last minute, Debbie had suggested that I have hair extensions too so that, although the style and colour of my hair was the same as it always had been when I was Catriona it was now firmly attached to the top of my head. I will not speak at length of the week before the wedding when I was Catriona all the time. I will not speak of the hen night when I wore a short red frilly disco dress and little else.

Despite the weather forecast which was predicting rain and storms, the day of the wedding dawned fine and warm, with clear skies and enough of a breeze to prevent it being too sultry. I was awake early and I bathed in a warm bath fragrant with scented oils. Debbie came immediately after breakfast to see to Jane’s and my preparation. As I sat in the conservatory dressed only in a blue strapless bra and matching briefs I reflected on what had happened to me. I felt very contented, certain that what I was doing was the only thing I could do. It was, I thought, as if my whole life so far was leading up to this moment when I should be Catriona, Jane’s bridesmaid. I looked down at the now familiar female contours of my body and felt the softness of my golden hair on my neck and sighed contentedly. The warm glow that I had experienced for the first time so long ago as a child was all about me.

After she had completed Jane’s make-up Debbie called for me to go and sit in the make-up chair, putting a towel around my neck so that my underwear did not get dirty from the foundation. Very carefully she smoothed the cream foundation over my face, having first pulled back my hair into a ponytail. She plucked a stray hair from my left eyebrow and then very carefully began to make up my eyes.

"You have beautiful eyes, Catriona," she said. "I want to make the most of them."

I relaxed as she put mascara on to my long eyelashes. It was good to be undergoing this pampering and I was so happy that I was a girl. Then she put on the eyeliner and the shadow, blending it in so that it was perfect.

"I want to emphasise the outer part of your eyes, Catriona," she said. "In that way we make them appear to be even bigger and wider than they actually are."

Finally, having painted my lips with a pretty deep pink, she dusted my face with powder and stood back satisfied to admire her handiwork. The hour of our departure for the church was almost here and Debbie went to assist Jane with her wedding dress, a beautiful satin and tulle gown with pearls and sequins around the neck and waist. Then she came back to me bearing the blue bridesmaid’s dress, that magical dress that had been waiting for me since I was a four-year-old boy. I put on my stockings and fastened the suspenders and I was ready. It was a two piece dress with a long skirt and a tight corset top. First Debbie helped me into a waist slip and then, very carefully, she picked up the skirt and, opening the zip wide she asked me to step into it very carefully. She hooked it tightly around my waist and fastened the zip. The she took the strapless corset top and put it around me. She hooked in the zip and then fastened the hook at the bottom. She then fastened the hooks at the top and began to zip me in. Because it was a corset top it was very tight about me. I had not worn the dress since I had tried it on at Country Brides. The fit had been perfect from the start but then I would not have expected it to be otherwise since the dress was made just for me. The colour of the dress was a deep rich navy blue. With my gorgeous golden hair and my hazel eyes I looked stunning. The material of the skirt was floaty organza over satin and it might as well have been cobweb gossamer as it gently caressed my legs and thighs. My bare shoulders were white and the a-line skirt fell around my feet over the petticoat. The corset bodice emphasised my waist, giving me delightful feminine curves. Carefully Debbie arranged my skirt so that it fell straight to my feet and the bodice hugged me in its loving embrace, pouring through me once more the pleasant glow that came upon me whenever I thought of it. The embroidery on bottom of the bodice made an attractive contrast to the plain skirt while the strapless top showed off my breasts to perfection. I was a gorgeous girl and as I sat in the chair for Debbie to comb out my hair I am certain I heard a nightingale singing.

We made a wonderful sight, Jane and I, as we waited to be conveyed to the church. I went on ahead revelling in every step I took in my deep blue satin strappy shoes, that had been dyed to match the skirt perfectly, up the long path to the church door. Everyone had eyes only for me and I felt like a queen. The breeze blew my hair against my cheek as if unable to resist caressing me. My bare shoulders and arms were as white as any regal lady’s. I wore my flimsy organza stole around my upper arms and carried a posy of white roses.

Jane arrived at the church soon after me and I followed her and her father up the aisle gently cradling my bouquet of white roses in my arm. As we arrived at the crossing and Iain stepped out to join Jane he flashed a look at me and smiled a smile of delight. A ray of sunshine broke through the stained glass window of the church and highlighted the deep blue of my dress as if it were a piece of the starry night sky that had fallen to earth.

I felt really beautiful that day. I floated on a cloud of unreality. I signed my name, Catriona Campbell, in the register, I walked back down the aisle on the arm of the best man who couldn’t keep his eyes off me even though his fiancée was in the congregation, I posed for photograph after photograph. My beautiful blue dress was a delight to wear and inside me, all through that day and for many days after there was the warm glow that I remembered from so long ago. At the reception I was the centre of attention. Even though I was not really Jane’s old friend Catriona many people seemed to think they remembered me from the past; someone recalled that I came from Edinburgh and several complimented me on my soft Scottish accent which came out whenever I spoke. All through the reception I revelled in my feelings. Whenever the opportunity arose – and I saw to it that the opportunity arose often – I took a look at myself in a mirror and marvelled at the sight of the lovely girl in the gorgeous deep blue dress.

That is all there is to say really. I was naturally sad to take off the dress at the end of the day but I still keep it and whenever I feel in need of cheering up I take it from its white bag and put it on and once again I am Catriona.

There is a strange sequel, however. One day recently my mother was visiting me and we were reminiscing about my childhood.

"Do you remember Lucy’s party when you were about four?" she asked. "The one where the girls had that silly game when you got the picture of the girl in the bridesmaid’s dress?"

I feigned ignorance but was agog to know what was coming next.

"I was looking through some of your old books the other day and I found this paper folded up in the back of one of them."

She handed me a paper that was getting yellow round the edges. I opened it and there was the girl in the beautiful bridesmaid’s dress. She looked exactly as I had looked as Catriona at Jane’s wedding.

"The memory of that picture haunted you for many years," said my mother. "I don’t know why. After all, it was only a silly children’s game."

I nodded.

"Only a children’s game," I said, turning over the folded paper in my hands, and I smiled.