Like wtw at Gallipoli. Or wtw on Facebook, although both of us have individually tried that medium of social chit chat and exchange neither of us seems to have got the hang of it, and a task such as searching for the shadowy Mrs Wilkinson in order to ask her to be ‘our friend’ seems entirely beyond us. Find Emma, as her first name might be, Wilkinson. If the blurry photograph reportedly posted on the social network site is really her standing next to Ted Blacclestone it ought to be easy. But Blacclestone! Now there’s a name to defeat even the most sophisticated of internet provider or secret service search engines.
I’ve told you already, Ernesto says sat hunched down inside his raincoat and peering over his thick rimmed glasses, Not everything is listed in the railway timetables. Take my name, Ernesto. It is not mine at all. It is, or rather was, my elder brother’s name. I was given it after he died. Like his second hand shoes, a hand me down. My real name is something else altogether, a secret as it happens which I intend to keep. I would wager the same for Mrs Wilkinson. Not Emma at all.
My instincts about Saturday are proving correct, he is clearly a natural born detective. The bio states he gained a Phd in Physics but then gave up a budding career in science to write fiction. I just hope he is our side, because you have to keep on your toes in these tricky frontier lands, you can never be quite sure whose side who is on.
Like your name used to be Charlie, Ernesto says pointing a trembling finger at me, And a name like that goes in the category of gender neutral, girl or boy, whatever your preference. Switching is “second nature” with a name like Charlie, and my other wager is that you will find Mrs Wilkinson much easier to locate if you take up being him… Or her…
Although I had no idea how Ernesto knew, Charlie was indeed the name I took for myself in childhood. I had never realised that changing sex could be as simple as changing a name… Boy… Girl… it was like slipping between fiction and non-fiction, to begin with it is… well… just plain embarrassing whichever way you are going, girl/boy, boy/girl, things you did not ever expect to expose begin sticking out where you least expect them to. But then you seem to begin to get the hang of it, things seem to be settling down again, and for a moment you think you know what you are doing.
Charlie Wilkinson! Immanuel our baggage handler and general fixer leaps down from off the luggage rack. Arms are thrown around me and multiple kisses land on my lips. It has been such a long time! Immanuel cries, How are you doing?