which was no bad thing, but to his credit he just said, ‘Hello, Stevie, nice to meet you.’
‘And you.’ Stevie smiled charmingly.
Lucy on the other hand didn’t have the same reservations as Adrian, and sometimes there was no filter on her thoughts. ‘You’re never called Stevie!’ she cried, horrified, staring at him.
His face fell. Clearly he had wanted to be noticed, but in a positive way, and it was clear from his expression this wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated. I must say I’d expected better from Lucy. I’ve tried to bring up my children to be non-judgemental and accepting of differences whether they are race, religion, physical or – as with Stevie – gender related.
I threw her a warning glance, which she either didn’t see or ignored.
‘You’re not really called Stevie, are you?’ Lucy persisted dramatically. ‘Please tell me it’s not true!’
The poor lad looked mortified and I was about to tell Lucy off when I realised what she meant. ‘Oh, Lucy. Stop it. Shall I tell him or will you?’
‘You can.’ She laughed.
Stevie was looking at me, worried and confused, as well he might. ‘Many years ago Lucy came to me as a foster child and stayed,’ I explained to him. ‘I wanted to adopt her, but her social worker at that time was against it. She felt she should live with a family that reflected her ethnicity.’ (Lucy has dual heritage, and I tell her story in Will You Love Me?). ‘Thankfully we had a change of social worker and the adoption went ahead. That first social worker was called Stevie. I had forgotten. It’s no criticism of you – Lucy just didn’t get on with her.’
Stevie gasped with relief and managed a smile. ‘My grandparents call me Steven, but I prefer Stevie.’
‘That’s fine,’ I said.
‘Can we eat now, Mum?’ Adrian asked patiently. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Yes, of course.’
I served dinner and everyone tucked in so all that could be heard for some minutes was the chink of cutlery on china. Lucy was sitting directly opposite Stevie and I saw her keep looking up at him. I had a good idea what she was thinking even before she said it.
‘Stevie, why are you wearing all that make-up?’ she asked at length, not rudely, but it was a forthright question, and probably one he’d heard before.
He didn’t take offence but, setting down his cutlery, he said, ‘It’s a statement about who I am. I see myself as gender-fluid, which means I haven’t got a fixed gender. That’s not to say I’m gay, although it’s possible, I haven’t decided yet. I’m trying to find out if I want to live my life as male or female, so at present I’m gender-fluid.’ I thought that, for a fourteen-year-old, he was very articulate in matters that deeply affected him.
‘So you’re making up your mind, right?’ Lucy asked him.
‘Yes, although I could stay gender-fluid all my life and not identify with either sex. Some days I feel more female than male, then it can change. Sometimes it can change during a day depending on who I’m with and what I’m doing.’
‘That must be confusing,’ Adrian remarked.
Stevie shrugged. ‘It would be more confusing for me if I pretended to be male all the time, like my grandparents want me to.’
‘Do you get bullied at school?’ Paula asked sensitively.
‘I used to,’ Stevie said, picking up his knife and fork again, ‘so I stopped going.’
I looked at him carefully. ‘Stevie, is that the reason you haven’t been attending school – because you were being bullied?’
‘Sort of,’ he admitted.
‘Did you tell anyone you were being bullied?’
‘My grandparents, but Grandpa said I needed to man up, and if I stopped behaving like a pansy I wouldn’t attract the bullies.’
Having met Fred, I could hear him say that – a flippant, simplistic solution – but his intolerance and lack of sensitivity obviously hadn’t helped Stevie, who was looking for support.
‘Did you tell your social worker you were being bullied?’ I asked.
‘No. I thought she would side with Grandpa and say I had to go to school.’
‘I’ll explain to Verity, and when we see your mentor tomorrow we’ll talk to her about what the school can do to help, all right?’
He shrugged and continued eating while I thought, Well done, Paula, for spotting that. Bullying was such an obvious reason for a child or young person refusing to go to school, especially for someone who stood out as being different, like Stevie. Bullying can make a child’s life a misery and all schools in the UK have an anti-bullying policy. But of course for it to be effective the school needs to be aware the bullying is taking place, and children often don’t want to admit they’re being bullied, feeling it is their fault. Unfortunately, Fred’s bigoted remarks had compounded that, but I was pleased that Stevie had been able to share it with us so I could help him.
‘OK,’ Lucy said, ‘I understand what you’re saying about the gender stuff, but why are you wearing so much make-up?’ Let it go, Lucy, I thought, you’ve made your point. ‘I mean, it’s too much,’ she continued. ‘It’s like you think that’s how girls should look. Most of us don’t. It’s so stereotypical, and as Mum tells us – when it comes to make-up, less is more.’
So she had been listening to me, I thought! I waited tentatively for Stevie’s reaction. I hoped he didn’t feel Lucy was getting at him, although what she’d said was true.
‘So you think I’m wearing too much make-up?’ he asked, as though it was a revelation.
‘Yes, I do, far too much. Don’t you think so, Paula?’
‘A little,’ she said diplomatically.
‘What about you, Adrian?’
‘I don’t know the first thing about make-up,’ he replied.
‘But Kirsty doesn’t wear a lot of slap, does she?’ Lucy persisted.
‘No,’ Adrian conceded.
Lucy returned her attention to Stevie. ‘If you like, I’ll show you how to apply make-up,’ Lucy offered. ‘I wanted to be a beautician once.’
‘Really? That would be wonderful!’ Stevie cried passionately.
‘I wouldn’t wear it for school, though,’ Adrian said.
‘No,’ Paula agreed. ‘Girls aren’t allowed to wear make-up in school, so that rule should apply to everyone.’
I felt rather proud of my family. Here they were, discussing this sensitive and unusual topic constructively and being supportive of Stevie. None of us had faced the challenges he had, so it was a learning curve
