Mrs Vaughn fetched a tea tray through and set it down on the coffee table.

There’s a big teapot, a small jug of milk, four cups & saucers and a sugar bowl.

She turned the pot and asked Miss Culnane if she took milk and sugar.

“Just milk please.” their form teacher replied.

Mrs Vaughn poured the tea and handed it to her, just as the doorbell rang.

“Perfect timing,” she said. She considered sending one of the boys but reckoned it would be easier to answer the door herself.

“You must be Andrew’s mother?” she said, loud enough for the boys to hear.

“I can see the family resemblance,” she said as she led the visitor through to the lounge.

Alan couldn’t look his mother in the eye.

He hung his head whilst she looked him up and down.

Mrs Vaughn told him to stand so his mother could sit.

“You too William,” she added.

The boys sheepishly stood and hovered nervously by the fireplace.

To their left sits Mrs Vaughn.

To their right, their form teacher and sat facing them on the sofa is Alan’s mother who wears the wryest of smiles.

“They’re lovely dresses Mrs Vaughn.” she says. “How longs it been since you last wore one Andrew?”

Alan gulped and ever so slightly shrugged his shoulders.

“He’s been petticoated previously?” Mrs Vaughn quizzed.

“Oh yes, but not recently.” his mother replied.

She told the women a tale about a boisterous six-year-old boy who was forever playing up whenever his big sister babysat for him.

Every Thursday, she and Andrew’s father went dancing at the pier but Andrew would never do as his big sister told him.

He’d refuse to go to bed on time, refuse to tidy up his toy, and dispute his sister’s authority over him.

“It was then that  I read an article in Good Housekeeping which advocated petticoating as a means of controlling unruly boys…

So from that day forth, whenever his father and I were out, Andrew’s sister would make him wear her old dresses and he was much easier to control.”

Andrew’s jaw dropped.

So far as he knew it was all his sister’s doing.

He had no idea that his mother knew all along that she dressed him up like a girl whenever she had to babysit.

This happened at least every fortnight from the age of six until he was about nine when his big sister left school and left home… leaving no one to babysit.

“He didn’t need petticoating when I or his father were in charge… it was only his sister he’d play-up with.” his mother added.

“I thought it was all her idea,” Andrew grumbled.

His mother smiled and shook her head.

Andrew gulped. “Did dad know too?” he asked.

His mother smiled and nodded.

Andrew’s mind flashed back to those evenings when his parents were going dancing.

They’d leave the house, dressed to the nines;

Dad in a tuxedo or dinner suit,

Mum in a ghastly ball gown.

No sooner they had they gone, he’d be summoned to his sister’s room where a dress would be waiting for him.

He was too young to fully recall the first time she put him in a dress or how she managed it, but he recalls the fear of anyone knowing and how that was always used as leverage.

He doesn’t recall ever putting up much of a fight, just wearing what he was given and feeling safe in the knowledge that it would remain a secret… and as he confessed to William earlier, he just got used to it.

Now he’s thirteen and before today, wearing a dress was a dim memory.

“Have you ever worn a dress before today William?” Andrew’s mother asked.

William shook his head.

“Oh well… there’s a first time for everything I suppose,” she said in a passive-aggressive tone.

“Can I pour you a cup of tea?” Mrs Vaughn offered.

“Oh yes, one sugar please.” Andrew’s mother replied. “Thank you.” she chirped.

Being stood by the fireplace, all eyes were on the boys.

Mrs Vaughn told how she’d noticed them loitering by the bus stop and approached them, knowing full well they were skipping school.

“First they claimed it was lunchtime, but it was barely eleven a.m,” she said.

“Then they claimed the school’s boiler had broke and they’d been sent home for the day,” she added.

“It’s such a shame when they so quickly resort to telling lies when the truth never hurts anyone…”

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be your mother I expect.”Mrs Vaughn said to William as she got up.

William was in a mad panic as his mother entered the lounge.

He was physically trembling as she looked him up and down.

“Look at what you’ve got yourself into.” his mother sighed.

“Please, take a seat.” Mrs Vaughn said, before offering her a cup of tea.

She tells William’s mother the series of events, approaching the boys, asking if they were concerned that a truant officer or policeman might spot them and their apathetic and arrogant response.

She explained how she cunningly managed to get the boys out of their clothes and into the bath, “…and after that, putting them in dresses is easy.” she proudly stated.

She looked the boys up and down and said,

“Better a dress than your birthday suit, eh, boys?”

They didn’t reply. They couldn’t. Their sense of shame was far too great.

“So…” William’s mother asked. “What now?”

“Well…” their form teacher began. “…we’re not sure just how often they’ve been skipping school but I know it’s got to the point to warrant a suspension.

” Miss Culnane explained. Both Andrew and William’s mothers expressed that they’d rather the boys weren’t suspended.

“Truancy aside…” Miss Culnane continued, “…they seldom complete their homework assignments and on the rare occasion they do attend class, they’re disobedient and disruptive.” she explained.

“They’ve been given lines, detention, a good talking to but nothing sinks in…

I’m sorry to be the one to inform you but the headmaster is determined to suspend them for a fortnight…

I did all I could to stop him from excluding them altogether.”

Both of the boy’s parents were livid with the news, but the boys felt slightly more optimistic.

“You mean… we don’t have to go to school for two weeks?” William asked.

“You won’t be attending Cromwell Road for the next two weeks…” Miss Culnane informed them.

“…but you will be attending school.”

“What school?” Andrew asked.

“A special school.” Miss Culnane replied.

“The sort of school that’ll have you longing to return to Cromwell Road…

think yourselves lucky that you’ll only be attending for a fortnight.”

“Not Summer View!” Wayne blurted, that being the local school for children with learning difficulties, special needs, and disabilities.

Miss Culnane shakes her head and tells him no. “Where then?” William asked.

“It’s in the town center and it’s called St Felicity’s.” their teacher informed them.

“That’s a girl’s school!” Andrew blurted.

“Not entirely.” Mrs Vaughn said.

“They do accommodate a handful of boys, not that one would notice,” she added.

“Are you a teacher there or summit?” William asked.

“I think the word you meant to use is ‘something’ William.” Mrs Vaughn retorted in a most patronizing tone.

“A ‘summit’ is the top of a mountain.” she added, before informing the boys that she’s not a teacher anymore, but an education welfare officer, “…or truant officer if you prefer.”

The boys gulped in unison.

They recalled when she asked if they were worried about being spotted by a truant officer or policeman and figured should that happen, they’d simply leg it.

Little did they realize that they were talking to a truant officer.

“Knowing which school you should have been at was easy since it is written on your blazers… and your full names are written on your name tags… all it needed was a quick call to your school, and notifying St Felicity’s that I’d have two new pupils for them,” she explained.

“Now all we need to do is to fill out some parental consent forms and your temporary transfer will be finalized,” she said, removing some forms from a folder and handing them out to their parents and teacher.

“I think two weeks at St Felicity’s will do you both the world of good.” she smiled.

Their parents perused the forms, filled in the relevant details, and finally, sighed their consent.

“So… where do we go from here?” Andrew’s mother asked.

“Home.” Mrs Vaughn replied.

“They’ll attend St Felicity’s at 8 am tomorrow morning.

A mini-bus will collect them, and if you could note down their clothing and shoe sizes, then they’ll be given a uniform first thing.”

William’s mother had a face like thunder as she picked up her handbag.

“Are our clothes dry yet?” Wayne asked.

Mrs Vaughn, who sat closest to Andrew put he fingers on the hem of his skirt and said “They’re quite dry.”

“Not these!” William blurted. “Our clothes… in the wash.”

“Oh your school uniforms?” Mrs Vaughn retorted.

“You won’t be needing those for a couple of weeks boys.” she said, looking them up and down.

“But you will need some footwear. Do you know your sizes?”

“I’ve got shoes.” Andrew bluntly stated. William said much the same.

Mrs Vaughn patronized them and said that their shoes wouldn’t ‘go’ with their dresses.

“I’m not going home in this!” Andrew claimed.

“That is not your decision to make young man.” Mrs Vaughn retorted.

She turned to his mother, raised an eyebrow and put the ball in her court.

“Well.” his mother tutted.

“Shameful as it is, and since your own clothes won’t be dry for hours yet,

we don’t have much choice,” she said, before informing Mrs Vaughn of his shoe size.

“Wayne’s a five-and-a-half.” Williams’s mother added.

Mrs Vaughn left the room.

Both of the boys audibly followed her footsteps, up the stairs and into the bedroom in which they’d innocently donned their frocks.

They gulped as they heard her descend the stairs and were practically crapping themselves when she returned.

They were slightly relieved to be given a pair of slip-on PE pumps, just like they used to wear in junior school, only white rather than black. Given the rest of their attire, they feared something far far girlier.