The boy’s mother tilts her head one way, then the other to gauge the result. Then the proprietress tries the other, deeper one, in finer material but with a slightly shaped cup.

“Oh I’ll have him in that one,” says Maureen, clearly delighted. Her son gasps aloud, then presses his lips together, mortified that he has allowed Sinead to see his misery.

“We’ll have breast forms in the cups, Sinead,” says Miss Tavistock, “While I sort a nice blouse for him.”

The girl stands behind him for this purpose, her red silk dress against him, so that he feels the intimacy of how close her face is to his as she leans round him to hold a cup open from the top so that she can slide the shape inside and ensure that it fills it correctly