“Hey what are you doing?” he snaps as he feels the ropes tighten around his wrists. He raises his head to see his ankles being lashed to the chair’s footrest. He tries to shift his arms but they’re already secured. He waggles his feet as much as he can but Margo grabs his ankles so his mother can tie them securely. “What are you doing?” he shouts.
“We’re going to give you a hair cut.” his mother replies matter-of-factly.
“I know but… why are you tying me up?”
“Because you probably won’t like it.” his mother replies as she begins to untie his shoelaces. She smiles at her bemused son as she slips his shoes off. “You remember when you were little… I used to make you wear a dress if you were naughty?” she says as she pulls his socks off.
“Yeah.” he gulps, glancing at Margo nervously.
“Well, today is similar… but you won’t be wearing a dress.” his mother says as she slips a patent leather court shoe on his foot.
“What… no… wait… I…” he stammers, struggling to free himself, glancing from Margo to his mother as the second shoe is put in place. “What are you doing to me?” he asked as his chair was returned to its upright position.
“We’re petticoating you Peter.” his mother replies. “You can’t stay on the straight an narrow. You insist on hanging out with that mob and I know you’re getting up to no good with them.”
“OK OK… I’ll stop seeing them, just don’t do this to me, please.” he begged. “Get off me!” he barked as Margo began to run a towel through his hair.
“Peter…” his mother said, pulling a roll of gaffer tape from her bag, “You can either stop shouting, or I’ll stop you shouting.”
He fell silent as his jaw dropped. His eyes opened as wide as they could. “You’re going to gag me?”
“If need be.” his mother replied. “Now, Margo is going to do your hair and your make up whether you like it or not… and then I’m going to take you to your appointment, and on the way we’ll walk past the museum where hopefully your so-called friends will see you.”
“But… I can’t go looking like a girl!” he pleaded, “And please not past the museum.”
“Of course you can, and they’re expecting to see you looking feminine.” his mother replied. “Not your friends obviously… they’ll have the surprise of their life seeing you in your high heels and a trouser suit, made up like a city girl… you’re only hope is they won’t recognise you.” she smiled.
“And if I refuse?”
“You’re not in any position to make demands Peter.” his mother replied. “Now will you stop asking questions because Margo’s got a lot of work to do?” she added, twirling the roll of gaffer tape around her index finger.
“You’re going to ruin my life.” he said, sounding on the verge of tears.
“You haven’t got a life to ruin.” his mother replies. “You’ve no job, no education, virtually no prospects… all you do is hang out with that rabble, smoke cigarettes and probably other things too, you spray your ‘tag’ across half of town, break in to derelict buildings, cause mischief, dump shopping trolleys in the canal…”