“You should have been at school.” Mrs Arkwright countered, before reminding them that everything they’ve done today, they’ve done so willingly. “…and that includes stepping into your dresses.”
“And very nice they look too.” Miss Coulton grinned as she perched on a chair facing the two boys. They hung their heads. An aura of utter embarrassment surrounded them. Andrew’s dress is cream with subtle stripes running down it’s fabric. A round Peter Pan collar encircles his neck and short pin-tucked sleeves cover his shoulders. The skirt is trimmed with a two inch ruffled hem, from which his knees appear. They look pink and flushed next to his white ribbed knee socks. William’s dress is in a pale spearmint green shade with white trim. It has fake buttons running up the front, through a broad white yoke up to a small pointed collar. Unlike Andrew’s pin-tucked sleeves, William’s are puffed and gathered and far more girlier. He wouldn’t admit it but given the choice, he’d have preferred Andrew’s marginally plainer dress to his… not that that would have made wearing a dress any better.
Mrs Arkwright fetched a tea tray through and set it down on the coffee table. There’s a big tea pot, a small jug of milk, four cups & saucers and a sugar bowl. She turned the pot and asked Miss Coulton if she took milk and sugar. “Just milk please.” their form teacher replied.
Mrs Arkwright 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.
Andrew couldn’t look his mother in the eye. He hung his head whilst she looked him up and down. Mrs Arkwright 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 Arkwright. To their right, their form teacher and sat facing them on the sofa is Andrew’s mother who wears the wryest of smiles. “They’re lovely dresses Mrs Arkwright.” she says. “How longs it been since you last wore one Andrew?”
Andrew gulped and ever so slightly shrugged his shoulders. “He’s been petticoated previously?” Mrs Arkwright 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 toys and dispute his sister’s authority over him. “…then 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 and no sooner 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 Arkwright offered.
“Oh yes, one sugar please.” Andrew’s mother replied. “Thank you.” she chirped.
