Mrs Arkwright, 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 Arkwright 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 Arkwright patronised 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 Arkwright 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 Arkwright of his shoe size.
“William’s a five-and-a-half.” William’s mother added.
Mrs Arkwright 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.
Their mother’s stood up, the boys sheepishly sat and pushed their feet into the shoes. They remained seated whilst Mrs Arkwright informed their mothers of tomorrow’s proceedings. The minibus should arrive between seven-thirty and seven-forty-five. It doesn’t matter what they wear since a uniform will be issued on arrival, but Mrs Arkwright suggests they wear their dresses. The boys glance at one another. In the most subtle way imaginable, William mouths the words ‘I’m not going’. Andrew gulps. Both cast their eyes up to the adults. Their mothers are being reminded to jot down their sizes; chest, waist and foot, before being advised to get them up early and to give them a bath before breakfast. All the time, William is trying to work out if he can get up and leave his home long before that minibus comes, whilst Andrew is worrying that he’ll have to wear a girl’s school uniform.
Finally, the boys are led out of the house and down the path. Their mothers’ cars are parked outside, as is Miss Coulton’s. The three women chat for a moment, expressing their shame and optimism. “Mum will you open the door!” William barks.
“In a moment!” his mother retorted.
Andrew just loitered, hanging his head and hoping to God that no one else will see them in their girlie knee socks and prissy frocks. Eventually the women bid each other farewell. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks boys.” Miss Coulton smiled. The boys didn’t reply. They were finally allowed to climb in to their respective cars and did so in silence.
“What the bloody ‘ell’s going on!” William’s dad barked when he returned home. William burst in to tears and darted into his room where he threw himself upon his bed and cried his heart out. His mother gave him ten minutes before going up, by which time he’d removed his socks and dress, knickers and vest and had donned his own clothes. She wasn’t surprised. “You could have hung it up.” she said as she did just that. “Actually… I’ll hang it elsewhere, for safe keeping.” she said, before ordering the boy downstairs where his father wanted to talk to him.
Sheepishly, he descended the stairs where he was given the third degree. Then he explained what had happened and how he and Andrew ended up being tricked into wearing dresses. He played the victim all the way, calling Mrs Arkwright a lying bitch and other names.
