Peter cast his mind back to the days when his mother made him wear a dress. He recalled the shame he used to feel when she used to hold them against him in the charity shops, making it perfectly clear to all and sundry it was for him, proudly telling the assistant that the only time he’s a good boy is when he’s dressed like a girl. He recalled the numerous occasions he woke up to see his latest dress hanging from his wardrobe door and knowing that no matter how much he protested, he would spend the entire day wearing it. And much to his shame, he recalled the few he liked more than the others. The feel of his mother’s fingers gently holding his hand brought him out of his memories. “What are you doing?” he asked knowingly as she painted what appeared to be a clear varnish to his fingernail.

“Your nails.” she replied, before firmly pressing a ready-painted pale pink false nail in to place.

He said nothing as she applied the other four, before moving onto the other hand. He only realised that Margo had gone when she returned with a mug of tea in each hand. He looked at her and gulped. She smiled wryly at him as she placed to cups down. She picked up a large plastic cap which was placed over his rollers, before flicking an unseen switch. “It’ll take fifteen minutes or so to set.” Margo said as the cap inflated with warm air… in the meantime, she and his mother had a cup of tea and a chat.

“I wonder if he’s enjoying this as much as we are.” Heather teased.

“I certainly hope so… but I doubt it… he looks like a frightened dormouse.” Margo replied. “Do you think he’ll be able to walk in those heels?” she asked.

“Yeah I think so… they’re not too high and the heel’s quite chunky.” Heather replied, “Whether he’ll be able to walk gracefully in them is another matter.” she smiled. “Oh, that reminds me!” Heather grabbed her large tote bag and began to route inside.

“What?”

“Here it is.” Heather said as she removed a small sewing set. “Can you recline him for me?”

Margo reclined his chair, raising his feet to a more convenient height as Heather threaded a length of cotton onto a needle. “What are you doing?” Margo asked.

“Securing these buckles.” Heather replied as she began to stitch the buckle and strap together. “Just in case he’s planning on taking them off and running barefoot in the opposite direction.”

“Cunning.” Margo grinned.

Heather began stitching the other buckle and strap together. She looked up at Peter’s face and smiled at him. A look of fear, shame and shock seemed fixed in place. “Are you having fun?”