Peter looks fearfully at his mother when she asks Margo’s sort code and account number. She looks back at him. “Did you think I’d be paying for all this?”

“Y… yes.” he stammered.

“Well you’re old enough to buy your own clothes and pay for your own hairdresser’s bills.” his mother explained. “That’s gone through Margo.”

“Thank you very much.” Margo replied. “It’s been a pleasure.” she said looking at Peter. “Do you think we should untie him… or is it ‘her’ now?” she asked.

“He’s most definitely a ‘he’… regardless of how feminine he looks.” Heather replies. “But thank you, you’ve surpassed my expectations Margo.” she turns to Peter. “Now you’re not going to try anything stupid when we untie you?” she asks.

He hangs his head and shakes it.

“Good, now say thank you to Margo.”

He gulps, raises his head, glances at his reflection and then looks at Margo. “Thank you.” he meekly mutters.

A few moments later and he’s taking his first tentative steps in his high heeled shoes. His mother has him walk around the salon a few times to get used to them, and gives him a little coaching on walking with more grace. “Now it’s going to be a little trickier outside as the pavements do undulate.” she explained. “But so far so good.” she compliments.

Peter is a bag of nerves as he puts his jacket on and picks up his large leather bound folder. Any second now he’s going to be on the streets looking like a complete sissy. He still has half a mind to make a run for it and sod the appointment… which is going to be humiliating beyond belief. His mother pulls the collar of his blouse outside his fitted jacket, and to complete the look, gives him a satin clutch bag to carry.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“It’s your purse Peter.” his mother replied, “Now keep hold of it because it wasn’t cheap, and it’s got your make-up inside… oh, in fact you can put this in too.” she says, giving him the order form.

“What do I want that for?”

“As a reminder… you piss me off, you pay the price.” his mother tells him in a ‘don’t fuck’ tone of voice.

Peter gulps as he opens his purse. Inside is a small pack of tissues, a lipstick, mascara, eye shadow, etc. He puts the order form inside and closes it.

As they leave, Margo wishes Peter the best of luck, and hopes to see him again. Peter is glad to be finally out of there, but stepping out on to the pavement is like coming out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“Head up Peter… if you want to pass as a girl you’ve got to act like one.” his mother advises, noticing his hanging head. “You’ve just spent a fortune on a make over, you should look as proud as you do pretty.”

They walk a hundred yards or so and nobody seems to be staring at him… “so far so good” he thinks. They turn onto Granary Road, then cross to go through market square. “Can we go round please mum.” he asks. “People will see me if we go this way.” he adds, knowing they’ll pass the museum steps on which his friends often hang out.

“No Peter… but if you’re lucky they’ll just think you’re a pretty young woman and won’t bat an eyelid.” his mother replied.

As they neared the museum, Peter caught sight of some of his friends. All he could hope for is to pass unrecognised. His mother told him to keep his head up. “You’ve more chance of passing as a woman if you walk like one.” she advised again.

His heart was in his mouth as they walked nearer and nearer to those who knew him. All went well until his mother stopped him and loudly said, “Oh Peter… I’ve just remembered, there’s a sale on at Dorothy Perkins…”