When I met my mum’s new boyfriend I was wearing girls’ clothes. Not a good start. Maybe he thought I wanted to be a girl. I didn’t, not really.
I was only wearing the clothes because it had been a fund raising day at school with the theme, ‘The Wrong Clothes’ and mum had persuaded me to dress up as a girl. “It will be such a laugh,” she said and I sort of went along with it because I could see that it would be funny. I was worried about what the others at school would say but mum’s enthusiasm for the idea was infectious, so in the end I agreed. Mum said she would ask some of the girls who go to my ballet class if they would lend me the clothes.

Actually it had been fun, mostly, although the usual crowd mocked and abused me. As a boy who danced I was used to it. I ignored them and my real friends… well the girls really…had been nice about it and took it in the right spirit. The boys used it as another opportunity to have a go at me, poke fun and call me names. Just a normal day for them! I thought I would get changed as soon as I got home but instead mum picked me up from school and announced we were going somewhere ‘as a surprise!’
“Not dressed like this, mum,” I said. What was she thinking of?
“There’s someone I want you to meet and it’s on the way home.” So, when mum introduced me to Mike, the new man in her life, I was wearing navy blue tights with a red tartan skirt and a red top. Her words, “This is my son Oliver,” didn’t really match the vision in front of him.
“Your son?” he questioned, smirking in a way that was to become familiar. “Are you sure?”
“Oliver, this is Mike,” mum said, “and somewhere, oh yes, here is his daughter, Harriet.”
A girl the same age as me appeared from behind him wearing tracksuit bottoms and a plain dark T- shirt. I felt really silly standing in their doorway in my girly clothes and instinctively crossed one leg in front of the other in the hope that, somehow, that hid a bit more of me. She looked more like a boy than I did. I expected her to laugh but instead she said hello and disappeared. I wanted, no needed, to tell her why I was wearing tights and a skirt in case she got the wrong idea but I didn’t get the chance and mum didn’t seem to feel the need to explain. I thought I’d better tell Mike.
“At school today…” I started but he cut me off to invite us in. I felt odd. I really wanted to explain my appearance.

I spent the next hour really wishing that I hadn’t let mum talk me into this costume. Originally, I was going to wear my pyjamas all day. That was what lots of other kids had done. What a fool I was to wear girls’ clothes. Thinking about school reminded me that my teacher told us that first impressions count. What impression I made with Mike and Harriet was bound to be the wrong one. I really wanted to explain my appearance. I tried again when inside but Mike suggested ‘we girls’ got to know each other by going upstairs to play in Harriet’s room. I groaned when he said this but mum just giggled. It was much worse than the abuse I had at school.

“Are they your clothes?” was the first question Harriet asked me when we got to her room.
“No way!” I said, offended. “Mum borrowed them from some girls at my ballet class.”
“You do ballet?” Her eyes widened.
“Yes!” I was used to that reaction. I had become quite good at either ignoring rude comments or answering back. But trying to give a smart reply while dressed in a skirt I felt like I was on dodgy ground. I waited for her to make some witty remark but she didn’t. Instead, she asked me about it. I sat on her bed and wished for the thousandth time since leaving school that I had worn something else. I told her how, when I was seven, I saw some ballet on the television and just knew I wanted to do that. Some parents would have tried to put me off or told me boys shouldn’t do that. Not my mum. She researched the teachers and found me a class and, when other boys at school made fun of me, she said just the right things to keep my spirits up and I kept on going. “Oliver,” she said, “If you are serious about this, I will support you all the way.” She was like that, my mum.
“You’re lucky,” she sighed. “I really like football but that just winds my daddy up. He thinks it’s stupid for a girl to play. But I’m really good. And I’m not being big headed. I really am. I don’t tell him I play at school. I just can’t talk to him about it.”
I was lucky. My mum really encouraged me and made sure I received praise for the right things at the right time. She didn’t overdo it, though. She had high expectations. The best thing, though, was that she supported me.

“What team do you support?” Harriet continued. She sat down on the floor. Well she collapsed really- very inelegant. She sat cross-legged and looked up at me.
I hesitated. “Um, I don’t really like football,” I replied, crossing my legs.
Harriet looked surprised. “I thought all boys liked football,” she said.
I sighed. This came up a lot at school as well. “Well, not this one.” I smiled, sheepishly. I didn’t usually worry about these questions. I had got stronger about it over the years but today, dressed in a skirt, was different. And not knowing Harriet very well made it worse. All she knew about me was that I was dressed like a girl. At least everyone at school knew the clothes were ‘wrong’.
Harriet slouched against her bed. Her posture was very bad, I thought.
“Is that why you dress in girls’ clothes?” she asked.
“I don’t!” My voice rose at that. “It was dressing up day at school and mum thought it would be funny to go as a girl,” I justified myself. At least I had got that out at last. Harriet considered this.
“How many other boys did that?” she continued.
“None.” My voice fell that time. I was convinced that at least one other boy would have done. Actually, loads of boys had talked about it but in the end I was the only one who did. They all wore their pyjamas.

I straightened my back and shifted around on Harriet’s bed, smoothing down the skirt again. I could see Harriet looking and went red.
“You wear them really well,” she said.
“Mum borrowed them,” I replied.
“Your shoes are a perfect fit,” she said. She was right, they were. I think they were called ballet flats. I don’t know where she borrowed them from.
“Are you sure they’re not yours?” I looked at her trying to work out whether she was about to mock me but she grinned back at me and I smiled. Then we burst out laughing and I knew we were going to be friends.

Mike called us from downstairs. “Come on, girls,” he said. “Time for Olivia to go home.” I hated that but my mum laughed again as if he was funny.
“Ignore him,” Harriet whispered. “I do.”

Driving home Mike’s words kept going through my head but I didn’t talk to mum about it. She didn’t say much either except, “They’re lovely aren’t they? Mike and his daughter, I mean.” There wasn’t much to say. At home I got changed as soon as I could. I put the clothes in the laundry basket as I was trained to do and went downstairs with the shoes.
“Who do I give these back to, mum?” I asked holding them out.
“They’re yours,” she said in reply. It was as if the shoes were toxic. I dropped them.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re yours. I bought them for you,” she smiled.
I stared at her. “I thought you were going to borrow them!”
“Oh I know,” she explained, “but I wanted them to fit properly. Didn’t want them to be uncomfortable or dangerous, and I wanted you to look really good and I thought ‘why not?’ So…” She finished.
I kept staring at her. “What am I going to do with them, now?”
“Keep them,” she replied.
“But I can’t wear them again,” I said my voice rising.
“Why not? They suited you.”
“Duh, mum! They are for girls!” I said using the really obvious voice I used on my friends when they were being dumb.
“Well, I thought they suited you. Perhaps wear them just to ballet. They are ballet flats after all.” She laughed as if this was a great joke.
I groaned. “I’ll put them away,” I said thinking that at least I would be able to hide them in my cupboard. Then another thought occurred to me.
“Who did you borrow the skirt and tights from?”
“I bought them, too,” she replied. She was busying herself and not looking at me at all.
“But you said you were going to borrow the clothes,” I continued following her around the kitchen as she cleared things away.
“I know, but then I thought it would be lovely to have new things.” She left the room
I let the information sink in, then followed her.
“I’m not wearing them again,” I said trying to make that sound final.
“You wear tights all the time at ballet,” she said. I stared back.
“Yes, but that’s different,” I said. Mum turned and looked at me, at last.
“Why?”
And I stared back and didn’t know what to say. She smiled and then carried on tidying, leaving me confused.

She was in love. I could tell. I didn’t really like Mike back then. There was something about him I didn’t trust. He was all ‘lovey- dovey’ with mum but as soon as he spoke to Harriet he became such a grump. I actually felt sorry for her. She tried to please him. “Daddy this, daddy that, look daddy, look!” It didn’t do any good. So, I didn’t mind at all playing with her when they both stayed over. It was better to be playing with her than sticking around the adults. Mike didn’t have much to say to me to start with but, as I was to find out, he had plenty of opinions about me. “Sure he’s all boy?” he said one day when he didn’t know I could hear from the kitchen where I was getting a drink.
“Lots of boys dance,” Mum replied.
“How many go to his class?”
“Well, he’s the only one...but…” Mike didn’t reply but from the smug look on his face as he came through to the kitchen I could tell he thought he had won a point in an argument.

Mike found fault with most things Harriet did. He seemed to have a permanent downer on Harriet. She couldn’t do anything to please him. You could see her cringe when her dad started on her. She seemed to shrink. At times like these I usually suggested that we go upstairs to play. I didn’t care about cutting Mike off in mid moan either.
“What do you want to play, Harriet?”
Mum would smooth over the miserable Mike who did, it has to be said, cheer up when Harriet left the room.

“I don’t think he was too impressed to hear about my dancing,” I said to Harriet when we were alone.
“No he wasn’t,” Harriet confirmed, “but don’t worry. Nothing much impresses him. Certainly not anything I do.” She smiled and I could tell that we would be close. I liked her and I felt sorry for her, and it was good to have someone I could talk to.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. Even though I didn’t really like her dad it was good that she had come along. “If our parents get together we’ll be brother and sister,” I said. Having a sister might be fun.
“If my daddy and your mummy get together I don’t think he’ll let you go on dancing. He doesn’t think boys should dance. He’s quite old fashioned.”
I looked at Harriet to see if she was serious.
“Nothing will stop me dancing,” I said but even as I spoke I started to worry about what might be ahead. Surely mum wouldn’t start anything serious with someone so… so…bigoted. Would she?

Harriet and I watched closely over the next few months as they grew closer. It was an odd situation. We grew closer too, like brother and sister, and we both loved that so we kept a close eye on how things were developing between our parents. Mike and Harriet stayed every weekend and then started staying in the week as well. Harriet went to a different school on the other side of town but the evening when we were together was great.
“Haven’t you got any football tops?” Harriet asked one time when we were hanging around in my room.
“Don’t be stupid,” I replied. “Why would I want one?”
She sighed. “Shame.” She looked at my top. It wasn’t that great, just a dark blue sweatshirt with a surfer on it. Mum bought it for me ages ago.
“Shall we swap tops?” she asked jumping up.
“Er..no!” I said. Why would we?
She looked crestfallen and I felt mean. “It just feels a bit odd swapping with a girl,” I explained.
“But my top isn’t girly or anything,” she replied. It was purple with silver stars on it. Maybe not excessively girly but not boy-like either. On the other hand, I had worn similar things in dance performances. We were big on the star motif at my dance school. But…
“I’d rather not,” I said hoping that would be an end to it.
“Please,” she continued. I weighed it up and because she looked so upset and she was really nice, I agreed. We swapped tops and I was surprised by how well hers fitted me. She looked really good in my top. Something about the way she wore it made her look cool. I was impressed. She adopted a sort of skater boy stagger to her walk that I never managed. We played all afternoon and forgot about our parents downstairs, so I was caught unawares when Mike came in the room, took one look at me, and laughed.
I immediately felt self- conscious. Perhaps I shouldn’t have let Harriet have my sweatshirt.
“Come on girls, time for something to eat.” I hated the way he called us girls whenever he could. He just loved it. Mind you, wearing her top didn’t help.
“We’d better get changed,” I said to Harriet but she was gone before I could insist. I hesitated and then went downstairs.
Mike grinned as he handed me a plate.
“You look lovely dear,” mum said and I squirmed. I looked at the top again. Maybe it was more girly than I had first thought. It was full of stars after all. Silver ones and they did sparkle a bit.
“Harriet wanted to swap tops,” I explained.
“You did too!” she exclaimed. She was quite animated.
“Well I agreed,” I started, “but I …”
Mike cut me off. “There we are then,” he said. “You agreed.” I didn’t bother replying. What was the point? Mike didn’t have a high opinion of me.
“Good job you were both wearing jeans,” Mike continued, “or you’d be in a skirt again.”
I looked to mum to defend me but she was smiling as if the whole conversation was okay.
“You know what would go well with that? Your ballet flats,” she said.
“They’re not really mine are they?” I said, embarrassed by the way things were going.
“Where are they?” mum went on.
“Upstairs,” I mumbled. Mum left the room.
Harriet looked at me. “You said you borrowed them!” she said accusingly.
It was too complicated to explain to her so I just looked down. Mike smirked a lot. When mum came back in the room she was carrying my…the…ballet flats.
“Here they are, put them on,” she said breezily. I always thought my mum was intelligent but here she was acting as if she didn’t have a clue what was going on around her. Didn’t she see how Mike was grinning at me?
“Mum, I don’t want to,” I tried.
“Oh, come on, I’m only asking you to try them on,” she replied.
“After all, we know they fit,” said Mike. “You have worn them before.”
“When you borrowed them,” Harriet threw in to the conversation with heavy sarcasm.
So, I put them on and yes, with jeans and the purple top with sparkly stars I did look more like a girl. The more I looked at it the more girly that top appeared. How had I not seen it when Harriet was wearing it?

Mike decided we should go to the cinema. I swear he only said that because I of the way I was dressed.
“Can I borrow some of Oliver’s trainers?” Harriet asked my mum.
“Of course, dear,” mum replied without even asking me.
I could see trouble ahead. I didn’t want to go out, not like this anyway.
“Mum, I don’t want to go,” I tried. Mike jumped in.
“We’re going,” he said. So we did. Mike was the boss that was for sure and everyone around him did as they were told. Mum seemed to like that as well.
She smiled at me. “Oh, Oliver, you’ll have fun, if you just let yourself.”
What was fun about being out wearing girls’ shoes and a top that sparkled? I groaned which annoyed mum.
“Oliver, stop it! They are your shoes, you’ve worn them before, so stop making a fuss.”

At least inside the cinema things would be dark, I thought, but getting there, queuing up and walking through the foyer would be no fun.
“What are we going to see?” Mike asked. “Better not be a chick flick, although I’m out- numbered,” he said. Mum laughed again.
Inside the cinema Mike went off to buy tickets. I looked around at everyone checking to see if there was anyone from my school. I was so aware of my girly feet and the top which sparkled. I’m glad to say there was no one there I knew that evening. Some friends of Harriet’s spotted her and came over. They were the sort of loud mouth boys that I stayed away from at school and who you could rely on to make a stupid or hurtful comment when they found out I danced. They were very friendly with Harriet, calling her ‘pal’ and ‘man’ and ‘mate’ a lot.
“This your sister?” they said looking at me. I blushed bright red and dreaded what Harriet would say. I didn’t have to worry, though, because as soon as they spotted Mike coming their way they disappeared. Mike didn’t look pleased with Harriet.
“What did they want?” he growled.
“Just saying hello,” she replied going all sullen.
Then the most surprising things happened. First Mike turned to me and looked concerned. “They weren’t horrible to you were they?”
“No daddy,” Harriet answered but her dad stopped her.
“I’m asking Ollie, here,” he said. Ollie? No one called me that but it sounded friendly, somehow. He looked at me again and I thought he genuinely cared.
“No they weren’t,” I answered. He smiled and then he took me by the hand and we walked into the cinema with me holding his hand. Mum followed and Harriet slouched along behind. And I felt protected. That was it. I felt protected by Mike. It was a feeling I liked. The film wasn’t that good but I didn’t care. The trip was special because of the way Mike treated me.

I thought after that things would be different. But they weren’t. The next time Mike and Harriet came over he was back to his dismissive self: horrible to Harriet and rude about me. I was about to enter a room when I heard him telling my mum that he thought I was rubbing off on Harriet. We had been upstairs doing our homework together. Well, different homework tasks but working at the same time was a big help. Mike was surprised that Harriet was actually doing her homework. Something she wasn’t usually good about. Mum told him I always did my homework on time.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Mum asked.
“Well, goes to ballet, does his homework without a battle. His arms swing out when he moves…”
My arms do what?
“What’s wrong with his arms?” mum asked.
“They swing out like a girl. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Maybe,” mum answered. Not the best answer.
“Not a real boy is he?” I tensed outside the door waiting for mum to defend me. Nothing. I clenched my teeth and entered the room ready to glare at Mike.
“Hello Oliver, love,” mum said. I looked over at her. She was smiling but there was something in her look that made me think she was weighing up what Mike had just said.

“Not a real boy, is he?” I remembered those words and played them over and over in my head. I was going to mention it to Harriet but something stopped me. I didn’t want her to think her daddy had got to me and, to be honest, I started to worry that he might have a point. My arms and hands did, I have to admit, seem to swing out as I walked. They must do it on their own I thought because I didn’t mean or intend them to. I couldn’t bear it if mum told me she agreed with him.

But, confusingly, Mike could then be really nice to me. Mum and me had gone to their house for a Saturday and as usual I joined Harriet in her bedroom so that we could hang out. Mum had made me bring my ballet flats, to wear as slippers she said, so as soon as we arrived I changed into them. Mike noticed and I waited for a comment but he only smiled at me. Upstairs, Harriet greeted me and instantly fell in love with my Formula One T- shirt. I don’t know why. It was nothing special. I didn’t choose it or anything. But when she suggested we swap I agreed at once but then looked at her plain olive green top and was uninspired. She noticed.
“Choose something from my wardrobe,” she said. “But don’t get too excited. I don’t have much that’s good.” I took a look and wondered what she was talking about. She had such a lot of good stuff. I chose a yellow T- shirt with a design of a crazy cartoon girl holding out a bunch of flowers. It was vibrant and fun. It also suited me or so I thought and I twirled to show Harriet.
“Funny, but I didn’t realise how good that top looks. It looks really good on you, anyway,” she said.
When Mike saw it, he agreed. “Ollie, you look fantastic,” he said and mum joined in the admiration as well. I felt pleased as punch to have such attention. I admired myself and agreed: I did look good. Their praise gave me a boost all day.

After that Harriet and I swapped tops every time we were at each other’s houses. And each time when we parted I was left wearing something of Harriet’s. It went into the laundry bin at home and ended up in my drawer or wardrobe along with my other stuff. It felt a bit strange at first to have her clothes around but little by little I got used to it and then occasionally even changed into one of her tops after school. They were so much better than my usual ones. If mum noticed she didn’t say anything other than to tell me I looked good in whatever I had on. I hadn’t really given clothes much thought before but I had a knack for selecting just the right outfits. I was careful not to wear Harriet’s clothes when we were out but I loved changing into them at home. I even wore my ballet flats a lot as well. They were so comfortable, it seemed silly not to. Each time mum announced that we were going round to Mike’s or that they were coming to visit us I made sure I had on a top that Harriet would want. I also found myself hoping that whatever she had would suit me. Mostly, it did. Often I looked better than she did. I’m not being big headed here, it is just that Harriet usually looked uncomfortable until she changed into one of my shirts. Then she relaxed more. It felt good that I was able to help her out.

On one occasion, I selected a grey vest- like top from her wardrobe. It was longer than a boy’s vest and had purple and silver glitter in horizontal stripes across it. It was gorgeous. And it really suited me.
“I’ve never seen you wearing this before,” I said to her.
“Wouldn’t be seen dead in that,” she sniffed. “Daddy keeps buying me things which he hopes I will like but I don’t.”
“But this is wonderful,” I said doing a twirl in front of her mirror. I loved the way it allowed me to show off my arms and shoulders.

It was a shame she wore jeans most of the time. I did, too, but mine were usually neater than hers. Honestly, she really didn’t seem to care about the way she looked. Anyway, I just sometimes thought that the tops would look better with something other than jeans. Then I spotted her silver grey faux sheepskin boots.
“Oh fantastic,” I exclaimed holding my face in my hands. “You’ve got these. They are the height of fashion. All the girls at ballet wear them,” I continued.
“Daddy bought those, too. I’ve never worn them.”
“Never? What is wrong with you?” I asked.
Harriet suggested I tried them on and, once on me, there was no way I wanted to give them back. I have to say I looked fantastic. They went perfectly with the grey top with sparkly stripes and even the blue jeans worked with this outfit. Mum and Mike thought so too and didn’t seem to be bothered that Harriet and I had sort of agreed to swap my old trainers for her boots. I thought Mike would be bound to put up a fuss. Not quite a fair exchange after all.

I had quite a collection of Harriet’s tops by this time. Apart from the visit to the cinema I had never worm any out but, at ballet, when everyone arrived or just after we got changed the girls would admire each other’s clothes. Previously, I hadn’t joined in this sort of talk. I got changed in another room, being the only boy, but I usually heard what they were saying when we left the dance school. And I had opinions I wanted to share. When they said that Rachel’s pink top was lovely I wanted to say that her yellow top suited her better. And I wanted them to know what taste I had. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to wear something which would show them I knew a thing or two about fashion. I didn’t know what mum would say but the next time I got ready for ballet I put on jeans, my silver grey boots and the grey vest with purple and silver stripes. I did look a bit like I was heading off to the disco but I liked the look, and I wanted to make a splash. Mum didn’t say anything when I grabbed my dance gear and she drove me to class as normal.
“Have a good time,” she said as she dropped me off.
I felt really good. I knew I looked special but I didn’t want to show off. It was a shame that, almost as soon as we arrive, everyone gets changed. There was time to make a splash, though.

As soon as the girls saw me, they jumped up and down with excitement. I had so many compliments. Only Joanne, who was usually my partner as she was the best, was a bit cool.
“Why are you dressed like that?” she asked with disdain.
“Don’t be mean,” some of the others said.
“But he’s wearing girls’ boots,” she went on.
“Some boys wear boots too, I’ve seen them,” someone chipped in on my behalf.
“And that top isn’t very macho,” Joanne said, determined not to let matters drop.
“Leave him alone,” a voice countered.
“He has such style,” another voice said. I loved that one. In fact, even though Joanne wasn’t particularly nice I didn’t have to say much. Everyone else was leaping to my defence. I even picked up some tips.
“You know what you need to set that off,” Catrin said. “A silver necklace.” Of course! As soon as she said it I could see it was obvious, what with the neckline and everything, but I hadn’t given it any thought before. I think we were making too much fuss because our teacher came along and was quite cross that we weren’t yet changed. She glanced over my clothes but said nothing other than, “You will be joining us today, will you, Oliver?”

When I got changed I was a bit disappointed that I once again looked like a boy. Funny thing was that I got so much abuse at school for being a sissy just because I danced and wore tights and white T shirt but, once changed, I looked at myself and thought, this is nothing at all like a girl. The girls all wore a completely different costume. Just shows you how ignorant the boys at my school are.

After class the girls, except for Joanne, were around me again being encouraging and making me feel good about myself. I decided I would act on their advice and ask for a necklace. As we were leaving Joanne shot a comment across the group.
“Better get your haircut or everyone will think you really are a girl.”
“Stop being so catty,” Catrin said on my behalf and I ignored her just glaring at her as I went. I brushed the hair out of my eyes, though, because she was right, my hair was getting long. I quite liked it.

In the car I asked mum if I could have a necklace. I tried to make the request sound normal but I know my voice was giving me away. So I was relieved when mum said, “Why of course darling. We’ll choose one at the weekend shall we?” That was easy.
“But, I have a condition,” mum said, glancing across at me. I looked up, interested. “You have to start calling me, ‘mummy’.”
I thought about it. I hadn’t called her mummy for so long. I used to when I was much younger but now I felt a bit too old for that. On the other hand I wanted that necklace.
“Okay,” I replied.
“Okay, mummy,” mummy said.
“Okay, mummy” I laughed back. So from then on mummy it was. And by the weekend I was the proud owner of a silver necklace with a heart design on the end of the chain. I chose it but mummy said it was just the right one for me and I was clever for choosing it. I wore it later but without another top with a low neckline I was a bit disappointed that it was covered up. Mummy insisted that we bought some new clothes afterwards which I didn’t really want to do. I had gathered more than enough clothes recently by swapping with Harriet. Mum picked up another skater top- a boy holding a skateboard all over the front of it and he was slouched in that way that boys have sometimes. I didn’t really want it and, anyway, how would that show off my new necklace? But as we were leaving the shop I noticed some pink All Stars. Now they would be worth having. Mummy saw me looking and said, “Okay, but you need to pay out of your pocket money. You are getting expensive to keep!” She smiled as she said it so she wasn’t cross or anything which is just as well. Shame about that sweatshirt she bought, though. She could have save some money on that. When Mike and Harriet came round I prayed that she would be wearing something to swap that would show my new jewellery to good effect.

Well, she turned up wearing a top to die for. It was black with sequins in a stripe diagonally across the front. I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it. I practically ripped it off her. She, meanwhile, was in a foul mood.
“I don’t know what has got into my dad, recently,” she said. “He’s always gone on at me to wear clothes I don’t like but in the last few months he keeps buying me more and more inappropriate ones.”
“Lets swap,” I said, eager to get changed but Harriet wasn’t finished.
“I told him he was wasting his time because we would swap anyway but he keeps on buying me new stuff I don’t want.”
“Lets swap,” I said impatiently.
“And in the car on the way over he said it was okay to stop calling him ‘daddy’ because I obviously didn’t want to. ‘You’re right there, I said’. I don’t know what is up with him.”
Throughout this speech I waited impatiently for her to hand over the top. I thought she was making me wait on purpose because she then insisted we changed upstairs. Honestly, we had done this a thousand times before. I put on the sequined top and was amazed at how the electricity flowed through me again. It was sleeveless and had a low neckline which meant that Harriet got the full effect of my necklace. What was even better, it stretched over my jeans so made me look more rounded. I put on my boots and admired myself in the mirror. The whole effect was fantastic. I used to moan when the costumes for dance performances had sequins on them. I couldn’t think why I had made a fuss because this top really suited me.

I had spent so much time admiring myself that I had forgotten about Harriet. Mummy had given her the new skater boy top she bought me earlier.
“Honestly, I bought it but he won’t wear it so you have it,” she was saying. She turned to me. “You can’t wear boots in the house,” she said and left Harriet striding around the room showing off the new top and me changing into ballet flats. I don’t know why she got so excited about those clothes. I thought for the umpteenth time that it would be nice if she wore something other than jeans, although I have to admit that her ripped jeans did suit that top. Still, I seemed to be stuck with jeans with whatever top I had on. A change occasionally would be nice, I thought.

It was just about this time that mummy and me were travelling across London by tube. I was on my way to a dance audition and was really nervous. A girl got on with her mum at Edgware Road and sat opposite us. I noticed her candy pink hooded sweatshirt. It was really nice. Several girls at ballet wore ones like it. She had a short denim skirt and pink tights with those white tennis shoes that were fashionable. What a great outfit! And she was so elegant, held herself really well. I wondered if she was going to the same place as me, she had a dancer’s posture. Mummy noticed me looking at her and when I noticed mummy noticing me, she smiled, knowingly. I went red. Mummy couldn’t have known what I was looking at could she?

It seemed she could. A couple of days she presented me with an Arsenal football top. A football top! Me! I’d never worn one in my life. Never wanted to. Mummy got all stressy but I stuffed it away in a drawer. Later Harriet came round wearing a candy pink top just the same as the one I had admired.
“Wow,” I said when I saw it. “Are those hot right now?”
“Dunno,” Harriet replied. “Dad bought it for me but he knows I hate this sort of thing. And he made me wear it this evening even though we had a bit of a fight about it.”
“Know what you mean,” I said and explained how mum had reacted over the football shirt. Of course Harriet went crazy when she heard I had an Arsenal shirt and insisted I got it out.
“Can I wear it?” she asked.
“Wear it? You can have it. I’ll never want it.”
She took off her pink sweatshirt and changed into the Arsenal one immediately looking better, more comfortable and more like her old self. I put on the sweatshirt and was pleased by what I saw in the mirror. I brushed the hair out of my eyes to see better and wondered again why I hadn’t had my hair cut for so long. I thought about that girl on the tube and thought that pink tights would go so well with this top. I caught that thought as it came to me and went red. Harriet must have noticed because she asked me what was wrong.
“Nothing,” I said. She was concerned that I wasn’t happy with the swap.
“You know what would go well with that top?” she continued. She was worried I might want the Arsenal shirt back. “Your Converse All Stars, in pink.”
“No, white tennis shoes,” I shot back. Maybe a bit too quickly but, honestly, pink hi-tops with this? No way. In any case she seemed to relax. I thought about the tights again and wondered why I was thinking so much about girls’ clothes. At least, being a dancer, wearing tights wasn’t so unusual. But I had to admit that the skirt and the while tennis shoes set the whole thing off and made the outfit so special. I thought about the tartan skirt and blue tights mum had bought for ‘wrong clothes day’ and remembered how exposed I had felt when I met Mike and Harriet. Now, I just wished I had some gear that would go with the pink sweatshirt. My tartan skirt would clash.

When we were called downstairs for something to eat, I worried that mummy might make some point about the Arsenal shirt. Seeing Harriet wearing it might be too much given how stressy she got earlier.
I needn’t have worried. Both Mike and mummy admired us and Harriet, taken by surprise checked with her dad that he meant it.
“Suits you, Harry,” he said. I’d never heard him call her that before. Sounded strange.
Mummy smiled at me in my pink sweatshirt with my old jeans and red socks.
“Clashes a bit with the socks,” she said. I had to agree. “Why not look for something more suitable in your sock drawer?” she said looking at me with her reassuring smile.
I went upstairs to change because I had to agree with my mummy that candy pink and red is a bit of a nightmare combination. I thought I could hook out a pair of blue socks as the best I had, so was surprised, no shocked, no surprised, well shocked but in a good way to see a pair of pink tights in my drawer. Pink tights just like that girl had worn.
I could feel myself going red. Mummy had read my mind. She knew I had watched that girl so closely because I thought her clothes would suit me. I picked out the tights with their ‘Princess’ label. These were nothing like my black ballet tights. These were softer, real girl tights. I hesitated.
“Well, you don’t need me to help you. After all, you’ve worn tights a million times before.”
I turned to see mummy holding on to my bedroom door. I wanted to ask her why but no words came.
“Better hurry,” she went on. “Food is on the table in ten minutes.” She turned to go and then stopped. “By the way, the rest of the outfit is under your bed.” And there under my bed in a carrier bag was a denim skirt and a pair of bright white tennis shoes. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I did know that I wanted to change, so I did as quickly as possible and warm electricity flowed through me when I finally stood before the mirror. I prepared myself before I looked and when I did a ten year old girl stared back… so I smiled at her and my grin lasted all the way downstairs and all the way through dinner where no one mentioned that I was wearing a skirt and tights, no not even Harriet, and that felt good, too, because that felt normal. And it was wonderful.
End of Part One