‘You could mention you’ve signed an NDA; that might put petrol in the fashion PRs engines,’ Trisha butted in with.
‘That’s a good idea,’ Lila agreed. ‘Who are your favourite designers and shops?’
‘Designers hardly ever make the clothes big enough. Chain stores are better. I tend to go to Next, which is amazing for casuals, and M&S for more formal stuff. I can usually fit into a size twelve to fourteen; my shoulders get in the way, you see, and I have size ten feet, so you might not be able to find anything decent. I can always get Caroline to bring my own shoe collection from home.’
‘I have the same problem,’ Trisha lamented. ‘I have to get my clothes made or from Max Mara because they always seem to be too small elsewhere.’
‘I have to wear things that disguise my muffin top,’ I admitted, sucking it in. ‘I’ve never been able to get rid of it since I had my daughter, Grace, no matter how many cakes I don’t eat.’
‘You look wonderful, my dear,’ David said kindly. ‘At least you don’t have bricklayer’s shoulders. Have you tried Spanx?’
I almost choked. ‘I hate Spanx,’ I revealed, then suddenly realised that David probably loved Spanx, ‘but I know they have their place. I always seem to find the fat gets redistributed somewhere else, usually round my neck.’
‘I know what you mean,’ he said, laughing, relaxing his shoulders, which didn’t look like they could hod carry at all. How surreal was this? A conversation with David O’Donnell on the best underwear to disguise back fat.
‘You’re the lucky one here,’ David said, nodding at Lila. ‘You can just walk into any store knowing the clothes will automatically fit you.’
‘I disagree!’ Lila blustered. ‘I’m so small that sometimes nothing fits length ways, and I have no boobs and a wide back so I look like a boy. I often have to buy kids’ clothes, which are cheap, but Barbie can take a hike.’
‘No one is ever happy, are they?’ I chuckled. ‘Now, let’s measure you, David, and then we can discuss clothing. I’m assuming you will have your own underwear and necessary enhancements.’
‘Oh, of course. Breast forms and decent underwear are the staple of any cross-dressing wardrobe,’ Samantha said, reappearing with tea for me and her. ‘Ooh, you should see Dave’s boobs – he has different sizes for different moods. Even a Dolly Parton pair.’ The ease with which she was able to tease him revealed the depth of their friendship.
‘Do you?’ I asked, surprised, finding hard to envisage him with a prominent chest.
‘No! Sam’s being naughty.’
When I’d jotted everything down in my notebook, including their daughter, Caroline’s, height and size she’d texted through, we discussed the vlog, what direction we all saw it going, Caroline’s role and the end result.
‘Will you be needing a make-up artist?’ Lila asked. ‘We can find someone if you do.’
‘No, Trisha always does my make-up. She’s a genius! I can do it myself, but for this I’d prefer if she did it.’ He smiled lovingly at her and she winked at him. They were adorable.
‘Carl has agreed to take behind-the-scenes pictures and to hand over everything to Dave,’ Samantha revealed. ‘I spoke to him while I was making tea. We can auction off the pictures for charity to the highest-bidding magazine. I reckon OK! or Hello! will battle it out.’
‘I can’t thank you enough, girls,’ Trisha gushed as we got up to leave. ‘This means a lot to both of us. If we can pay you – if not in cash, in kind – it would mean the world.’ It was on the tip of my tongue to shout ‘YES, PLEASE’ because it would save me from the proverbial gutter of debt.
‘No, no one pays us for coming on the vlog,’ Lila jumped in before I could say a thing. ‘If word got out that you paid us, it would look dreadful on your behalf. It needs to be a favour, people helping each other out. Believe me, this will probably propel Clothes My Daughter Steals into the vlog stratosphere, so we should really thank you!’
27
Viola
Samantha’s downstairs was teaming with people on Friday morning. Carl niftily darted about with several cameras strapped across his body, silently clicking reportage-style photos. I hadn’t been able to look directly at him because I could still imagine him smearing chocolate on me as if I was a nude canvas that he was painting an intricate picture on with his tongue.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked after I walked off numerous times in order to keep my blushing under control. It was just a dream, it didn’t happen! I chanted mantra-like in my head in time to Black Beauty.
‘Fine. Nothing to worry about.’
‘I wasn’t worried really, but are you worrying about something?’ He tried to catch my eye in a game of cat and mouse, but I steadfastly refused to play, keeping him in my periphery.
‘Nope, all good. Do you want tea?’ He stared at me and shook his head in bewilderment.
‘Is there something going on with you and the cute photographer?’ Lila hissed at one point when we were clearing the living room of all movable furniture into the garden.
‘No! What made you say that?’
‘You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Just shag him and get it over with!’
I couldn’t think of a snappy retort, so had to suffice with a paltry huffing noise and a limp: ‘As if.’
Lana, the series producer of Good Morning with David and Mina, was scrutinising everything very closely, but was under strict orders not to interfere.
‘It’s not scripted,’ I’d informed her nervously. ‘We wing it mostly, with a bit of an idea where we’re going.’
‘Oh, I’ll be fine,’ David assured us. ‘Like treading the boards without an earpiece. Ad-libbing was always my forte.’
A power-dressed Mina Prajapati was stationed at the kitchen table with a jug of coffee and some prepacked M&S melon cubes. She had been asked to arrive at six in the morning to avoid being spotted by Norman, who wasn’t trusted not to spill the beans.
‘Hello, ladies,’ she’d said when we arrived at 7 a.m. ‘Well done for doing this; we’ll show those fuck-pigs at the Mail a thing or two about inclusion!’ Mina was instantly elevated to the canon, my brand new BFF spirit animal.
*
On Sunday evening, Lila, Hayden, me, Samantha, Carl, Elinor, Jo and Francesca crowded round Samantha’s laptop – a miniature diorama on the kitchen counter – hearts in our mouths. I had texted my crowd, pressing upon them that they wouldn’t want to miss it live. I’d knocked on Nick’s door to let him know Linda might want to see it, but he was out, so I slipped a note through his letterbox, telling him to watch it.
Grace was staying with Jim, absolving me of any parental responsibility, and David and Trisha had safely returned home. The ring of journalists had dispersed after catching no sight of them for days. Another scandal had obviously distracted them. Lila had taken to social media, as was the plan, posting a couple of Carl’s photos of the back of David’s head, his chosen wig in place, a dressing gown wrapped round the rest of him. She’d hashtagged the shit out of it, alluding to a big celebrity name. I had also appropriated a few of Carl’s photos, teasing my followers with tantalising snippets of the clothes ready to be worn. In addition, I’d picked a sneaky close-up of Trisha’s hand painting fuchsia pink lipstick onto David’s lips, his surrounding skin heavily pancaked to disguise the recent brush with a razor. You honestly couldn’t tell who it was.
Lila sat with Hayden at the kitchen table on a separate laptop and, at five to eight, she uploaded it to our channel.
‘There it is!’ Samantha cried bang on time at 8 p.m. She clicked play. The usual graphics rolled, then Lila’s cherubic face filled the frame, her fringe skimming the tops of her heavily made-up cat eyes.
‘We’ve got a special edition of Clothes My Daughter Steals today. We’ll be part of a transformation like no other. But rather than me doing the introductions, I’ll hand over to someone with a bit more experience and inside knowledge on our special guest.’ The camera cut to Mina, remin
iscent of Val Doonican, sitting on one of the kitchen stools from my house. All that was missing from the tableau was a guitar and a Christmas jumper. We’d tried two armchairs for the interview but they were too bulky and took up all the space. David and Mina had given standing a go, but both of them said they felt more comfortable perched on the stools.
‘Oh my God!’ Francesca cried as soon as she saw Mina. ‘You didn’t! I wondered what all the toing and froing was on Friday with the stools.’ Jo shushed her so we could hear what she was saying.
‘I’m Mina Prajapati and I’d like to welcome David O’Donnell onto Clothes My Daughter Steals. Sorry we haven’t got a sofa, Dave.’ David appeared from the wings and sat down next to her, wearing his trademark navy slacks and cream casual shirt. Everyone else started screaming in the kitchen.
‘Shush, you lot! We need to listen!’ Samantha warned them. ‘Scream at the end.’
‘Hello, Mina. Thanks for being here.’ She leaned over and squeezed his hand in a touching show of unity. The room made a collective ‘Ahhh’ sound.
‘Now, you’ve had a bit of a tough week and I think you want to tell the viewers of Clothes My Daughter Steals a bit about what’s been going on for you. How has it been?’
‘Well, Mina. It’s not been the best, I’ll admit, and I never thought I would be on the internet discussing cross-dressing, but the time has come to stop hiding in the closet, as it were.’
‘So how long have you been cross-dressing?’ Had Mina always known?
‘As far back as I can remember, really. I always used to sneak into my mum’s wardrobe and try on her nighties. She caught me once when I was about ten and the guilt that it stirred up was enough to shame me from doing it again for years. However, when I went to drama school in Manchester we were always dressing up, so I kind of got away with it in plays and skits. I used to go to specialist clubs once I moved down to London. I did get beaten up a few times, which was humiliating and frightening, but I never let it stop me. When I got my big break hosting Take a Chance and then was part of the line-up on Good Morning Britain, the first ever breakfast show on ITV, I wasn’t sure I could be so open about it. My agent at the time put feelers out, and came back with the verdict that it would be career suicide. Everyone who cross-dressed in the public eye – apart from Eddie Izzard and Grayson Perry, who both manage to celebrate their cross-dressing – was gay and I wasn’t, which some people probably wouldn’t understand. I didn’t feel like I fitted in anywhere apart from the clubs, where I continued to go in secret.’
‘Did anyone guess, or know? How were your family?’
‘Trisha has always known. She has been my rock from the very beginning, but then she is a special kind of lady. My first wife didn’t know, and sadly she died before I could ever tell her. Both the kids have known for a while now and they accept it. They buy me make-up for birthdays and Christmases. They’re lovely.’ He smiled off camera to where I knew Caroline had been standing.
‘So what do you hope to achieve today by shining a light onto your world and introducing us to Viola?’
‘I want to shed some of the inaccuracies attached to people within the TV community. Wanting to wear clothes of the opposite sex doesn’t automatically mean you’re gay, or have a mental illness. A large majority of us are straight men with families who want to remain in their families, but the part of us that needs to wear women’s clothes is as important as the part that is a partner, a son, a husband, a brother, a father or a work colleague. Just because we cross-dress, doesn’t take away those other parts of us, but we have to suppress it to fit in to make other people feel secure. Imagine taking away Christmas Eve from a child – that’s what it feels like to me when I put on women’s clothes and dress as Viola. It’s integral to my happiness and I know it is to other men too. No one died – I was just caught by a journalist wearing an evening dress from Debenhams, hurting no one and expressing myself. Surely there are more important stories that need reporting in the world.’
‘Eloquently put, David. I think that has definitely answered a few questions for our viewers. Now what’s going to happen next on Clothes My Daughter Steals? Have we got someone else joining you?’
‘Yes, my beautiful daughter, Caroline. She works as a TV producer and has kindly agreed to step in today. Jessica is away on holiday so can’t join in, but I believe she will be watching from Thailand!’
‘Well, I shall hand you over to the very capable hands of Ali and Lila, who are going to orchestrate the transformation, along with some help from your wife, Trisha. I think we’re all excited to meet Viola!’
The video cut to Trisha making up David’s face and talking about how she approaches it differently from when she does her own make-up. His hair was scraped back in a hairnet and Hayden cleverly time-lapsed the footage so that David was made up in no time.
‘Viola has several wigs,’ David explained in a voice that was now somehow genuinely softer and more feminine without appearing affected. It had been totally mind-blowing to see it all happen in front of us, but watching it on screen, I noticed a different, more detailed account of before and after. ‘This blond one is my favourite. It reminds me of Farrah Fawcett, whom I used to adore. But I also have red ones and two chestnut ones. I don’t really suit black hair – it makes me look like a vampire.’
‘And what make-up brands are your favourites?’ I asked on screen. ‘Do you need to use foundation that has a heavier coverage?’
‘I find I need sweat-proof foundation, especially in the summer. And yes, it needs to have decent coverage. Rimmel London do a great sweat-proof one and I tend to use that a lot. I love Mac lipsticks. Mac is probably my go to for most stuff. Trisha and I shop for it together because people naturally always think it’s for her.’
‘What’s your number-one make-up tip?’
‘Well, if you can’t see your highlighter from the moon, you haven’t got enough on!’
‘Brilliant – I will take that on board!’
We talked about underwear, fake hip and butt padding, the benefits of foam breast forms for the summer versus silicone ones for the winter. Then we were ready to get dressed.
‘So, Caroline, would you ever borrow any of Viola’s clothes?’ Lila asked as we all stood in front of the clothes rack.
‘God, no way!’ she laughed, making Viola giggle. ‘She goes for mega glamour a lot of the time,’ Caroline admitted in her plain Zara three-quarter-length blue trousers, ballet pumps and floaty cream peasant blouse. She looked lovely, a perfect hybrid of David and Trisha. She was also blonde and tall, though not quite reaching Trisha’s telescopic height. ‘I am more practical because, working in TV, there’s a lot of time being squashed into edit suites and running around. I need to be comfortable.’
‘But we’re going for glamour today!’ Lila cried. ‘Let’s leave work behind!’
We shimmied Viola into a Zara straight green full-length, one-shouldered gown with ruffles down the right-hand side.
‘Does it make me look hippy?’ she kept asking, twirling this way and that in front of one of the full-length mirrors. I had hauled my mirror over from my bedroom for this shoot, what with it being super special.
‘How about I team it with a stylish silver belt to cinch in the waist a bit?’ I offered. Caroline wasn’t keen on the dress and tried it on without the belt. She looked stunning but it bumped up her age – she could only have been in her early twenties. We tried massive gold hoop earrings on her from my stylist bag and twisted her hair up into a topknot. Pairing the dress with strappy jewelled leather flip-flops from my own Aladdin’s cave shoe bag and some dangling beads suddenly lent it more of a boho feel – her height made it work.
‘Ah, yes, I like it! I would wear this out now it doesn’t make me feel so glamorous granny.’
‘Oi, you, watch what you’re saying,’ Viola laughed in her towering black sling-backs, (apparently easier to walk in than stilettoes). ‘I’m not ready to be a glamorous granny just yet!’ On set you could hea
r everyone burst out laughing in the background, astutely kept in the edit by Hayden.
‘This is amazing,’ Jo whispered as we watched speeded up footage of them both trying on jumpsuits from Topshop for the Christmas season, Viola swapping wigs, Trisha touching up both their faces with make-up brushes, with me and Lila constantly suggesting alternative accessories or looks to go with the outfit Viola had chosen to make it relevant for Caroline.
‘I think it’s going to propel David into some kind of iconic spokesperson status. Talking for my people, obviously!’ Jo winked. ‘As they say, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.’
‘It feels like we’re watching you all get ready for a party at your house and we’re flies on the wall,’ Elinor said in my ear. ‘It’s so well done.’
We had achieved what we had set out to do. What no one witnessed was the mountain of discarded clothes off camera, and Sam running up and down stairs to find shoes that might fit Caroline from her own wardrobe when none of the preferred ones fitted. Or Viola’s wig getting stuck inside a jumpsuit and a breast form flying across the room when she almost tripped in some red wedges while Trisha was doing up her bra.
‘OK, girls, this is the last outfit and you’re not allowed to look in the mirror. It’s Stella McCartney and I think you’re both going to like it.’ I brought in the baby-blue halter-neck chiffon dresses with microscopic crystals sewn into the overskirt. On Viola I upped the ante by adding fake diamond drop earrings and bracelets, and teamed the ensemble with vertiginous silver glitter stilettos Caroline had brought over from Viola’s own wardrobe. Trisha braided Caroline’s hair so she looked like Helen of Troy. Caroline preferred to go barefoot because the dress came up a little short.
‘You look like a star,’ Viola said to Caroline quietly, her voice catching in her throat. ‘Like someone from one of the fairy tales I used to read you at bedtime. You have a halo round your head.’ Lila and I crept to the side so they could twirl admiringly together in front of the mirrors, the straight skirts creating a dramatic swishing noise like the sound of a stage curtain opening as they swung, the crystals dancing in the lights like mini disco balls.
The Single Mums Move On Page 17