Another wail. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.” A little more silence and then an even longer one. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.” The mouths of those pupils who had laughed now closed tight with regret. Lisa looked at Dennis, who bowed his head. He returned to his seat, scraping his high heels along the floor sorrowfully.
A few more seconds passed like hours, before Miss Windsor returned to the classroom. Her face was red and puffy from crying.
“Right, so, um…right, good…turn to page fifty-eight in your textbooks and answer questions (a), (b) and (c).”
The pupils all began their work, more silent and compliant than they had ever been before.
“Would you like a Rolo, Miss?” ventured Mac. No one was more aware of the momentary comfort chocolate could give in moments of despair.
“No, thank you, Mac. I don’t want to spoil my lunch. It’s boeuf bourguignon…”
She started crying uncontrollably again.
∨ The Boy in the Dress ∧
14
Silence like Snow
“You complete &**%$£%!”
Oops, sorry. I know even though real children do swear, you mustn’t have swearing in a children’s book. Please forgive me, I really am %$£@$*& sorry.
“You shouldn’t swear, Lisa,” said Dennis.
“Why not?” Lisa asked angrily.
“Because a teacher might hear you.”
“I don’t care who hears me,” said Lisa. “How could you do that to poor Miss Windsor?”
“I know…I feel so bad…”
“She’s probably weeping into her boeuf bourguignon now,” said Lisa as they stepped out into the busy playground. It was lunchtime, and people stood in groups, chatting and laughing, enjoying their hour of partial freedom. Football games were breaking out everywhere – games that Dennis would normally have joined in with, had he not been wearing a wig, make-up and an orange sequined dress.
And high heels.
“Maybe I should go and apologise,” said Dennis.
“Maybe?” said Lisa. “You have to. Let’s go and find her in the dining hall. She should be there, unless she’s jumped in the River Seine.”
“Oh, don’t make me feel any worse.”
As they made their way across the playground, a football rolled past them. “Kick it back, love,” shouted Darvesh.
Dennis couldn’t help it – the urge to kick the ball was too strong.
“Don’t be too flash,” said Lisa as he ran after the ball. But Dennis couldn’t help himself, and chased it aggressively. He stopped it neatly, then took a run up to kick it back to his friend.
But as he kicked the ball his high-heeled shoe flew off, and he toppled backwards.
At that moment his wig slipped back off his head and on to the ground.
Denise became Dennis again.
Time seemed to slow down. There Dennis was, standing in the middle of the playground, in a girl’s dress and make-up with one shoe on. Silence spread across the playground like snow. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.
“Dennis…?” asked Darvesh incredulously.
“No, it’s Denise,” replied Dennis. But the game was up.
Dennis felt like he’d looked at Medusa, that Greek mythological monster who turned people to stone. He couldn’t move. He looked at Lisa. Her face was dark with worry. Dennis tried to smile.
Then out of the silence came a laugh.
Then another.
Then another.
Not the kind of laughter that greets something funny, but that cruel, mocking laugh, meant to hurt and humiliate. The laughter became louder and louder and louder, and Dennis felt as if the whole world was laughing at him.
For all eternity.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahah!
“You, boy,” boomed a voice from the school building. The laughter stopped in an instant, as the school looked up. It was Mr Hawtrey, the headmaster with the heart of darkness.
“Me, Sir?” asked Dennis, with a misguided tone of innocence.
“Yes, you. The boy in the dress.”
Dennis looked around the playground. But he was the only boy wearing a dress. “Yes, Sir?”
“Come to my office. NOW.”
Dennis started to walk slowly towards the school building. Everyone watched him take each uncertain, wobbling step.
Lisa picked up the other shoe. “Dennis…” she called after him.
He turned round.
“I’ve got your other shoe.”
Dennis turned back.
“There’s no time for that, boy,” bellowed Mr Hawtrey, his little moustache twitching with rage.
Dennis sighed and click-clacked his way to the headmaster’s office.
Everything in the office was black, or very dark brown. Leather volumes of school records lined the shelves, along with some old black and white photographs of previous headmasters, whose stern expressions made Mr Hawtrey look almost human. Dennis had never been in this room before. But then it wasn’t a room you ever wanted to visit. Seeing inside meant only one thing.
YOU WERE IN DEEP POO.
“Are you deranged, boy?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then why are you wearing an orange sequined dress?”
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, Sir.”
Mr Hawtrey leaned forwards. “Is that lipstick?”
Dennis wanted to cry. But even though Mr Hawtrey could see a tear welling up in Dennis’s eye, he continued his assault.
“Dressing up like that in make-up and high heels. It’s disgusting.”
“Sorry, Sir.”
A tear rolled down Dennis’s cheek. He caught it with his tongue. That bitter taste again. He hated that taste.
“I hope you are utterly ashamed of yourself,” continued Mr Hawtrey. “Are you ashamed of yourself?”
Dennis hadn’t felt ashamed of himself before. But he did now.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I can’t hear you, boy.”
“YES, SIR.” Dennis looked down for a moment. Mr Hawtrey had black fire in his eyes and it was hard to keep looking at him. “I am really sorry.”
“It’s too late for that, boy. You’ve been skiving off your lessons, upsetting teachers. You’re a disgrace. I am not having a degenerate like you in my school.”
“But, Sir…”
“You are expelled.”
“But what about the cup final on Saturday, Sir? I have to play!”
“There will be no more football for you, boy.”
“Please Sir! I’m begging you…”
“I said, ‘YOU ARE EXPELLED!’ You must leave the school premises immediately.”
∨ The Boy in the Dress ∧
15
There Was Nothing More to Say
“Expelled?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“EXPELLED?”
“Yes.”
“What on earth for?”
Dennis and his dad were sitting in the lounge. It was 5pm and Dennis had washed the make-up from his face and changed back into his own clothes. He’d hoped this might at least soften the blow.
He’d been wrong.
“Well…” Dennis wasn’t sure he could find the words. He wasn’t sure if he could ever find the words.
“HE WENT TO SCHOOL DRESSED UP AS A GIRL!” shouted John, pointing at Dennis as if he was an alien who had momentarily fooled everyone by taking human form. He had clearly been listening at the door.
“You got dressed up as a girl?” asked Dad.
“Yes,” replied Dennis.
“Have you done this before?”
“A couple of times.”
“A couple of times! Do you like dressing up as a girl?” Dad had a look of distress in his eyes that Dennis hadn’t seen since his mum left.
“A bit.”
“Well either you do or you don’t.”
Deep breath.
“Well, yes, Dad. I do. It’s just…fun.”
“What have I done to deserve this? My son likes wearing dresses!”
“I don’t, Dad,” said John, eager to score a point. “I’ve never put on a dress, not even as a joke, and I never will.”
“Thanks, John,” said Dad.
“That’s OK, Dad. Can I go to the freezer and have a Magnum?”
“Yes,” said Dad, distracted. “You can have a Magnum.”
“Thanks, Dad,” said John, glowing with pride as if he had just been given a badge that said ‘Number One Son’ on it.
“That’s it. No more watching that show Small England or whatever it’s called where those two idiots dress up as ‘laydees’. It’s a bad influence.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Now go to your room and do your homework,” barked Dad.
“I haven’t got any homework. I’ve been expelled.”
“Oh, yes.” Dennis’s dad thought for a moment. “Well, just go to your room then.”
Dennis passed John, who was sitting on the stairs gleefully enjoying his Magnum. He lay on his bed in silence, thinking how everything had been ruined, simply by putting on a dress. Dennis took out the photograph he had saved from the bonfire of him, John and Mum at the beach. It was all he had left now. He gazed at the picture. He would give anything to be on that beach again with ice-cream round his mouth, holding onto his mum’s hand. Maybe if he stared long enough into it he would disappear back into that happy scene.
But suddenly the picture was torn out of his hands.
Dad held it up. “What’s this?”
“It’s just a picture, Dad.”
“But I burnt them all. I don’t want any reminders of that woman in the house.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. It just floated out of the bonfire onto a hedge.”
“Well, now it’s going in the bin, like your magazine.”
“Please, Dad, don’t! Let me keep it.” Dennis snatched the photograph back.
“How dare you! Give it to me! NOW!” shouted Dad.
Dennis had never seen him so angry. He tentatively handed the picture back.
“Have you got any others?”
“No, Dad. That was the only one, I promise.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I blame your mother for all this dressing up business anyway. She was always too soft on you.”
Dennis was silent. There was nothing more to say. He carried on looking forward. He heard the door slam. An hour went by, or was it a day, or a month, or a year? Dennis wasn’t sure any more. The present was somewhere he didn’t want to be, and he couldn’t see a future. His life was over – and he was only twelve.
The doorbell rang, and a few moments later Dennis heard Darvesh’s voice downstairs. Then his dad’s.
“He’s not allowed out of his room I’m afraid, Darvesh.”
“But I really need to see him, Mr Sims.”
“It’s not possible I’m afraid. Not today. And if you see that stupid girl Lisa, who John says put him up to this dressing-up thing, tell her to never show her face again.”
“Can you tell him I’m still his friend? Whatever’s happened. He’s still my friend. Can you tell him that?”
“I’m not talking to him at the moment, Darvesh. It’s best you go.”
Dennis heard the door shut, and then went to the window. He could see Darvesh walking slowly down the drive, his patka getting wet in the rain. Darvesh turned back, and caught sight of Dennis up at his bedroom window. He smiled sadly, giving a little wave. Dennis put his hand up to wave back. Then Darvesh disappeared out of sight.
Dennis spent the whole day holed up in his room hiding from his dad.
♦
Just as night fell Dennis heard a quiet tapping on the window. It was Lisa. She was standing on a ladder and trying to talk in as a hushed tone as possible.
“What do you want?” asked Dennis.
“I need to speak to you.”
“I’m not allowed to speak to you anymore.”
“Just let me in for a minute. Please?” Dennis opened the window and Lisa climbed in. He sat back down on the bed.
“I’m sorry, Dennis. I’m really sorry. I thought it would be fun. I didn’t think it would end up like this.” She put a hand on his shoulder, stroking his hair. No one had stroked Dennis’s hair for years. His mum used to do it every night when she tucked him into bed. Somehow it made him want to cry.
“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” Lisa whispered. “I mean, why are girls allowed to wear dresses and boys aren’t? It doesn’t make any sense!”
“It’s OK, Lisa.”
“I mean, expelled? It’s just not fair. Karl Bates didn’t even get expelled for mooning the school inspectors!”
“And I’m going to miss the football final.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Look, I never meant all this to happen. It’s just crazy. I’m going to get Hawtrey to have you back at the school.”
“Lisa…”
“I am. I don’t know how yet, but I promise.”
Lisa hugged him and kissed him for a moment just shy of his lips. It was a glorious kiss. How could it be anything but glorious? After all, her mouth was shaped like a kiss. “Dennis, I promise.”
∨ The Boy in the Dress ∧
16
With or Without the Dress
It wasn’t until the weekend that Dennis was allowed out of the house. Dad had locked the computer away in a cupboard, and Dennis was forbidden to watch the television so he had missed a number of episodes of Trisha.
Finally, on Saturday morning, Dad relented and Dennis was let out for the day. He wanted to go round to Darvesh’s flat to wish him luck for the final. On the way he stopped off at Raj’s to get something to eat. He only had 13p to spend, as his pocket money had been frozen indefinitely. Raj greeted him as warmly as he always did.
“Ah, my favourite customer!” exclaimed Raj.
“Hi, Raj,” said Dennis, mutedly. “Have you got anything for 13p?”
“Erm, let me think. Half a Chomp bar?”
Dennis smiled. It was the first time he had smiled in a week.
“It’s nice to see you smile, Dennis. Lisa told me what happened at school. I am very sorry.”
“Thanks, Raj.”
“I must say you had me fooled though! Very good you looked, Denise! Ha ha! But I mean, being expelled for putting on a dress. It’s absurd! You haven’t done anything wrong, Dennis. You mustn’t be made to feel like you have.”
“Thanks, Raj.”
“Please help yourself to some free confectionery…”
“Wow thanks…” Dennis’s eyes lit up. “…to the value of 22p.”
♦
Watching Darvesh pack his football kit for the final was harder than Dennis had imagined. Not being able to play was the worst part of being expelled.
“I’m gutted you’re not in the team today, Dennis,” said Darvesh as he sniffed his socks to check they were clean. “You’re our star striker.”
“You guys will be OK,” said Dennis supportively.
“We don’t stand a chance without you and you know it. That Hawtrey is so evil, expelling you.”
“Well it’s done now, isn’t it? There’s nothing I can do.”
“There must be something. It’s so unfair. It’s only dressing up. It doesn’t bother me you know. You’re still Dennis, my mate, with or without the dress.”
Dennis was really touched, and wanted to hug Darvesh, but being twelve-year-old boys, hugging wasn’t really something they did.
“Those high heels must have been uncomfortable though!” said Darvesh.
“They’re murder!” said Dennis, laughing.
“Here’s your pre-match snack!” said Darvesh’s mum as she entered the room, carrying a tray piled high with food.
“What’s all this, Mum?” moaned Darvesh.
“I made you a little masala, some rice, dal, a chapatti, samosas, followed by a Wall’s Vienetta…”
“You need your strength, boy! Doesn’t he, Dennis?”
“Well yes…” Dennis hesitated. “I suppose…”
“You tell him, Dennis, he won’t listen to me! You know I’m so sad you’re not playing today.”
“Thanks, it’s been a horrible week,” replied Dennis.
“You poor boy, expelled just for not wearing the correct school uniform. Darvesh never told me, what exactly were you wearing?”
“Erm, it really doesn’t matter Mum…” said Darvesh. He attempted to hurry her out of his room.
“No, it’s OK,” said Dennis. “I don’t mind her knowing.”
“Knowing what?” asked Darvesh’s mum.
“Well,” Dennis paused, before continuing in a serious tone. “I went to school wearing an orange sequined dress.”
There was silence for a moment.
“Oh, Dennis,” she said. “What a terrible thing to do!”
Dennis paled.
“I mean, orange is really not your colour Dennis,” she continued. “With your light hair you would probably look better in a pastel colour like pink or baby blue.”
“Um…thank you,” said Dennis.
“My pleasure, you can come to me anytime for style advice. Now come on, Darvesh, eat up. I’ll just go and start the car,” she said as she left the room.
“Your mum’s cool,” said Dennis. “I love her!”
“I love her too but she’s nuts!” said Darvesh with a laugh. “So are you going to come and watch the game then? Everyone will be there.”
“I don’t know…”
“I know it will be a bit weird for you, but come with us. It won’t be the same without you. We need you there, Dennis, if only to cheer us on. Please?”
“I don’t know if I should…” said Dennis.
“Please?”
∨ The Boy in the Dress ∧
17
Maudlin Street
Dennis felt sick as the referee’s whistle blew for the start of the game. Pupils, parents and teachers were all grouped excitedly around the pitch. Darvesh’s mum looked like she was going to explode with excitement. She had elbowed her way to the front of the crowd. “Come on, football!” she kept shouting with joyful anticipation.
The Boy in the Dress Page 6