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Lisa is wearing a clingy dress in plain purplematerial which sets off her figure to advantage, and contrastspleasingly with her darkish hair. My mother compliments her in turn,and the three of us start walking through the gardens, Lisa pointing outplants and displays and talks animatedly about her work there. I amless interested in the plants than in the look and feel of my clothes (Icatch my reflection from time to time in the windows of glasshouses),and am kept constantly on edge as we encounter other visitors, sometimeshaving to brush past them on the narrow pathways. I attract noparticular attention - people, after all, tend to see what they expectto see - and although I start with alarm every time we turn a corner andfind somebody around it, there is something rather delicious about theterror of being found out that I cannot describe properly, even tomyself.All this changes when we stop for coffee at about 11 o'clock. The smallcaf? is not busy, but the tables and the. "Why not?" she coaxed, gently stroking his tummy."It's too short. Looks like a baby-dress" You are a baby." No I'm not" Danny pouted, "I'm nine" You're eight. Anyway, it's either this, or walk to school in your underwear."Danny's expression froze in momentarily surprise. "What?" he said after a brief pause. "Mum said if you don't wear the dress, you have to go to school in your socks and panties." Rosa explained offhand, although no such conversation had actually taken place. She regarded Danny with a quizzical expression, amused by his obvious discomfort. His cheeks had flushed the colour of a ripe summer tomato as he considered her words. He studied his sister's face, trying to determine whether she was serious or not. Reading his expression with practiced ease, Rosa raised one eyebrow enquiringly."Well, what's it going to be?" she asked, concealing her amusement, "time's a'wasting, kiddo." Danny glanced at the frock in his sister's hands, deciding that she had to be joking. Turning.
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