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      “And why have you got a moustache?” accused Dennis.

      “I have a very slight facial hair problem!” was the high-pitched reply. Dennis and Lisa just laughed. “Oh, it’s you. The boy in the dress,” snarled Mr Hawtrey, in a low voice. He knew the game was up now.

      “Yes,” replied Dennis, “the boy you expelled for wearing a dress. And here you are wearing one yourself.”

      “It’s not a dress, boy. It’s a blouse and skirt,” snapped Mr Hawtrey.

      “Nice heels, Sir,” said Lisa.

      Mr Hawtrey’s eyes bulged. “What do you want from me?” he demanded.

      “I want Dennis reinstated at the school,” demanded Lisa.

      “Impossible, I’m afraid. Not wearing the correct school uniform is a very serious offence,” said Mr Hawtrey with headmasterly confidence.

      “Well, what if it got out that you liked dressing like this?” asked Lisa. “You’d be a laughing stock.”

      “Are you trying to blackmail me?” Mr Hawtrey asked severely.

      “Yes,” said Lisa and Dennis simultaneously.

      “Oh,” said Mr Hawtrey, suddenly deflated. “Well, it seems like I have no choice then. Come back to school on Monday morning. In correct school uniform, boy. But you need to swear that you will never mention this to anyone,” added Mr Hawtrey sternly.

      “I swear,” said Dennis.

      Mr Hawtrey looked at Lisa. She was silent for a moment, enjoying the power she still had over him. She smiled wider than a grand piano.

      “Oh, OK, I swear too,” she said eventually.

      “Thank you.”

      “Oh and another thing I almost forgot,” said Dennis.

      “Boy?”

      “Yeah, let’s have proper footballs allowed in the playground at break-time from now on,” continued Dennis confidently. “It’s no good playing with tennis balls.”

      “Anything else?” roared Mr Hawtrey.

      “No, I think that’s everything,” said Dennis.

      “If we think of anything else we’ll let you know,” added Lisa.

      “Thank you so much,” said Mr Hawtrey sarcastically. “You know, it’s not always easy being a headmaster. Shouting at people all the time, telling them off, expelling them. I need to dress up like this to unwind.”

      “Well that’s cool, but why don’t you try being a bit nicer to everyone?” asked Lisa.

      “Utterly absurd idea,” replied Mr Hawtrey.

      “See you on Monday then, Miss!” said Dennis laughing. “Sorry, I mean, Sir!”

      Mr Hawtrey turned and began to run home as fast as his heels would let him. Just as he was about to disappear around the corner, he kicked his shoes off, picked them up and started sprinting.

      Dennis and Lisa laughed so loudly they woke up the whole street.

       21 Big Hairy Hands

      “What are you wearing that for?” asked Dad.

      It was Monday morning and he was staring at Dennis, who was sitting at the kitchen table eating his Rice Krispies, and for the first time in a week wearing his school uniform.

      “I’m going back to school today, Dad,” replied Dennis. “The headmaster has changed his mind about me being expelled.”

      “He has? Why? He’s a nasty piece of work that man.”

      “It’s a long story. I suppose he thought that the dressing up wasn’t so bad after all.”

      “Well, he’s right. It isn’t. You know I was very proud of you out there on that pitch. You were very brave.”

      “That boy really did kick me pretty hard,” said Dennis.

      “I don’t just mean that. I mean going out there in a dress. That was brave. I wouldn’t be able to do it. You’re a great lad really, you are. It hasn’t been easy for you since your mum left. I’ve been very unhappy and I know sometimes I’ve taken it out on you and your brother, and I am sorry for that.”

      “It’s OK, Dad. I still love you.”

      Dad reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the photograph he had taken of his family at the beach.

      “I didn’t have the heart to burn it, son. It’s just too painful for me to look at photos like that. I loved your mum very much you see? I still love her now, after everything. Being a grown-up is complicated like that. But it’s your photo, Dennis. You keep it safe.” Dad’s hand trembled as he passed the charred photograph back to his son. Dennis looked at it again, then slid it carefully into his breast pocket.

      “Thanks, Dad,” he said.

      “All right?” said John as he entered the room. “You coming back to school then?”

      “Yeah,” replied Dennis.

      “That stupid headmaster changed his mind,” added Dad.

      “Well, I think you’re very brave going back,” said John as he put some stale slices of bread in the toaster. “Some of the older kids might pick on you.”

      Dennis looked down at the lino.

      “Well, you need to look after your brother then, don’t you, John?” said Dad.

      “Yeah, I will. If anyone has a go, I’ll have a go back. You’re my brother and I’ll protect you.”

      “Good boy, John,” said Dad, trying not to cry. “I’ve gotta go boys. I’ve gotta drive a load of bog rolls to Bradford.” He walked over to the door, and then turned back for a moment. “I am very proud of you both, you know. Whatever you do, you’ll always be my boys. You’re all I’ve got.” He couldn’t quite look at them as he spoke, and then he quickly left, shutting the door behind him.

      Dennis and John looked at each other. It was as if an ice age had thawed, and the sun was shining for the first time in a million years.

      “It’s a shame you missed the final,” said Dennis as they walked to school together.

      “Yeah…” said John. “I just had to, you know, hang around outside the leisure centre with my mates.”

      “That’s funny. I thought for a moment I saw your face in the crowd, but I suppose it must have been someone else.”

      John coughed. “Well… actually, I sort of was there…”

      “I knew it!” said Dennis, smiling. “Why didn’t you let on?”

      “I was going to,” spluttered John. “But I just couldn’t run on to the pitch at the end and do all that hugging stuff. I wanted to, honest, but… I dunno. I’m sorry.”

      “Well, I’m glad you were there, even if you didn’t tell me. You don’t need to be sorry.”

      “Thanks. Sorry.”

      They walked in silence for a moment.

      “What I still don’t get though,” ventured John. “Is why you did it?”

      “Did what?”

      “Put on that dress in the first place.”

      “I don’t

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