“Mr Hawtrey.”
“That’s it. Mr Hawtrey. I could swear there’s something strange going on with him.”
“Strange?” asked Dennis, intrigued.
“I don’t know for sure,” continued Raj, “but you see he used to come in here every Sunday morning at 7 o’clock in the morning for his Telegraph. Same time every week, on the dot. And then after a while he stopped coming and his sister came instead. At least, he said it was his sister.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something very peculiar about that woman.”
“Really? What?”
“Come tomorrow at 7am and see for yourself.” Raj tapped his nose. “Now, do you want the other half of that Chomp bar? I can’t seem to shift it.”
“It’s very early for a Sunday,” complained Lisa. “It’s six forty-five. I should be in bed.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dennis.
“So Hawtrey’s got a sister. So what?”
“Well, Raj said there was something funny about her. Look, we’d better hurry up if we want to be there for seven.”
They quickened their pace along the cold, misty streets. The ground was damp from an overnight storm. No one else was up yet, and the absence of people gave the town an eerie feel. Lisa was of course wearing heels, though Dennis wasn’t on this particular occasion. All that could be heard was the click-clacking of her heels down the street.
Then, out of the grey mist stepped a very tall woman dressed in black. She entered the shop. Dennis checked his watch.
Seven o’clock precisely.
“That must be her,” whispered Dennis. They tiptoed over to the shop window and peered through the glass. This woman was indeed buying a copy of the Sunday Telegraph.
“So she’s buying a newspaper? So what?” whispered Lisa.
“Shush,” shushed Dennis. “We haven’t had a proper look at her yet.”
Raj spotted Dennis and Lisa through the glass and gave them a big wink as the woman turned around. They retreated behind a bin as she made her way out of the shop. Neither Dennis nor Lisa could believe what they saw. If it was Mr Hawtrey’s sister it must have been his twin. She even had a moustache!
The figure looked about to see no one was around and then hurried down the street. Dennis and Lisa looked at each other and smiled.
Gotcha!
“MR HAWTREY!” shouted Dennis.
The figure turned and said in a low, manly voice, “Yes?” before immediately raising its voice for a lady-like tone, “Um, I mean no!”
Dennis and Lisa approached.
“I’m not Mr Hawtrey. No… no… definitely not. I’m his sister Doris.”
“Come off it, Mr Hawtrey,” said Lisa, “we may be kids but we’re not stupid.”
“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.
“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,