“Would she do that?”
He shrugs. “She’s gonna break at some point, and I don’t want to keep pushing her buttons, so I’m trying to back off a little. Though I think I’d miss her more if you weren’t around.”
I’m acutely aware that his head is resting on my chest, and that he can probably hear my heartbeat spike dramatically at his words.
But now I’m thinking,I hope Daisy and Serasi never split up.
20
Friday 31st October 2025
Lando
Harry and I communicate almost exclusively through WhatsApp or IG messenger, so when I rang him on Tuesday, unsurprisingly he’d answered the phone with, “What the fuck?”
“Is that any way to speak to the love of your life?” I’d responded.
“Why are you ringing me like an old person?”
I didn’t bother answering him. “What are you doing on Friday?”
“Halloween?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing?” A question. “Why?”
“How do you feel about fancy dress?” I’d said.
“Um . . . I’m not totally opposed, I guess, but I don’t have a costume.”
“Okay, let me be real for a sec. Every year Mr B throws a big charity Halloween party in the pub, and there are prizes for the bestdressed, and there’s bobbing for apples, and a scare-house, and all sorts. Daisy and I usually dress up together, but she’s just informed me that she and Serasi are planning their own couple’s costumes, and listen, I need you to wear Daisy’s dress because my outfit won’t make sense without it.”
He was quiet for so long.
“Hello, are you still there?”
“Did you say dress? Daisy’s dress?”
“Yeah . . . Second question: how do you feel about cross-dressing?”
The fucker had hung up on me.
Now he’s standing in my closet staring at the mannequin clothed in what will be his Halloween costume.
A back-to-front white silky blouse and a pair of black trousers with a fake ass in the front are draped on my dummy, and a long-sleeved, floor-length red dress with an optical illusion hole in the tummy hangs on Harry’s. We’re going to be Madeline Ashton and Helen Sharp fromDeath Becomes Her.
So long as I can convince him to don the frock.
“I made it for Daze, but it’ll fit you,” I say, nudging him closer.
“Daisy and I are not the same size.”
“You’re about the same height.” They’re really not. “The dress will stretch. It’s mostly spandex.”
“And you’re wearing this? At least you’ve got trousers and a shirt.”
“It’s a blouse,” I correct. “And I’m still going to be a woman. We both have heels and wigs.”
