Later that evening at the tram stop, Hannah and Molly buzzed with excitement. A few feet away, Liam sat hunched on a small metal perch pretending to be a bench. He kept his shoulders rounded and his head down, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible.
“God, it’s been ages since we got properly dolled up for town,” Molly said, giving a little twirl. Her pleather minidress clung tight, a cut-out panel flashing her toned waist.
Hannah, glittering under the station lights in a silver sequined minidress, barked a laugh. “Ages? You were literally there two weeks ago on that tragic Tinder date, you melt.”
“Doesn’t count, does it? That bloke was an absolute freak,” Molly shot back, looking down at her bare legs and heeled boots. “Anyway, two weeks is a long time for me, Han. Sitting around the house all day, every day, does my head in.”
“Fair point,” Hannah replied, glancing down at her sparkly silver pumps. “It was fun getting dressed up to actually leave the house for once, and not just for the camera.”
“Right?” Molly agreed, shifting her weight. “D'ya reckon your dad actually booked somewhere posh? We’re not overdressed, are we?”
Before Hannah could answer, Liam snapped. For ten minutes, he had listened to his sister and cousin prattle on while drowning in crippling embarrassment. All the while, he sat awkwardly with his knees clamped together, his long acrylic nails fumbling as he tried to claw down a hemline that barely covered his hairless thighs.
“Overdressed?” he scoffed, the words feeling clumsy and muffled as they emerged from his swollen, plumped lips. “We’re barely wearing anything at all.”
Hannah looked over at her brother and smirked. He looked unrecognisable, his arms folded under a very realistic pair of breasts that peeked through the keyhole of his slinky, metallic-pink sequined dress. His usually mousy hair was now peroxide-blonde, silky, and flowing. Large hoops hung from his pierced ears, framing a face dominated by aggressively arched brows, heavy lashes, and a glossy pink pout. The disguise was flawless. The only trace of the old Liam was the furious, piercing blue glare he was currently shooting her way.
“Oh, wind your neck in, will ya?” Hannah shot back, suppressing a snigger. She let her gaze drop to the glittery pink wedge pumps on his feet—the exact same ones she’d worn to her Year 11 prom. “You’ve literally done nothing but whinge since we left Mei’s.”
“Can you blame me?” Liam cried. He threw his arms up, causing his heavy fake chest to jiggle. The sudden movement made him fumble the little pink purse grasped clumsily between his French-manicured nails, nearly tossing it across the platform. “This is too much, Hannah,” he slurred, his puffed-up lips once again dulling his consonants. “Look at me. I look like the type of girl who’d drop her knickers for a Bacardi Breezer and a pack of smokes. How could you do this to me?”
“Oi,” Hannah replied sharply. “It’s a lot, I know. But it’s not like I knew Uncle Gaz was gonna walk in. And I didn’t know Mei was going to go this far, okay? The lips were a surprise. But you're dressed exactly like me and Mols, so drop the sarky comments. Or do you think we’re just a pair of skanks?”
Liam sighed hard. He knew better than to answer that honestly; telling the truth would only make an awful situation worse. “No, I don’t think that. I’m just not used to any of this. It all feels so weird, Han,” he pleaded, his tone softening. “My arms and legs are freezing, people keep staring, and I’m genuinely not sure what hurts more: my chest, my lips, or that tape you used to strap me down between my legs.”
“They’re only lookin’ at you weird because you’re stomping around like a gorilla and acting all skittish,” Molly chimed in. “Just act normal, and no one will bother you.”
“And how do you expect me to walk in these ridiculous things?” Liam fired back angrily. He pointed a glossy acrylic nail down at the uncomfortable wedges torturing his feet. “I’ve never worn heels in my life. Why make me wear ‘em when I’m already this self-conscious?”
“I told ya earlier. They complete the look. You’d stand out worse if you were wearing trainers with that dress,” Molly answered, clearly enjoying his misery. “Look, you’ve been fine so far. Just be grateful we didn’t stick you in Han’s outfit like we originally planned.”
“Yeah, that was proper kind of you,” Liam muttered sarcastically.
“Oh, look, tram’s ‘ere,” Hannah announced, stepping in before things got too heated. “Just copy me and Mols and you’ll be fine. Remember why we’re doing this. Uncle Gaz is expecting three girls. As long as we play it cool, there’s literally no way he’s gonna suspect a thing, right?”
Liam took a deep breath and eased himself up. His calves burned instantly as his weight pressed back into an agonising arch. He shot a glare at Hannah, a sharp retort ready, but the hiss of the carriage doors sliding open cut him off. As he caught sight of the passengers inside staring out at him, the fight drained from his body, replaced by a sudden, cold spike of fear.
“You’ll look after me, right?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly as the reality of his vulnerability sank in.
Hannah smiled softly. “Course I will, sis. We’re not gonna let anything bad happen to you, alright? Now get on the tram.”
====================
The twelve-minute journey felt like an eternity. Liam spent the entire ride staring in horror at his altered reflection in the window, too terrified to look away in case he accidentally made eye contact with another passenger. Thankfully, the carriage was quiet enough that they managed to grab seats. But while his aching feet got to rest, being squashed against the window by Hannah—with his thighs clamped tightly together—only transferred the agonising pressure between his legs.
He somehow managed to endure the ride without a full-blown panic attack, but exiting was another story. It felt like every eye in the carriage was locked onto them as the three girls clattered down the aisle in their tiny dresses. Navigating the steps down suddenly felt perilous, and the moment his wedges hit the ground, the cold, wet Manchester evening was an assault on the senses.
The lights, the crowds, and the noise were instantly overwhelming. The chilly wind nipped at his exposed legs, tugging the roots of his hair in a way he’d never felt before. For a moment, he stood frozen on the platform, taking it all in. His knees went weak, and his stomach turned queasy as he gawked, experiencing the city centre from an entirely new, terrifying perspective.
“Excuse me, love,” a voice said from right behind him.
He spun violently, almost tripping as he whipped Molly in the face with his hair. Ignoring her sharp “Oi, watch it!” he found himself staring slack-jawed into the face of a small, elderly woman.
“If you could just move to the side, love. There are people trying to get off,” she said in a gentle tone.
“Erm… sorry,” Liam managed, his voice cracking.
“Come on, Tiff,” Molly said, stepping in and hooking her arm through Liam’s. “Move.”
“Sorry,” Hannah added, linking her arm through his other side to physically support his weight. “Don’t mind her, she’s had a bit of a stressful day.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” the old lady replied sympathetically as Molly and Hannah steered Liam out of the doorway. “If it’s a boy, forget him, love. You’re too young and pretty to let them boys mess you around, d'ya hear?”
Feeling lightheaded, Liam nodded. “Yes,” he squeaked as his sister and cousin spun him around before walking him away in a fit of giggles.
The meeting spot was only a short teeter from the station, but true to form, Uncle Gaz was late. The delay left Liam shivering, his eyes darting manically at every moving object; every passing stranger sent his heart rate soaring and his flashy pink shoes wobbling.
Finally, Gary swaggered into view wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and a tracksuit jacket. “So much for dressing up,” Liam thought, struggling to maintain his composure.
At the sight of the girls, Gary’s face split into a massive grin. “Well, look at you three lovelies. I’m speechless,” he said, pulling up in front of them. “My little girl really is all grown up.”
“Hi, Dad,” Molly said, looking uncharacteristically self-conscious. “We wanted to look nice for dinner. It’s not too much, is it?”
“No, if anything, it’s too little,” Gary said, cracking a joke that only he laughed at. “No, you girls look proper tidy. I’ll be the envy of everyone we see tonight.”
“So, where are you takin’ us then, Uncle Gaz?” Hannah asked, while Liam cowered behind her. “Is it that Italian place over there?” she added, pointing a manicured finger toward the overpriced, high-end eatery behind her uncle.
“Not this time, Han,” Gary replied with a chuckle. “Why don’t ya look behind you instead? That’s our palace tonight.”
They all turned in unison. Hannah and Molly’s faces dropped in disappointment, while Liam felt too humiliated to think straight.
“Nando’s?” Molly asked, her voice flat. “We spent all day getting ready to go to Nando’s? That’s what you call fancy?”
“’Ey, when you’re payin’, you can choose the restaurant,” Gary replied cheerfully. “I’ve been dreamin’ about a cheeky Nando’s for the last five years. Now, come on, shall we get inside? I’m starvin’, and you girls must be freezin’.”
====================
Inside Nando’s, the air was thick with the smell of roasting chicken and the chatter of the evening rush. It was a haven for the others, but for Liam, the bright lights felt like a spotlight. Tucking himself behind Hannah, he peered over her shoulder to scan the room, seeing a minefield: polished, slippery floors, a sea of staring strangers, and a dozen different ways to humiliate himself before they even reached a table.
A waitress greeted them at the entrance and, after a brief, terrifying pause, led them toward the back of the restaurant. Liam concentrated on the back of Hannah’s silver dress, trying to keep his stride short and his head down as he minced across the room.
When they reached the far wall, he slid into his chair with as much ladylike grace as he could muster—which wasn’t much. The wooden legs scraped loudly against the floor, his short sequined hem hiked dangerously high as he sat, and a curtain of peroxide-blonde hair fell over his made-up face.
Once he’d gathered his composure, he was presented with a menu. Still pretending that he was unable to speak, he didn't dare risk a "thank you." Instead, he fumbled with the oversized laminated menu, his long acrylic nails clicking clumsily against the plastic as he struggled to flip the pages. He eventually settled on a chicken platter, stabbing a manicured finger at the picture to show Gary, who nodded and headed off toward the queue at the counter.
Gary returned to the table and launched straight into the small talk, asking what everyone had been up to. Liam listened as Hannah and Molly detailed their visit to Mei’s and how they had all gotten new manicures. Looking disinterested, Gary let his gaze drop to the table; he caught a glimpse of Liam’s manicure and muttered a distracted, “Yeah, proper nice, those,” oblivious to everything else his nephew had been put through that afternoon. Molly asked about his own day, and Gary began explaining a run-in with an old mate at the pub, but the arrival of the food cut his story short.
For the next few minutes, the group settled into a comfortable rhythm, the silence broken only by the clatter of cutlery and the occasional satisfied mumble as they tucked into their food, until Gary wiped his mouth and looked over the table. “So, what you doin’ for cash these days, Mols?”
Molly swapped a quick look with Hannah before flashing a practised smile at her father. “Oh, you know, a bit of this and that. We make a decent chunk from socials, and we sell some clothes online.”
“All over my ’ead, this online world,” Gary replied with a chuckle. “I guess it’s all changed while I was inside.” He shifted his gaze to Hannah, his eyes narrowing slightly. “So, where do these clothes come from? You got a proper supplier, or are you nickin’ ’em?”
Hannah took her time, chewing slowly as she let the question hang. When she finally swallowed, her smirk turned sharp. “Some are freebies from brands that want the exposure. The rest... well, you know how it is, Uncle Gaz. If the shops didn't want people helpin' themselves, they’d make it a lot harder to walk out the door, wouldn’t they?”
Gary let out a loud, barking laugh of approval. “Dead right, Han. Dead right.”
“Seein’ as we’re talkin’ of makin’ money,” Hannah said, leaning in. “You got any more ideas on how we can make some?”
“I’ve always got plans, Hannah,” Gary said, tapping a thick finger against his temple. “There’s a treasure trove of knowledge in ’ere.”
“Go on then,” Hannah challenged with a smirk. “Let’s ’av one.”
Gary snorted, picked up a chip, and tossed it into his mouth. He kept his eyes locked on his niece as he chewed, letting the silence build. “Alright. How would you girls like to make a grand each?”
“A grand each?” Molly’s voice hit a higher pitch. “As in one, two, three?”
Gary gave a firm nod. “Too right. One for each of you.”
“Sounds alright, that,” Hannah said, though she sounded far less convinced than Molly. “I’m listenin’.”
“Well, remember that mate I bumped into? He reckons he can get me one of those lab-grown diamonds. Apparently, they’re identical to the real thing, unless under a microscope. All we’ve got to do is walk into a fancy jeweller's and swap it for the genuine article.”
“Wow, that’s a mega idea,” Molly breathed, her eyes lighting up.
“Yeah, I know,” Gary replied, leaning back and folding his arms, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
“So, how’re you gonna pull that off then?” Hannah asked, her scepticism cutting through the excitement. “You got an actual plan?”
Gary’s face soured, and he let out a sharp scoff. “Course I ’ave,” he shot back, sounding genuinely offended. “I just need to look the part. That’s where you lot come in—findin’ me the right gear.”
“And you think a suit is all it’ll take?” Hannah pressed.
“Not on its own, no. I need a classy lookin’ fiancé on my arm to distract ’em,” Gary said, his tone growing more confident as the idea took shape in his head. “If you look like a high roller, they don't ask questions. I just need a partner.” Gary scanned the table, his eyes lingering on Molly and Hannah before locking onto Liam. “Someone like Tiff ’ere,” he declared.
Liam’s throat constricted, and he let out a violent, ragged cough as he nearly choked on a piece of chicken.
“I mean, it’d be a bit weird for my own daughter or niece to do it, right?” Gary added, looking around for agreement.
Under the table, Liam’s wedged foot connected sharply with Hannah’s shin, earning a muffled grunt. He glared at her, his eyes pleading for help, but before Hannah could think up a reason why her brother—currently parading as the blonde-haired chav sitting opposite her—couldn’t do that, Molly cut in.
“Hmmm... sounds a bit risky, that,” Molly said, her face scrunched in over-animated thought. “I bet you’re makin’ a lot more than a grand, too. We ain’t kids, Dad, and we ain’t stupid. If you want our help, we want our fair share.”
Gary chuckled, wagging a finger at her. “You’re defo my daughter, Mols. Fair enough—if we pull this off, we split the lot four ways. Word of honour.”
“It’s a deal,” Molly declared, sealing Liam’s fate without even glancing at his horrified face.
“That’s sorted, then,” Gary said, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin. “I’ll leave the costumes up to you girls, but first, let’s see if Tiff ’ere is any good at actin’.”
Without explanation, Gary reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue. He unfolded it with surgical care, revealing a few jagged shards of broken glass. Then, he reached across the table and dumped the fragments directly onto Liam’s half-eaten meal.
“Waiter!” Gary bellowed, his voice suddenly thick with manufactured rage. “Manager! Get over ’ere, now!”
A sudden, vacuum-like silence swallowed the room as every head turned toward their table. Liam’s big, rubbery lips parted in shock, his breath hitching. He sat frozen, his cutlery suspended in a trembling grip between his acrylic talons, staring down at the shards of glass through his heavy lashes.
“Waiter!” Gary roared again, making a show of half-rising from his chair.
Finally, the waitress who had seated them hurried over, her expression shifting from confusion to wary annoyance. “What seems to be the trouble, sir?” she asked, her voice tight.
“This!” Gary shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Liam’s plate. “This is the problem! What kind of establishment is this? You tryin’ to kill us or somethin’?”
The waitress looked down at the plate. Her shoulders slumped—not with apology, but with the weary resignation of someone who had seen this exact scam a dozen times before. She looked at the glass, then back at Gary’s performative fury, and let out a long, slow sigh.
“I can’t imagine how that got there, sir,” she said in a deadpan drone. She wasn’t buying it for a second, but she also wasn’t paid enough to care. “I’ll replace the meal for you right away.”
“No, we ain’t eatin’ anythin’ else from that kitchen,” Gary challenged. “Who knows what we’ll get? I’m not payin’, and I expect some proper compensation.”
The waitress sighed again, her eyes glassing over as she forced a corporate-standard smile. “Of course, sir. The entire bill is on the house, and I’ll get you a voucher for fifty per cent off your next visit. How does that sound?”
Gary huffed, settling back into his seat and shaking his head like a man who had narrowly escaped a tragedy. “Fine. But you tell that kitchen to be more careful in future. It’s a disgrace.”
“I’ll pass on the message, sir,” the woman replied, the resentment in her voice barely hidden behind her professional mask. “Let me get that voucher for you.”
As she walked away, Molly’s face split into a wide, impressed grin. “Wow,” she whispered, leaning in. “That was brilliant.”
She looked over at Liam, who sat frozen, his mouth still hung open in a silent, glossed-up gasp. Hannah, in contrast, looked eager to move, already snatching up her bag.
“I think we’ll use the ladies’ room quickly before we leave,” Hannah said, her voice tight with a forced, polite smile for the benefit of the staring tables. She reached across the table, clamped a hand around Liam’s arm, and practically hoisted him out of his chair. “You comin’, Mol?”
“Err… yeah,” Molly replied, scrambling to her feet. “Back in a minute, Dad.”
Liam stumbled across the dining room toward the restrooms, leaning heavily on Hannah for support. It was only when they rounded the corner—escaping Gary and the prying eyes of the restaurant—that his legs found their footing. He wrenched his arm from Hannah’s grasp and tottered forward on his sparkly pink wedges before spinning around, his stunned expression replaced by a raw, boiling fury.
“What the fuck?” he hissed, his voice cracking as he threw his arms wide. “What the actual fuck, Molly? You want me to pretend to be your dad’s fiancée? Do you have any idea how twisted that is?”
“It’s just pretendin’,” Molly replied, shrinking back slightly, caught off guard by the sudden outburst.
“Then you fucking do it!” Liam roared, folding his arms angrily. He turned his glare toward his sister. “And you? You’re okay with this? You actually think this is a good idea?”
Hannah remained silent for a moment, her face unreadable. Finally, she let out a sharp snort through her nose. “No,” she said flatly. “You’re right. It’s fucked up.” She adjusted the strap of her bag, her eyes meeting his. “But you know what? So is life. It’s cruel, it’s unfair, and sometimes it fucks you over for no reason. Right now, you’re just gettin’ a double dose of it.”
She shook her head gently, her tone shifting from cynical to pragmatic. “Look, as I see it, there’s only one way out of this. When we get home tonight, you tell Uncle Gaz the truth. Total honesty. Me and Mols will be right there to back you up.”
Liam wobbled on his elevated feet, the sequins of his minidress glinting under the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway. He looked down at the manufactured cleavage peeking through the cheap polyester fabric, feeling the uncomfortable bite of the tape holding the illusion together. When he looked back at his sister, the anger was gone, replaced by a look of total defeat.
“I… I can’t do that,” he finally whispered, his shoulders slumping. “Not lookin’ like this!”
Hannah exhaled a long, heavy breath and lifted her arms in a shrug. “Well, you’d better start practicin’ your girl voice then. Because if you don’t come clean tonight, I reckon Tiff’s gonna be around for a while—and she’s gonna have to pull her weight. The bills don’t pay themselves, you know?”