After a restless night, Liam woke feeling worse than when his head first hit the pillow. Between his sister snoring loudly beside him and his own racing mind, sleep had been nearly impossible. He lay there staring at the ceiling, his chest tight as the sickening truth settled in: the hair, the lashes, the lips—they were part of him now. There was no easy way back. He was trapped.
He barely survived breakfast. As his uncle hammered out the details of their plan hatched at Nando’s the previous evening, Liam tried to make as little noise as possible. He nibbled on a dry piece of toast, staring blankly at the long, glamorous nails holding it. The only small mercy was that his disguise was clearly working. Despite spending considerable time with his uncle, Gary seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the big-lipped blonde opposite him was actually his nephew—perhaps not that surprising considering the last time they saw each other was just before Liam’s twelfth birthday.
He spent the rest of the morning trapped in Hannah’s room with his sister and cousin, too scared to leave in case he bumped into his uncle. His broken computer—his biggest worry just a few days ago—now paled in comparison to losing his bedroom and having his hair and face mutilated by a smiling Thai woman.
The girls didn’t seem to share his concerns as they started drilling him on how to be more like them. They did his makeup and made him try on different outfits, all under the pretext of finding “his look.” Feeling like a living dress-up doll, Liam huffed and puffed as they squeezed him into micro miniskirts, pleather leggings, and all manner of uncomfortably tight, chavvy clothes.
Hannah also insisted his voice match his disguise. After watching an online tutorial, he did his best to imitate his sister and cousin speech patterns. His initial attempts made the girls howl with laughter and left Liam feeling utterly ridiculous. Still, Hannah pushed him to keep going, and after an hour of practice, the improvement was obvious. It wasn’t perfect, but it was “gettin’ there,” as Hannah put it, demanding he use this voice at all times from now on.
Liam’s protests fell on deaf ears when, come early afternoon, Hannah announced they were heading out. Visiting her so-called friend, Vicky, was non-negotiable if their plan was going to work.
He stood by the bed and pouted, a mini clone of his sister staring back at him from the mirror. Between the signature hoop earrings, the high blonde ponytail, and the glossy, over-injected lips, the resemblance was sickening. Even his makeup and outfit matched what she was wearing. The irony that this whole mess began with her trying to make him look like her wasn't lost on him—adding to his frustration.
The room was a mess of discarded clothes and shoes he’d thankfully avoided, but his final “casual” outfit still made him feel like a complete idiot. The shiny black sweatpants with twin gold stripes running the length of his legs were acceptable, if entirely unmasculine. Above, a ribbed black crop top exposed his stomach and his tight chest—still taped and glued to create highly realistic cleavage. A pink plastic puffer coat would draw every passing eye, and his sister’s chunky black trainers, while technically flat, concealed a wedge that lifted his heels three inches off the ground.
Stomping downstairs, he thankfully avoided another run-in with his uncle, who had mentioned over breakfast that he needed to speak to a mate to finalise some details for the job. It was a small win that momentarily calmed Liam’s nerves, but stepping out the front door into familiar territory brought the sickening sinking in his gut straight back.
The sensation of doing something wrong never left him as he crossed the estate, terrified of bumping into someone he knew. It was the same concrete, worn-down, blocky buildings he had seen all his life, the same grim Manchester weather, and the same scruffy teens zipping around on bikes. It was Liam who had changed, and navigating his old world with his new look left him in a constant state of panic.
Trying to blend in, he mimicked Hannah and Molly’s confident, hip-swaying strut—a motion that felt completely alien to him. He kept his chin tucked into his collar to avoid attention, but between the girls’ shrieking and constant chatter, it was a lost cause.
The relief of finally reaching their destination vanished the second the front door flung opened. Vicky stood on the threshold, looking the epitome of chav glam. She was a short, stocky girl rocking fluffy sliders and a matching baby-blue tracksuit that clung tightly to her curves. Her fake eyelashes were thick enough to cause a breeze, and her severely drawn-on block eyebrows were a statement, to say the least.
"Bout time. Get in 'ere," she said with a cheeky smile, waving them out of the cold. She cracked her chewing gum and stepped back to let them into the cramped hallway. Confident as always, Hannah took the lead, introducing Liam as her friend Tiff, and from there, things moved fast.
Vicky led them into the living room, a space that looked far more like a high-end boutique than a two-bedroom council house. Racks of expensive clothing lined the walls, all new, most with tags, and undoubtedly stolen.
There was a brief exchange about money, quickly settled when Hannah assured Vicky they only needed to borrow the outfit and promised to make it worth her while. They then moved on to the real reason they were there: to find Liam an outfit for the con. Which meant only one thing—an exhausting marathon of trying on clothes.
With Vicky giving the girls the green light to rummage, Molly and Hannah descended on the racks like women possessed. The sharp clack of their acrylic nails against heavy wooden hangers filled the room as they ruthlessly pushed past floor-length gowns and heavy winter trench coats. Suddenly, Molly stopped, yanking some hangers free with a triumphant grin.
“Let’s try this,” she declared, holding up a pristine, cream-coloured tailored two-piece set in one hand and a white leather corset-style bustier in the other. “I’m thinking tarty boss bitch.”
Hannah eyed the garments critically before giving a nod of approval. “Alright.” She took the items, glancing over her shoulder. “You got a place for her to try this on, Vicks?”
From her position on the leather sofa, Vicky didn’t even glance up from her phone. “Out in the hall.” She pointed a bright pink nail. “No one will bother you out there.”
Before Liam could proceed what was happening, Hannah clamped a hand around his bicep, practically dragging him out of the room.
“Wait up,” Molly called out, scooping up a pair of towering gold platform wedges by the straps.
“Take these too.” Hannah smile and reached back blindly, letting her smiling cousin hook them over her fingers.
The second the door shut, Liam ripped his arm away and dropped his voice an octave. “Do we really have to do this, Han? Can’t we just find somethin’ back at the house? Or better still, talk Uncle Gaz out of this mental plan?”
Hannah folded her arms, hitting him with a deadpan stare that made him take a step backwards. “Sure. Let’s go find Gaz right now. Tell ‘im you can’t do it because you’re not the person he thinks you are. Tell ‘im you’re really his nephew playing dress-up, and see how that goes. You want to go tell Mols we’re leaving, or shall I?”
Liam stared at her, a bitter mix of frustration and resignation taking over. He looked down at his feminised body, then back at his sister, letting out a long, defeated sigh. “Let’s just get this over with quickly, okay?”
“Thought so,” Hannah said with a smirk. She hung the hangers on a hook and placed the clunky wedges beneath the chair. “Now, strip. And remember your girl voice, will ya?”
=========================
Liam clomped back into the Livingroom on his heavy wedges, feeling like his feet had been replaced with cinder blocks. Molly instantly gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, babes!” she squealed. “Get a load of you! Tiff, you look absolutely stunnin’, swear down!”
Hannah marched him to the centre of the room, then stepped back to examine her handiwork. Left standing under the scrutiny of three chavvy women, Liam felt a hot flush of embarrassment burn beneath his thick foundation. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest, his swollen lips pulled into a miserable, angry pout beneath his high blonde ponytail.
Vicky glanced up briefly from her phone. “I like it. Very posh.”
Liam shifted his weight, wincing as the rigid bustier dug into his ribs and the tight cream trousers rode aggressively high between his legs. “Great. Are we done then?” he asked, desperate to leave.
Molly circled him, tugging the end of his blazer with her long dark nails as her earlier excitement disappeared. “I don’t know. It might be a bit formal. A bit too boring. What do you think, Han?”
“I agree,” Hannah said, already returning to the racks. “It’s not right at all. And she hasn’t got the hips for those pants. We can do better.”
“Innit,” Molly said, clearly pleased with herself. “We need her looking proper high-maintenance. Like a real pampered princess.”
Ten minutes later, the hallway door slowly creaked open once more.
Liam teetered into the living room, his previous blocky wedges replaced by towering, pink stiletto sandals. Every step was a struggle, his ankles visibly shaking under the strain of the needle-thin heels. Hannah followed closely behind him, a satisfied grin plastered across her face as she guided him into position.
Stripped of every remaining shred of masculinity, Liam felt both suffocated and exposed in a sheer pink lace blouse that was tight around the neck and far too delicate. Below, a matching pink mini-skirt exploded in tiers of ruffles that barely covered his thighs.
He had never worn anything this feminine in his life. The sheer vulnerability of standing there—dressed like a frilly pink cupcake in front of his sister, his cousin, and a complete stranger in Vicky—twisted his stomach into painful knots. He stood stiffly, his knees slightly knocking together, and his hands clenched into tight, defensive fists. Peering out from beneath thick lashes, he failed to hide the miserable, wide-eyed distress in his expression.
Molly clapped her hands together, letting out a deafening squeal. “Oh my days! Look at the little pink princess! Now that’s mega cute!”
“I feel ridiculous.” Liam swallowed hard, forcing his vocal cords back into a higher register so Vicky wouldn’t clock on.
“Oh, shut up, this style is so you, sis.” Hannah stepped closer, flicking his blonde ponytail. “What do you reckon, Vicks? Legally Blonde meets the estate, I’d say. She could stop traffic with those legs.”
“Definitely.” Vicky nodded, blowing a bubble with her chewing gum. “Very Barbie.”
Liam pressed down on his heels to stabilise himself and took a deep breath. “Please, Han,” he pleaded. “It’s too much! I can’t go around like this. Everyone will stare at me!”
“Actually... as much as I love it, she might be right,” Molly agreed as she took in the excessive pink lace and frills. “It is a bit much, innit? Barbiecore was so last year. It’s giving me hen do in Newcastle vibes.”
“Yeah, fair point,” Hannah agreed, stepping away from her brother and turning her attention back to Vicky’s designer racks. “We still need glam but without attracting too much attention.”
“Right, let’s tone it down a bit, then,” Molly said as she joined Hannah in her search.
When the door to the living room opened for a third time, Liam shuffled rather than teetered, his hands splayed out at his sides. He was now squeezed into a matching pale pink-and-white tweed set—a cropped, long-sleeved jacket worn open over a thigh-skimming mini dress. The deep, scooped neckline pushed his cleavage front and centre, leaving him feeling horribly exposed. On his feet were chunky, off-white platform Mary Janes with a double platform sole and a towering heel that made him feel like a giant.
Molly’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, now that is proper sophisticated, that is.” She beamed, giving a firm nod. “Dead classy.”
Liam dragged himself to the centre of the room and executed a painfully slow turn. His calves burned, and his thighs were locked tight as he fought to find his balance. His mind, previously clouded by sheer humiliation, pivoted to the logistics of his impending doom.
“I’m gonna freeze to death out there in this get-up,” Liam whined, gesturing frantically at his exposed thighs. “It’s too short! I can’t walk normal in these crazy shoes. And what if somethin’ goes wrong? How am I supposed to run away?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “You’re not gonna be runnin’ anywhere, so stop stressin’. You’re the distraction. If the bloke behind the counter is busy starin’ at your chest and your legs, he’s not watchin’ what Gaz is doin’, is he?”
“Exactly.” Molly pointed a manicured finger at him. “Plus, you’re supposed to be playin’ a rich, bimbo bride, remember? People need to see the sort of daft cow who can actually afford a massive, expensive diamond ring. You’ve gotta look proper minted.”
Liam chewed on his heavily glossed bottom lip, his stress levels rising as he digested this new information. Could he really totter into a high-end jeweller’s, acting as the glamorous, brainless bait for a robbery? The thought was not just terrifying, it was downright dumb. Yet, in that moment, as frantically as he searched for a way out, a brilliant escape plan eluded him.
From her seated position, Vicky eyed Liam up and down. “Well, if that’s what you’re goin’ for, this isn’t right.”
Hannah whipped around. “Yeah, how so? I reckon it’s spot on.”
“Nah, she looks like she’s off for some sorta posh afternoon tea, not draggin’ her fella into town to demand a diamond. It’s missing the edge. It needs to be a bit trashier, dontcha think?”
Hannah tilted her head, considering Vicky’s words for a moment, then smirked. “Yeah, fair enough. I getcha point.” She looked over at her partner in crime. “Next one, Mols?”
“Too right,” Molly chirped, springing up from the sofa. “I’m in no rush, anyway. This is fun.
Stranded in the centre of the room, Liam swayed on his massive heels and let out a quiet sigh. Watching his sister and cousin start rifling through the racks again, he had a sinking feeling it was going to be a long afternoon.