In spite of my claims that I wasn’t looking forward to Gregory returning home, I was a bit gutted that he wasn’t coming back for Christmas because maybe, just maybe he’d talk some sense into our mother. Vincent on the other hand was pleased to hear the news. In private he told me that his first Christmas as a girl is going to be bad enough without Gregory’s sneers and insults. I told Vincent that it’d be OK and optimistically added that it could be his only Christmas as a girl if Mother sees sense. “I hope so.” he replied as he looked up at me, clearly on the verge of tears. “It wouldn’t be so bad if she treated me like a girl my age…. but she treats me like a seven year old.” he whined, and quite rightly so. “Even Lauren says my bedroom’s too girlie…” he said as we both cast our eyes around his bedroom walls. “…and she’s a girlie girl!” he added.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to dress like a girl all the time too.” I gulped as I smoothed my dress over my lap. “I don’t mind the odd girlie day…” I said, today being one of them, “…but I don’t know how you put up with it every day.”

“You just get used to it.” Vincent replied. “And at least Mother dresses you your age.” he added.

I gulped as I looked at my blue sailor style frock, white tights and black Mary Jane style shoes. In comparison to Vincent’s prissy outfit, I guess mine is a lot more grown up. “I don’t have to dress like a girl outside either.” I added. “Do you just get used to that too?”

Vincent nodded. Just then we heard a knock on his bedroom door and Mother entered. “What are you two gossiping about?” she asked.

I gulped and said “Clothes.”

“Oh really?” Mother said with a smile.

I nodded and quizzed Mother why she always made ‘Sonia’ wear little girl dresses “…instead of something a bit more grown up.” I said, looking down at my frock, “Like this.”

“She doesn’t ‘always’ wear little girl dresses.” Mother replied defensively. “But you’ve got to remember that Sonia missed out on being a little girl… and I missed out on having a little girl too.” She smiled admirably at Vincent, or more accurately, his dress. “By rights I should be putting you in little girl dresses too.” Mother said to me, sending shivers down my spine.

“Why?” I whined.

“So you’d match your sister.” Mother grinned.

She left us alone after dropping a hint regarding Christmas and what we may or may not be getting.

It was late on Christmas eve. Vincent and I had had our nightly bath and we sat watching TV. As usual I wore my girlie pyjamas and Vincent wore a festive nightie which is pink with snowmen printed all over it. We were all looking forward to Christmas Day and I mentioned that I’d set my alarm clock for 5.00am. Mother said she had no intention of getting up before 7.00am and stressed that we weren’t allowed to open any presents without her. I had a bit of a moan about this but Vincent took Mother’s side. Mother said she’d put a couple of presents out that we could unwrap before she was up, but stressed that we mustn’t open any other presents without her… which seemed like a fair compromise.

On Christmas morning, I climbed out of bed and crept to Vincent’s room before quietly tapping on the door. “Pete?” I whispered as I slowly turned the handle and crept inside. “Pete.. You awake?”

“Yeah.” he groaned from beneath his duvet. “What time is it?” he murmured as his head emerged

“Quarter to six.” I whispered. Vincent groaned. “Oh come on Pete… it’s Christmas!” I pined.

Begrudgingly, Vincent threw his legs out of bed, pulled his nightie down over his knees, pushed his fists through the sleeves of his dressing gown, slid his feet into his slippers, then yawned whilst rubbing his eyes.

I looked over to the small chest of drawers by the foot of his bed and the sizeable princess lamp perched on top of it. “Do you always sleep with that on?” I asked. If I slept with a 12” high plastic statuette of Cinderella that’s illuminated from within, I’m sure it’d give me princess nightmares.

“I must’ve fallen asleep reading.” Vincent replied as I he closed the large hardback book that lay on his duvet. I glanced at the title before he put it on his shelf: The Bumper Book for Girls.

“Don’t you read any boy’s books?” I asked after scanning the spines of his other books.

“I’m not allowed to.” Vincent frowned. He perked up a bit though when he added, “Girl’s books are OK.” I wasn’t so sure, but what do I know? I’ve never read any. Come to think of it, I’ve not many boy’s books either. “Come on…” Vincent said. “But we’ve got to be quiet.”