Prologue

When you're younger, six or seven years seems like an eternity and friends who were of the greatest value and importance as a schoolgoing teenager rapidly fade in the memory, replaced by more pressing things such as girlfriends, boyfriends, career, mortgage, car insurance and phone bills.

Thus it was in the particular instance I am about to relate, for Philip and Anne Mortimer had, by the time I was twenty four, long been consigned to that part of the memory which, were it part of a computer disc, be labelled Recycle Bin, or Obsolete Data Files and the nub of this tale, curious and unusual though it may be, might never have crossed my mind again, but for one chance meeting in a nightclub, on an evening when I should far rather have been at home with my feet up in front of the television, instead of giving in to my two girlfriends' urgings to "get out and enjoy yourself for once".

My feet were already hurting me by the time the taxi deposited us outside El Flamingo, a typically kitch seventies disco haunt and, once inside, I very soon abandoned the dance floor in favour of a quiet corner of the bar, where I removed my new platformed heeled skyscrapers with the sense of relief that only a fellow sufferer could understand.

I ordered a cold cider and blackcurrant, fended off the bumbling overtures of a couple of hopeful, would-be suitors and resolved to feign a headache and get myself home at the earliest plausible opportunity. And then Anne Mortimer walked in, or so I thought.

She had always been a very pretty girl; thick dark hair, luxuriant eyebrows and big, wide, soulful eyes, but then the same could have been said for her brother Philip, for the two were identical twins, as alike as two peas in a pod and quite a rarity among different sex siblings, which, in turn, laid the male half of the duo open to a certain amount of ribbing of the merciless type peculiar to schoolchildren.

Now, I saw, Anne had matured into a truly beautiful woman, her almost black hair shoulder length, the coltish legs developed fabulously and displayed to perfection by the short velvet skirt and the high heeled platform sandals. Her naturally dark complexion displayed the benefits of a recent holiday under a sun far hotter than any we had seen along the south coast that spring and the pale pink lip gloss and silver eyeshadow stood out against it like beacons on a stormy night.

She approached the bar only a few feet from where I was perched on my stool and the nearest barman was all attention instantly. She ordered a Martine, glanced sideways at me, but did not seem to show any sign of recognition. Well, I reflected, I had changed considerably since the spotty, bespectacled days of the fifth form, when I had last seen her and a more feminine hairstyle and contact lenses can change a person greatly. Undeterred, I slipped my feet back into the twin instruments of torture and pulled myself upright.

"Hello Anne," I ventured, closing the gap between us. "I don't suppose you remember me." She turned and I saw a flicker of something cross her face. "Penny," I said. "Penny Temple. We were at St George's together. I always used to sit right at the back, with Jane." I offered her my right hand, unsure if this was proper etiquette for two old school `friends' and she took it, the beautifully manicured fingers pressing against mine but fleetingly.

"Hello Penny," she said, simply. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You too," I said. "It must be all of seven years. What have you been up to since then?"

There was a long pause and then she gave me a wide smile and shook her head in amusement.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she laughed. I shrugged.

"Try me," I suggested. "I could do with a diversion. I've been dragged along with a couple of the girls from work, my feet are killing me and any girl on her own in here seems to be treated as fair game by the local morons." I nodded towards the row of alcoves along the far end of the lounge area. It was a fairly quiet midweek night and two of them were vacant.

"Let's go deposit ourselves in a safe corner and catch up on old times," I said. Anne hesitated, but only for a moment.

"Okay," she said, "but before we do, there's something I should tell you and you may change your mind about having a cosy chat with me after I do."

"Oh?" I said, a little nonplussed. "It can't be that bad, can it?" I was poised for some revelation on the lines that she had discovered she was a lesbian, but it was becoming very fashionable in those days of Glam Rock for people to come out and admit to being gay, bisexual, or whatever and it honestly never worried me what anyone's sexual preference was. I never minded as long as it wasn't made compulsory.

Anne's expression became very serious and she leaned a little closer to me, presumably to avoid being overheard, though the background thump of music from the dance floor area and the singular lack of any fellow punters within six feet of us made that unlikely in any case.

"You called me Anne just now," she said. "I'd rather you called me Julie, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Whatever you like," I agreed. "Changed your name for career re- ?" I began.

And then the penny dropped. The metaphorical penny, that is, although the real Penny - me - nearly dropped with it.

"My god!" I gasped, struggling to keep my voice down. "Philip?"

A wry smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

"Julie," she said, firmly. "Now, still want that chat?"

I did and it was the beginning of a friendship that was to last more than twenty years, until now, when finally, together with Julie, I can bring you a truly remarkable story that is stranger than any fiction.

* * *

Chapter One - Once Upon A Time ...

None of us realised that Philip Mortimer was a twin, let alone that his twin was a sister, at least not for many weeks after we all started at St George's Grammar that September morning in 1961. During the long summer holiday, Anne had contracted glandular fever and, in those dim and distant times, that meant a long period of confinement and recuperation.

I have already described Anne as having been a pretty schoolgirl and told you that she and her brother were eerily alike, so you will have worked out for yourself that Philip was very pretty too, but then so were - and are - so many eleven year old, pre-pubescent boys and the sort of ribbing that he suffered as a result of his appearance we have already covered.

By late November, the novelty had worn off and Philip, a quiet and studious type normally, would simply smile at any remaining jibes and get on with his day. And then, two weeks before the beginning of the Christmas break, Anne arrived, her mother and doctor deciding that a gentle fortnight back at school, followed by three more weeks of holiday, would be the best way to ease her back into the routine of school.

She wasn't even in our class, at least not at first, for, having fallen behind the curriculum, despite studying privately at home, the teachers decided that she should start in the bottom stream, confident, having seen her eleven plus results and previous school work, that she would soon work her way back up to where we, the so-called elite, were.

Therefore, our little band of educated miscreants did not encounter the mirror image until lunch break, in the school dining hall. Jane saw her first, standing in the queue at the far end, Philip next to her. I swear that if he had not been there, we would both have been convinced that Anne was Philip and that he'd borrowed the brown and cream female uniform from one of the other girls.

"Jeez!" I whispered, missing my mouth with most of the forkful of peas. "Do you believe that?"

"Who is she?" Jane hissed. She could sometimes be a bit slow on the uptake like that, despite the fact that she was one of the brightest in our class academically.

"His bloody twin, you idiot!" I exclaimed. "At least, I reckon she must be."

By now, other heads were turning and the pair became the focus of interest as they brought their trays back through the line of tables. There were two empty seats on ours and I motioned for the two of them to join us. Gratefully, Philip sank down next to Jane and Anne positioned herself opposite him, next to me.

"This is Anne, my sister," Philip said. "She's been rather poorly since the summer, but she's better now, just about."

"You're twins," Jane said, stating the obvious, as was the norm for her. For an intelligent person, she could be really thick and she wasn't even blonde - that was me.

"You look exactly like each other, except Anne's hair is a bit longer." Like they really needed good old Jane to tell them this, I thought, but the resemblance was uncanny.

Anne's hair was longer, but not by much. We discovered later that her short hairstyle was a legacy of her illness. It hadn't fallen out, but her mother had cropped it close because it was more comfortable for her when she was running a temperature through the warm summer months and it was taking longer than usual to grow back again, probably a side effect of the various medications she had been prescribed.

Between unladylike mouthfuls of school stodge - one thing eleven year old girls share with eleven year old boys is appalling table manners, or at least they did at our school - Philip and Anne filled in a few gaps for us, but it was pretty normal and uninteresting stuff.

Their parents were divorced and their dad had remarried an American woman and gone off to live in Florida, where he apparently made pots of money and sent their mother generous allowance cheques every month. By most of our standards they were quite well off and the detatched house in Belmont Lane, where they now lived, together with an older sister called Maurine and a little brother, Ben, had five bedrooms, which made it a veritable mansion compared to anything the rest of us had experienced.

The appearance of Anne on the scene initially led to Philip being subjected to a renewed round of jibing and teasing, but the intervention of the Christmas holiday and the arrival, in January, of a new girl whose parents had just moved back from India, shifted the focus of the male attention, at least.

Lydia Singleton was a year older than the rest of us, but the schooling out there at the far edge of the old Empire, especially in the part of India where she had been born and brought up, was a good year behind that in good old blighty, so she was put into our year, in the same bottom stream as Anne, where the two quickly became firm friends. And what Lydia lacked in academic standing, she more than compensated for in other ways.

Her colonial upbringing had given her a very outgoing character and indomitable stiff upper lip type spirit and her extra year of growth had furnished her with a bust the equal of any of our fifth and sixth form girls and no school blazer could disguise that fact. As far as the boys in our year were concerned, the instruction "eyes front" took on an entirely different meaning!

By the beginning of our second year, Anne had progressed up through to our top stream and Lydia had come with her. Both Anne and Philip were what was generally known as "swots" and Lydia was determined not to lose her closest friend and so studied harder than she might otherwise have done. After this, however, she seemed to ease back and do just enough to maintain her postion with us and managed to avoid being considered for promotion on up into the same year as the other thirteen year olds.

Having thus caught up as far as she wanted, Lydia now found herself with time on her hands and the saying about the Devil finding work, etcetera, was never truer than in her case. Behind that sometimes very formal exterior lay a brain as mischievous and inventive as any I have ever known, then or since.

Perhaps it might never have started, but for the fact that Philip was an absolute genius at mathematics, whilst Anne, although being well above average, was not quite in that class and complicated matters further by missing a fortnight owing to a bout of flu. Many of us would have been back within a week, especially with the end of year exams looming, but, mindful of Anne's slightly suspect constitution since the glandular fever, her mother decided to play safe and keep her off another week.

By now, we were all in the fourth form, raucous fifteen year olds who thought we knew it all, our life played out against a background of Beatles, Rolling Stones and Mersey beat, with stories of mods and rockers on the TV and radio and Pick of the Pops and New Musical Express our guides to culture.

Of course, school rules were strict and Beatle `mop-top' haircuts were strictly forbidden, but many of the boys were pushing things as far as they daired and collar length hair was quite common. Philip, although hardly a fashion leader, nevertheless was one of those boys, whilst Anne's hair had grown out to be a few inches longer, which was still, apart from the uniform, the only way we could tell the twins apart, for Philip's voice had not even begun to break and they even sounded alike.

You can guess what happened next, but then hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn't it? There was at least one good clue for us, but we missed it completely. But then we were still just a bunch of schoolkids and we hadn't realised just how cunning Lydia could be.

A day or so after returning from her enforced absence, Anne had her hair cut, so that it was now just about the same length as Philip's. There was a young female presenter on television with a similar style and we all assumed that Anne was trying to emulate her look, for that's what she encouraged us to believe and anyway, there was plenty of revision and stuff to occupy our minds, without our noticing the fact that the twins now looked more alike than ever.

Even the fact that Anne turned up for the first part of the mathematics exam, bearing a note from her mother stating that Philip seemed to be going down with the same flu bug that had laid his sister low did not register, but then it would be better if the next part of this story came from Philip himself .

Or should I say Julie, as he/she is nowadays.

* * *

Chapter Two - Persuasion

Of course, it was all Lydia's idea and she even managed to convince mum that there was nothing unethical in it. Not that it was diffiicult to convince mum of anything. With dad's cheques arriving with clockwork precision, a daily woman to take care of the house and no need to work for her living, mum had long since descended into a state of blissful oblivion, courtesy of the large bottle of Henessy cognac that formed a constant queue on the top shelf of the cocktail cabinet.

If we'd told her that the four minute warning had been sounded - a much more likely possibility then than the younger generation might appreciate - she'd have happily taken herself down to our cavernous cellar and stayed there indefinitely, just as long as her supply of brandy and Barbara Cartland romances held out.

Of course, we could have carried the whole thing off without mum ever knowing about it, but a genuine sick note to cover my supposed absence was safer than one of us forging her writing and besides, there was always the chance that someone from the school might phone to check. The deputy head at St George's was a suspicious cow in those days.

Anne had her hair cut shorter on the Saturday, but wore it brushed back behind her ears, whilst mine tended to lop forward. Luckily, she had never had her ears pierced, or that might have presented a problem, but then far fewer girls went in for that then and the fashion was for clip-on earrings, which in any case were banned at school, along with rings, bracelets and any other form of jewellery apart from small crucifixes among the small Catholic contingent.

Makeup was also supposedly forbidden, though the older girls did use mascara to emphasise their eyelashes and one or two of the sixth formers managed to get away with a modest amount of eyeshadow without drawing any adverse reaction from on high. I guess even our somewhat austere establishment had realised that we were supposed to be in the swinging sixties and we were, after all, the only coeducational grammar school for thirty miles in all directions. How different is the schools system nowadays.

Now, I have to come clean with you. I loved my twin sister dearly, but I had also always envied her, envied her from as far back as I could remember, right back, I suppose, to the time when we exchanged romper suits and baby grows for shorts and shirts in my case and dresses in hers, although she usually preferred wearing shorts and teeshirts herself, when she didn't have to be in school uniform. However, when she wanted to, she could put on a pretty dress and that was the point.

I couldn't.

I suppose I could tell you that I used to sneak into her bedroom whenever she was out and try on some of her things, but the truth is that I never did. Not that the thought never occurred to me, because it did, but somehow that urge seemed wrong, dirty, or, well ... perverted? And I was terrified that either Anne or mum might find out and think that I was weird or something.

But this was different. This was for Anne's sake, for she was terrified that she was going to do very badly in the maths exams that year and those exams were crucial, as the set streaming system took over for the final two terms before our big exams, the GCE `O' Levels, late in the following spring.

The idea was quite simple. I would take Anne's place. We had other twins in the school, two female sets and four male sets and everyone knew that they played havoc with the teachers by swapping places, but we were the only twins of opposite sexes and very rare in that we were so identical despite that fact. Of course, years later, the real truth of the situation was to come out, but I digress.

"But what about my exam?" I pointed out to Lydia, when she first broached the subject. She had already considered this.

"They'll let you take it when you finally go back to school again," she assured me. "I've checked up quite thoroughly. Of course, you'll have to sit different papers, what with you two being brother and sister, of course and they won't want to risk Anne tipping off her darling brother in advance, but they have to let you take the exam one way or the other. It's the law," she added, with an air of finality.

I think I'd have rather it had been just Anne and I there when we tried it out on the Sunday afternoon. Mum had, for once, gone out for the day, at the invitation of a widowed neighbour who liked to spend Sundays driving along the coast in her huge old Daimler, but there would have been little chance of our being discovered anyway and we planned to tell her of the plan when she got back, so it would have made no difference, except that we wanted to surprise her and test the deception in the process.

Let's face it, booze or no booze, if we could fool our own mother, even for a few moments, then we could fool anyone else, including our teachers.

The St George's uniform was never a fashion statement. The boys wore dark grey slacks and brown blazers with a coffee cream trim - what a horrednous colour combination - and the girls wore brown pleated skirts, supposedly knee length, but generally shortened as much as possible in line with current fashion and stopping just short of displaying enough thigh to really create a fuss with the staff.

"Please, miss, it shrunk in the wash and I've grown a bit in the last month and mum says she can't afford to buy me a new one until next term." A well worn excuse and we didn't suppose the teachers believed it any more than we would have done, had we been in their position, but it served to maintain a sort of status quo. They'd done their bit and pointed out the rules and we'd given them an out that avoided unnecessary confrontation.

The boys wore plain white shirts and the girls a sort of coffee cream blouse, with a plain brown tie, upon which was emblazoned the school crest. Girls also had the choice of creamy or white knee socks, or plain, dark brown stockings. Most, from the second form upwards, anyway, opted for the stockings. They were both warmer and altogether less little girlish.

I'd thought to wear my own underpants, but Lydia would have none of this. Instead, she told Anne to give me a pair of her panties, except that you could hardly describe such a garment as such. They were dark brown, like the skirt and blazer and, whilst not exactly bloomers, they were voluminous, thus easily hiding my male equipment, not that it had yet amounted to anything much anyway.

I took the knickers into the bathroom, stripped off my trousers and pants and stepped into them. They were only a plain, thick cotton, but the sensation was quite indescribable as I adjusted them into place. Still wearing my baggy teeshirt, I padded, self-consciously, back along to Anne's room. I expected some sort of comment, at least from Lydia, but she was very businesslike.

She handed me the very functional suspender belt - it, too was dark brown - and explained how to put it on.

"Push the garter tabs inside your knickers and pull them out the bottom," she instructed. "Otherwise you won't be able to pull your drawers down properly when you need the loo."

The stockings were thick and opaque, but yet I still experienced a curious thrill as I drew them, in turn, up my thighs and fumbled about amateurishly until Anne came to my rescue and showed me how to fasten them. Now came the worst part and off came my teeshirt.

The brassiere was plain and undecorative, designed for a single purpose, to hold a teenaged girl's breasts firmly and as flatly as possible. Anne was nowhere near as well developed as Lydia, who by this time had a figure that would have done justice to the cover of Health and Efficiency, but she was still undoubtedly female and it took two pairs of rolled up nylons to give me a figure that approximated hers.

Silently, I took the proffered school blouse, slipped my arms into it and began fastening the buttons, my fingers fumbling unbelievably as I strove to get used to the buttoning being reversed from what I was accustomed to. Eventually I completed the task and stepped into Anne's spare school skirt, fastening the waistband at the back and drawing up the short zip. Still no one said anything.

The shoes came next, simple, sensible brown shoes with a T-bar strap and solid, one inch heels, about the maximum that would be tolerated by the school and finally the blazer, again with the buttons the "wrong" way, but as we all, both boys and girls, generally left our blazers unbuttoned, except in the most extreme weather, I did not bother struggling further.

Holding a hairbrush, Lydia stepped forward, brushed my hair back and disappeared what parting I had and then sprayed some lightly scented hairspray to keep it in place. I then had to stand with my eyes closed, whilst she applied mascara to my already long lashes and then, and only then, was I allowed to see myself in the mirror.

It was quite incredible, but then, if I am totally honest, nothing that I hadn't already expected, for now I was totally indescernible from the real Anne, a carbon copy and with the only small difference safely hidden inside the shapeless brown knickers beneath my pleated skirt. The two girls were delighted, but not so happy when I started moving around.

"Girls just don't walk like that, Philly," Anne told me. "You're clumping around like you're wearing football boots. Thank goodness you don't have to wear a pair of my decent shoes."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," Lydia exclaimed. "No good for school itself, maybe, but if he wears something with real heels to practise in until Wednesday, he'll walk properly in these, won't he?"

And so I had to force my feet into Anne's newest shoes, which were tight from lack of `breaking in' and boasted heels that were a full three inches high and, although not quite stilettos, were not very thick at all and consequently made me feel very unstable indeed.

"Knees straight and smaller steps," Lydia said. "That's it and turn slower, or you'll break an ankle." I felt extremely embarrassed at first, but the way the two girls praised my improving efforts seemed to sweep that away quite quickly and when Lydia suddenly seized me and planted a wet kiss firmly on my lips, I was delighted, for I had secretly fancied her from the very first day she entered our class.

"Top hole, old girl!" she cried. It was curious how she still retained some terribly old fashioned colonial expressions that slipped out from time to time. "Absolutely great. You look fab!"

"Anne?" I asked, turning to my twin. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"I thought you were Anne now," she said. I grinned back, a little sheepishly, but even I was beginning to enjoy myself. Lydia then announced that she had to cycle home to get tea for her two brothers, but that she would be back within a couple of hours.

"Keep practising," she urged me, as she headed for the door. Suddenly, she stopped, considering something that seemed to have only just occurred to her. We both looked at her, expectantly.

"I just had an idea," she announced. "As it's Sunday, when your mum gets back, she'll likely think it strange to find Anne in school uniform, so maybe it'd be best if you found something more suitable for a weekend. besides, it'd give Philly-Anne the chance to get more used to being a real Anne, if you follow my meaning.

"See what you can come up with whilst I'm gone. Toodle-pip!"

* * *

Chapter Two - Julie

"I'm not so sure about this," I said, as Anne began rummaging through her things. "I mean, is it really necessary?"

"Well, you heard what Skiddy Liddy said," Anne replied, "and it's a good point. Mum knows how much I hate wearing school uniform and we do need her as the acid test, don't we?" I sighed and could not think of an argument against this.

Besides, I hated school uniform too, even Anne's.

My twin insisted that if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing well and I changed everything, including my - her - underwear. The shapeless knickers and functional brassiere gave way to a pair of stretchy panties and a matching lacy bra, both in pale blue. Again the stockings were used as filling, but this time Anne added a pair of support pads that she confessed to using herself, to give nature a little boost, as she explained.

The panties betrayed a small bulge, but we eventually got over this by my tucking my bits and pieces back between my thighs. Had I been as well developed as most of my peers - showering at school was a constant source of embarrassment to me - this might have proved quite painful, but, as it was, the initial mild discomfort soon wore off and I now looked as though I just had a very well devloped mons veneris as I later learned it was called.

The stockings this time were proper nylons, although seamless, as was the fashion of the day and felt absolutely fantastic as I put them on and fastened them to the matching blue suspender belt. A short blue nylon slip followed and then a short sleeved minidress of a darker blue. The high heeled shoes being white, Anne declared that they would go perfectly well with my new outfit as white shoes were the "in thing" and anyway the dress had a white hem and white trimming at the sleeves.

I dutifully paraded up and down, secretly revelling in the feel of the slip and skirt swirling about my thighs as I turned, for both were considerably shorter than the school skirt had been and I was now displaying as much thigh as any trendy sixties miss intent on attracting admiring male glances.

"Makeup," Anne decreed. "Not too much. You don't need to look like Dusty Springfield, not unless you're intending to party or go dancing. "But a little eyeshadow and a touch of lipstick is what I usually wear when I'm not in school, so we'd better see what we can do for you."

I don't know whether the fact that Anne was generally quite sparing in her own makeup pleased me or not, for I had a sudden urge to see what I would look like with thick dark eyelids and white highlights beneath my eyebrows, but I kept those thoughts to myself. Even so, the effect was very pleasing and, when Anne retouched her own makeup and stood alongside me, the mirror showed us two very pretty, totally identical fifteen year old girls, ready and dressed for an afternoon shopping or a stroll int the park.

Jokingly, I made some remark about this, but Anne seemed to think the idea was a real scream.

"But we can't go out!" I squeaked. "If any of the neighbours see us, they'll know."

"Only if we go out together," Anne pointed out. "I'll go out the back way and you wait five minutes and use the front door. We can meet up just inside the park, by the old water fountain and then go over to that little cafe by the esplanade and have a coffee or something."

"But what if anyone from school sees us?"

"Not very likely. All the others live in the northern part of town." This was quite true, for we lived at the extreme edge of St George's cachement area and we rarely, if any, saw any of our school chums by chance, unless we went down into the main shopping street on a Saturday.

"Besides," Anne went on, getting enthused by the scheme now, "if we do meet anyone we know, you'll be Julie, our other sister. We can always say that you go to a special school for the deaf, or something and that we just took it for granted people knew we were triplets, not twins."

"Oh, come on!" I groaned. "No one'll fall for that." And yet, I suspected they might, though I never even stopped to consider the consequences of a story circulating that there was a third lookalike Mortimer in the world and Anne didn't seem at all bothered. But then, she wasn't the boy wearing the skirts, was she?

From the rear bedroom window I watched Anne disappearing down through the garden and out through the gate beneath the apple trees into the lane beyond. My heart was thundering furiously and I stood there for a full two minutes, still far from certain if I could go through with this, but then, if the original plan was to work, I would have to venture outside soon enough, otherwise I shouldn't be able to sit the exam for her.

Slowly I turned and walked carefully back along the upstairs passage and into Anne's room once more, standing myself in front of the long wardrobe mirror and turning slightly, this way and that to study my reflection. As I did so, my fears began to evaporate. Anne was right; no one would realise that I wasn't a girl, not even people who knew us well. I picked up the small shoulder bag she had put out for me, took a deep breath and turned for the stairs.

I hadn't ventured ten paces down the front drive when I encountered my first test and I nearly flunked it for the most simple of reasons. I forgot who I was supposed to be.

"Yoo-hoo, Anne!" The voice came from the adjoining front garden and I walked another five or six painstaking steps before the call was repeated. With a start, I realised that our next door neighbour, Mrs Fenwick, was calling to me! I stopped, swallowed and turned back.

"Hello, Mrs F," I croaked and then, clearing my throat: "Sorry, I was daydreaming there." The old lady laughed and winked, knowingly.

"Not true love in the air, eh?" she teased. I managed to force a smile and shook my head. "Well, never mind, it'll get you sooner or later, my dear. I must say, you're looking very pretty today and are those new shoes? Good Lord, those heels are almost as high as the ones we used to wear to tea dances and I thought the modern girls were going for more sensible fashions nowadays."

"Fashions seem to change weekly," I told her. "And these heels take some getting used to. I keep thinking I'm going to fall over in them." Mrs Fenwick nodded, amused.

"Tell me about it, my dear," she said. "But at least those heels look strong enough not to snap. Many's the time I walked home carrying my shoes with one heel gone."

"Victims of fashion, aren't we?" I joked, my confidence growing. My voice, annoyingly for me until now, had refused to break and I knew that I sounded exactly like Anne and this old dear, who had known us both since we were about five or six years old, was completely taken in by the deception.

I never did find out why she had called out to me, for there seemed no purpose to our conversation, but I guessed that she just wanted to chat for a few minutes in order to break the monotony of her day, for she had been widowed two years before and now lived alone in that big old house. We talked for a few more minutes, about nothing in particular and then I excused myself and set off for the park.

However, test number two arrived at the kerbside in the shape of big sister Maureen's newly acquired second hand Ford Anglia, complete with Maureen at the wheel and little brother Ben and one of his friends in the back seat. My stomach turned a complete somersault, but there was no way I could retreat and no way I could ignore them. Damn, I thought, they were supposed to be out until evening and Maureen would not be so easy to persuade as our slightly fuzzy mother.

"Hello, Annie," Mo called out, unravelling her long legs from the front seat and tipping it forward so that the boys could scramble out. "Oh, they the new shoes? Nice."

Maureen was taller than Anne and I by a good three inches, having inherited most of her looks and physique from our dad, who was over six feet tall and very wiry. As a result, big sister had legs that seemed to go on forever and took great delight in displaying them to their full advantage, complete with the fake suntan from the infra red lamp she had picked up at a jumble sale.

"You're back early," I ventured. Mo grimaced. "Little Georgie puked up after too much candy floss at the fair," she said. "I got him cleaned up as best I could, but he reeks to high heaven and he was still looking a bit green, so I thought I'd best bring them back, just in case he really is sickening for something.

"I'll chuck them both in a warm bath and then ring his mum to come collect him, I think. What about you? Got a date?"

"Er, no, not really," I said. "Just meeting a couple of the girls for coffee and a chat."

"That snotty bitch Lydia, I suppose," she said. "You want to watch out for that one, or she'll get you in all sorts of trouble." I was slowly edging away by now. The width of the car had remained between us so far, but Mo was now locking her door and I knew she would be closer in a few seconds. So far, I was certain, she hadn't suspected a thing, but up close? I didn't want to risk it.

"Better get a move on," I muttered, turning away. "See you at teatime."

"Okay, if I'm still here. Philly indoors?" I shook my head.

"No, he's taken off somewhere for a while," I replied and then made tracks as fast as my three inch heels would carry me.

Anne was waiting for me in the park, looking slightly tenser than I had expected.

"Everything go all right?" she asked, as I came up to her. "I was beginning to think you'd chickened out." I told her of my two encounters and her eyes grew very wide when I related what had happened with Maureen.

"Wow!" she exclaimed, when I had finished. "If you fooled Mo, you can fool anyone. Lydia was right, wasn't she? By the way, I phoned her from the box by the gate and told her to meet us at the cafe and not at the house. Hope you don't mind."

"No, that's a good idea, especially with Mo being back in the house at the moment."

"Yeah, Mo hates Lydia, for some reason or other."

"That's not what I meant," I said. "And we'll have to be careful getting back indoors, in case Mo hasn't gone out again."

"I shouldn't worry about Mo," Anne assured me. "She'll be okay about it."

"That's okay for you to say," I said. "You're not a boy wearing his sister's clothes and makeup and Mo can be pretty funny about certain things."

"Once she knows why we're doing this, I'm sure she'll be fine." I remained unconvinced, however.

Lydia didn't arrive for nearly another hour and, in the meantime, we strolled back and forth near the cafe, staying close enough so that we would see her approaching. Unbelievably, my nervousness had disappeared completely, probably because I had Anne close to and I was able to start enjoying the new sensations, especially the feel of the fresh air about the tops of my thighs. I wasn't quite so keen on some of the looks we were getting from the various boys and youths that passed us. Those looks had nothing to do with suspicion and a whole lot to do with another emotion entirely.

"Just avoid making direct eye contact," Anne said, when I whispered my misgivings to her. "Most of them are all mouth and trousers anyway. They won't have the bottle to make an outright approach." But she was wrong.

They were both a few years older than us, probably a bit older even than Mo and they were quite nice looking, if I'd been a real girl, that is. The darker one looked a bit like a very young Robert Mitchum and I guessed he was aware of this, for he was trying his hardest to mimic the film star's laid back approach. His friend had gingery brown hair and darting green eyes and was clearly the leader of the two.

"Excuse me girls, have either of you got the right time?" he asked, planting himself in front of us and pulling back his sleeve to reveal a wristwatch. "Only it seems I forgot to wind this thing and it's stopped on me."

"Well, it would," Anne said, lifting her wrist to peer at her own watch. "It's five past four," she added, giving him her sweetest smile, "which means that we're running late. Sorry, have to excuse us."

"Which way are you walking?" the lad asked, making a show of setting his timepiece and winding it again. "Only maybe you'd like some company. Me and Joe here are at a bit of a loose end and when I saw you, I said to Joe, wow, there's quite a picture, ain't it? One pretty bird is something, but two! Well, you don't mind me telling you we think you're a pair of cracking birds, do you?"

"I wasn't aware we had wings, Julie, were you?" Anne asked, turning to me. I pretended to try to peer back over my shoulder and shook my head.

"No," I confirmed, "no wings here." Joe's friend seemed a bit lost for a few seconds, but then he cottoned on.

"Er, sorry," he said. "I guess I shouldn't have called you `birds', should I? What I meant was that you are two very pretty girls ... young ladies, that is and me and Joe wondered if we could buy you a coffee."

"That's very kind, I'm sure, but my sister and I prefer to buy our own refreshments and we both have boyfriends, anyway." He looked quite crestfallen.

"Oh, I see," he muttered. "Well, sorry about that. Hope you didn't mind us asking, like?"

"Not at all," Anne said. "And thank you for the compliment."

"Well, you are a couple of crackers," he said, grinning widely. "Twins, are we?"

"Well, we are." I couldn't resist the little dig, but it seemed to go a mile over his head and laid back Joe, chewing away on a wad of gum, just stared from beneath his hooded eyes in a way that suggested that even if you spelled out a joke to him he probably wouldn't be able to read it.

"God, I was sweating there," I confided, when we were finally out of their earshot. Anne giggled.

"Why?" she demanded. "I told you, there's no way anyone could know, not unless you let a lad in too close and get his hands near your knickers. That would give him a shock! Listen, once Lydia gets here, I suggest we go back along to the cafe and, if any other guys come up to us, let's let them buy us a coffee and sit for a chat.

"I'll make sure I keep between you and them and it'll be good practice for you. In school, loads of the boys are going to talk to you, both before and after the exam and you can bet Gareth Rees will be round you like a bee round honey." Gareth Rees was in the year above us and had fancied Anne for the past two terms. Captain of the second eleven football team and leading runscorer in the second eleven cricket team, he was also pretty intelligent, popular with everyone and a target for all the girls. All except Anne, that is.

She liked Gareth, fair enough, but always said there was something about him that she most definitely couldn't fancy.

"Besides," she had told me a few months before, "he's had his leg over at least half a dozen other girls. He's only interested in one thing. Screwing is just another team sport to him, I'm certain of it."

I hadn't considered the implications of Gareth when I'd first let myself get talked into this. Okay, if I'd managed to fool big sister, even though it was from a distance of several feet, then there was little or no chance of him seeing through my disguise, but he was often very free with his hands around the girls he fancied.

"Not with you he won't be," Anne reassured me. "He tried that on with me the one time. He won't do it again," she added, grimly.

"Why? What happened?"

"I slapped him across the mouth and kneed him where it hurts most," Anne laughed. "Apparently, one of his front teeth was loose for weeks and he was walking awkwardly for the rest of that day. Just stay away from the path behind the cycle sheds - that was the mistake I made. Anyway, Lydia will stay close and she's more than a match for Gareth Rees."

I could believe that, for there was something about Lydia that really scared the boys. There was something of the maiden aunt quality about her, probably because of her very classy accent and the way in which she could sight someone down the length of her long nose and make them feel like a butterfly that had just been pinned to a board. She terrified the life out of me sometimes and I knew her better than any of my fellow male pupils, if only because I was the twin of her best friend.

Our two would be beaus were nowhere in sight by the time that Lydia finally cycled up. She had changed at her house and now wore a bright red and white summer dress, complete with ankle sox and patent shoes, a very American fifties look, which was also becoming quite popular as casual wear in sixties England, for girls who wanted an occasional change from the very geometric Mary Quant look.

"Hi girls!" she cried, swing herself out of the saddle and skidding to a halt in front of us. She looked us both up and down and her smile grew wider and wider by the second.

"I say!" she exclaimed, in that peculiarly English way of hers. "Damned impressive, what?" She shook her head and chuckled. "It's better than I expected," she said. "Back at your house, I knew which was which, because I saw Philly get dressed, but out here I'm not so sure. Wait a minute, let me think." She studied us for several more seconds and then jabbed an index finger at Anne.

"You're Anne," she said. "At least, I'm pretty sure that's right." We both nodded and I asked her how she had known.

"Well," she confessed, wheeling her cycle around and falling into step as we all turned back in the direction of the cafe, "I still wasn't totally sure, but I have been Annie's best friend for a few years now, so it was just a sort of feeling. The makeup makes it damned difficult though."

"We've decided that Philly will be Julie whilst we're together," Anne told her and explained the backup story she'd concocted. Lydia nodded.

"Clever," she conceded, "but I'd thought of Pippa for Philly, Pip being short for Philip in a lot of places." Anne furrowed her brow and considered this, finally shaking her head.

"No," she said, firmly. "Too close. It has to be Julie."

And so it was as Julie that I met the three lads who attached themselves to our table within minutes of our sitting down in that little seafront cafe. I confess I can remember little about them now, but they were unusually polite, quite presentable and didn't try to push themselves on us too hard. I sat in the corner seat, with Anne, as promised, acting as a physical shield between me and the rest of the world, but we needn't have worried.

The three of them walked with us for a while afterwards and we exchanged phone numbers, Anne giving them a completely fictitious one for us, though Lydia, who seemed more than usually taken with the lad who was concentrating on her, gave him her number and her address and agreed that they would arrange a date for the following weekend. Anne and I were quite surprised at this, but the Lydia was nothing if she wasn't unpredictable.

The boy who settled into step alongside me, as we made our way along that sunny promenade, was called Colin and I think he had fairish hair and the beginnings of a moustache, or it might just have been that he hadn't shaved for a few days and that was the only place his facial hair was growing as yet. He was quite tall, thinnish and walked with a loping sort of gait.

I managed to field his various questions and keep a safe enough distance between us, quickly moving my hand when he made an attempt to take it as we strolled. He took the hint and didn't try a second time, but Anne did agree that we would meet them at the cafe the following Sunday. I was horrified.

"Why on earth did you say that?" I almost shrieked, when the three of us were alone again. "I was almost wetting myself back there at times."

"So was that Colin," Lydia chirped. "He was really keen on you."

"No problem," Anne laughed. "We'll just work the swap on them next week. I'll be Julie and you can be Anne. Mine was a bit of a wimp, so he won't give you any trouble and I could quite fancy Colin. Or would that make you jealous, sister dear?" She laughed as she said this last and I aimed a playful punch at her shoulder.

"Bitch!" I chuckled and the three of us giggled together. Suddenly, I stopped and fell silent. Anne picked up this sudden change of mood and looked at me concernedly.

"What's up?" she asked, touching my arm gently. I shook my head.

"Nothing," I mumbled, but Lydia had guessed.

"Our Julie's got a bit embarrassed that she acted all girlie there," she said, smirking at the pair of us. "Just for a moment, she forgot that she's really a boy under that dress, am I right?"

"Something like that," I admitted.

"But that's fine," Anne exclaimed. "Just be natural and let's enjoy ourselves. That way no one will ever figure anything out, will they?" I had to admit that she had a point, but it still worried me how easily I was slipping into my new role. Not the boy thing, because I most certainly didn't harbour any yearnings in that direction, but here I was, skirts, stockings and makeup, complete with my sister's high heels and acting like we were just three of the famous Four Marys from those awfully middle class girls' school storybooks that mum always used to buy Mo and Anne for Christmas.

"Do buck up there, that girl!" Lydia barked, doing her boarding school mistress impersonation. "Try to be a bit more chipper, old thing. It's a grand day and we're all having wizard fun!"

"Oh, do belt up, Liddie," Anne retorted. "This can't be easy for Philly. I'd like to see you do as well in his place."

"Well, I think it's all a load of bunkum," Lydia said. "After all, if we can wear shorts and trousers, boys should be able to wear dresses. After all, this is supposed to be the sixties and we're supposed to be living in a liberated society. Fair dos for all, that's what I say!"

Thinking back, that was quite a profound statement from a sixteen year old and it's also funny how people thought that the sixities were so "swinging". For most of us, that was just a facade and there were still so many taboo subjects and constraints, especially when we look back on them from the vantage point of the late nineties. I expect our grandchildren will consider this decade old fashioned in their turn.

Anne checked her watch. The sun was beginning to dip lower and it was time to head for home. Suddenly, I was filled with more doubts again. Home meant mother, Ben and possibly Mo. Of the three, Mo worried me most, but there was also Ben to consider.

"I'll collar him first and tell him it's a special thing we're trying out for a fancy dress party," Anne said. "If I promise him half a crown for next weekend, he'll agree to anything. Besides, he's not much more than a baby."

"But he can talk," I pointed out and Lydia agreed.

"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings," she quoted. Anne shrugged.

"Okay, I'll bribe him and threaten him with you, Liddie," she grinned. "I'm certain he thinks you eat children for breakfast."

"Dinner only," Lydia corrected, jokingly. "Never have a heavy meal first thing in the morning. Egg on toast and tea. Got to watch the old figure, what?" Lydia really was quite a contradiction in terms, for she could be very awesome and very funny and often manage both at the same time. In later years, she became a comedy actress, though under a stage name and she was and is famous enough that you might well be able to work out who I'm talking about.

We separated and Anne and Lydia went into the house through the back way, leaving me to stroll around a slightly longer route and come in via the front door about ten minutes after they were safely ensconsed in Anne's room. I made it to the front door without further adventure, took my doorkey from the shoulderbag and put it into the lock.

As the door swung open, I came face to face with my mother, half way along the front hallway, bottle in one hand, glass in the other.

"Hello, dear." She gestured vaguely in my direction with the bottle. "Need a little pick-me-up," she sighed. "Helen Richardson is a sweet person really, but she never seems to settle in one place for more than a few minutes. We've been here, there and everywhere and she even had me up and down the cliffs at Chime Bay, would you believe. My poor feet are killing me. Perhaps you'd be a dear and put the kettle on?

"I've not been back ten minutes and Maureen had to rush off out somewhere and Ben's down the park playing football with his friends." She sighed again. "Oh, I must have blisters on my blisters."

"I'll make you tea in a few minutes," I agreed. "But I just need to pop up to my room first."

"Thank you dear," mum replied and opened the door to the front room. I headed for the foot of the stairs, but as my foot was halfway to the first step, she called out to me again.

"Anne?" There was a different tone in her voice. I turned, guiltily, my entire body trembling. She was looking at me strangely. "Everything all right, dear?" she asked. I nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why?" She opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, considered for a couple of seconds that seemed to me like hours and then shook her head.

"Oh, nothing dear," she said, turning away again. "Just me feeling a bit tired, I suppose. You won't forget that tea now, will you dear?"

"No mum," I replied and, as I started up the stairs, I felt the damp patch in the crotch of my panties and realised I had actually wet myself.

* * *

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