Lucien struggles to fit in with the other boys and his father knows it. A business trip provides the father with the opportunity to leave his son in the care of a family friend who promises to 'sort out' the young boy.

George Bushell loved his younger son but he did not understand him. He was so different from his older brother, that was for sure. Whereas Rene was a macho sort of a boy and, it has to be said, quite a selfish one, Lucien was sweet and kind. Where Rene had a head of hair shaved fashionably short on the sides, Lucien had hair that nearly reached his shoulders. Both boys missed their mother as did George. She had fled back to France to start a new life and they hadn’t heard from her in over two years. They had recovered, the three of them, and were now a tight unit again but the experience had left Rene as a much harder individual and Lucien… well, he was just a continuing worry; he was not like Rene, he was not like George- not like any other boy in fact. He seemed to spend all his time with girls and had far too much interest in all the things they talked about. He needed help, he knew that and his friend Sally was just the person who could help him.

“I don’t really understand Lucien,” he told her over coffee in the small café where he and Sally met every Saturday morning. This had been the routine ever since he emerged from the deep gloom that had settled over him after the sudden departure of his French wife. It was Sally who coaxed him out into mixed company again. Obviously, there was talk in their small town about the two of them and, more specifically, about the intentions of a widow with a son and daughter of her own. Many people felt sorry for George. They could see how his wife’s desertion had floored him. Yet, only Sally approached. It was she who suggested coffee in town, ‘where everyone can see us both!’
“And tongues can wag,” George replied when he agreed that the time had come to pick himself up after too long in despair. So, each Saturday, they met. Sally’s daughter Frankie had dance class and the coffee and chat with George was far preferable to the rushing around the supermarket she used to do.

“Lucien is great, I don’t know why you worry,” she said. “He’s a very sweet boy, Frankie adores him.” That was true. They spent a lot of time together.
“I think I need to admit defeat, though,” George said. “I knew what to do with Rene but Lucien is a mystery to me.”
Sally smiled. She knew that Lucien sometimes had a hard time at school. Frankie told her and she knew even though she didn’t go to the same school. Other children called him names. But she also knew that the young boy refused to react. Frankie told her that, too. She knew that Lucien had a strong centre.
“Why not let me help?” Sally asked. She smiled and George floated an idea that grew into a plan.

Business took George away more than he liked. Looking back he could see how it had contributed to the breakdown of his marriage. It was something he only addressed when it was too late. His business trips had by necessity reduced in number and duration since he became a single parent but they did not disappear altogether. A combination of help from his own parents and friends had helped him manage. Now he was under pressure from his boss. The latest engineering project in the Middle East was not going well and he was required to more closely supervise things; a trip that could keep him away for months. Saying no was not an option and his attention went instead to how he would fulfil his responsibilities and look after his children.

It was agreed. Lucien would stay with Sally and her children while George was away. Rene was happy to stay with his friends. The relief he felt flooded through him, not just were his child care concerns sorted but Sally had agreed to help sort out Lucien. Everything seemed to be falling into place.
“Leave him with me, George. I’ll see what I can do,” she said, leaving him pleased that at last somebody would take his younger son in hand.
“I would be so grateful,” he replied. “I think maybe a woman’s touch is what is needed here.”
“When you return from abroad, you won’t recognise him.”

And so it was that three weeks’ later, as planned, Lucien was collected from school by Sally. The farewell that morning had been hard for both father and son and everyone thought it best that George take him to school as normal and then leave for the airport later. Driving home, Sally could sense some awkwardness but the atmosphere lightened as soon as Frankie joined them. To her relief, both children started chattering away and comparing notes over plans for the evening.
“I hope homework features somewhere in these plans,” Sally said to their reflection in the car’s mirror. They giggled back and she could see why George worried about his younger son. His hair frequently fell across his face causing him to brush it away with a gentle sweep of his hand. The gesture was similar to Frankie’s and she noticed how alike they were. Their mannerisms mirrored each other even though Lucien’s hair was longer. It could do with tidying up, though.
“If you could do something with his hair, I would be pleased” George’s voice echoed in her head. She made a mental note to arrange an appointment for the weekend.

At home, the children raced up to Frankie’s room where an extra bed had been placed at George’s expense. This thrilled them both beyond measure and they spent quite a lot of time jumping up and down and giggling over the thought of sharing a room.
“Do you want to put up some of your own posters?” Frankie asked.
Lucien shook his head, “These are great,” he said taking in the posters of ballet dancers and celebrities. “I can stare at this one from my bed,” he continued looking up at a poster of a ballet boy in black tights and a leotard.
“Might give you sweet dreams,” Frankie suggested before dissolving into loud laughter that quickly infected Lucien.
Sally heard the children from Peter’s room where she had placed herself to listen in. She understood why George was concerned.
“It is a little like he doesn’t know what is expected of a boy,” he had told her. “Boys look at him and wonder what he is. The girls meanwhile are amused by him. He doesn’t really fit in, anywhere.”
“He just needs to be himself,” Sally had reassured him.
“He needs sorting out,” George had replied and then told her he was confident she was the person to do it.

His mannerisms may have been more girl than boy but his clothes were completely male. When he changed out of his school uniform he put on jeans and a rugby shirt. It didn’t quite work and Sally could detect the work of a father who hoped his son would live up to a specific image of manhood.
“Might as well get started,” she thought to herself. This was a project after all. “I’ll take it slowly and change one thing at a time,” she had told George. This suited him. He understood that it would take a bit of work to get where Lucien needed to be.
“Lucien, let me tidy up your hair,” she said as she interrupted the children playing in the bedroom. It didn’t escape her attention that they were both playing with Frankie’s doll collection. She had too many, Sally thought, but Lucien was always drawn to one in particular, a doll he called Maddie.
“I don’t want my hair cut,” he replied almost alarmed.
“I said ‘tidy it’ not ‘cut it’, don’t get all agitated!”
He subsided somewhat and wondered if he had been rude. His father was always trying to coax him into a haircut. Rene sorted himself out which is why he had such weird hairstyles but Lucien had grown his hair longer ever since his mother left home. At first, it was another of the jobs his mother did which George didn’t realise needed sorting out and when he noticed just how long Lucien’s hair was he found his younger son had grown attached to the style and got upset whenever cutting it was mentioned. His infrequent trips to the hair dresser had only resulted in ‘tidying it up’. This was not enough as far as George was concerned.
“It is quite long,” Sally remarked as she brushed it through. “Longer than Frankie’s I think.” The boy looked at himself in the mirror as he sat at Frankie’s dressing table and enjoyed the sensation of having his hair brushed. It was true that his hair fell into his face now and it could be quite annoying but he was determined not to have it all cut away.
“I’m jealous,” Frankie declared from over on her bed. “He has blonde hair and mine is black!”
“Not black, but beautifully dark,” Sally replied thinking all the while that it would be nice if her daughter grew her hair slightly longer and let her brush her hair just like this.

Sally picked up a hair band from the dressing table and pulled his hair into a pony tail. She positioned it quite high on his head, no mistaking her intention. He didn’t complain or question it and just returned her smile in the mirror; in fact, he beamed and bounced back to his doll on the bed, his pony tail swinging behind him. As she left the room he was brushing his doll’s hair into her own pony tail.
“We’ve started, George,” she said under her breath as she went downstairs.

Thousands of miles away, George sat in a hotel bar after a long day travelling. For the first time in ages he had been able to concentrate, really concentrate, on his work. Not that he hadn’t thought about his boys many times throughout the day, but the worry was reduced. Also, he knew that in Sally’s hands things might change for Lucien. He might even have short hair again when he returned home; that would be something to look forward to. He smiled as he lifted his drink. “Everything will be alright,” he said out loud.

At dinner, Sally kept an eye on her guest. He was more animated than she had seen him for a while, maybe it was her daughter’s influence or maybe it was the swish of a pony tail every time he moved his head. Whatever it was there was no sign of home sickness and her son Peter, home from school much later than the other two, helped keep things jolly as they sat around the table. Her son was growing up fast, he was as tall as his late father had been and had the same good looks, or so Sally thought. His sharp hair cut accentuated his fine features and at fifteen he was more man than boy. Sitting between Frankie and Lucien the contrast was stark. Lucien adored him, though, and she was so pleased that her son always made the younger boy feel better about himself, even if his habit of shortening everyone’s name meant that Lucien was always Luci to Peter.
“Why do you call me that?” Lucien had asked when they first met.
“Well Francesca here tells me your name is Lucien. What else should I shorten it to?” he had replied.
Lucien was more interested in Frankie’s real name to pursue it further so Luci had stuck whenever Peter was around.

At bedtime, the children went off to bed without fuss. Frankie, who would normally have made a fuss and dragged her feet at the injustice of going to bed before everyone else, was first up the stairs. Sally looked in on them when they were fast asleep, Lucien in the pyjamas she noticed had footballs all over them. “Nice try, George!” she thought. Now, in bed, with his long hair falling over the pillow and his doll Maddie clutched in his arms, she could see why he struggled at school, with friendships and with life in general. She was so pleased George had trusted her with this project.

Lucien fell into their routine so quickly it felt as if he had always been around. The fact that he went to a different school from Frankie meant an earlier start for them all but, this aside, everything worked well. Sally noticed that his hair went into a ponytail as soon as he came home. Frankie, quite skilled at getting it looking good for him at just the right height, was regretting having her hair cut shorter. But Sally knew that, by the time of the salon appointment, she could get the next stage underway.

And so it was that, the following Monday morning, Lucien walked into school with his hair tied back, his first outing with a ponytail. Frankie had tried to tie it low on his head to reduce the name calling she was sure he would endure but he had insisted she tied it up properly. He had loved the salon experience but was taken aback slightly when Sally had made it clear he would either have his hair cut or wear it tied up ‘in line with the school rules’.
“I’ve read the rules, Lucien, and it clearly states that long hair must be neatly tied back. It is the same at Frankie’s school, so she chose shorter hair.”
There was no way Lucien wanted his hair cut. It had been a battle of wills to get it this far; his parents had always kept his hair short and it was only after his mother left that he realised he could get away with more things. He loved his hair and wanted it longer.

He didn’t approach the salon with any enthusiasm. Three times he checked with Sally that he wasn’t having it cut but only ‘tidied’. He wasn’t reassured when the hairdresser, Ruth, picked up scissors.
“I’m not having it cut,” he said, somewhat sharply.
Ruth smiled. Sally had already briefed her on what to expect. She patiently explained to the young boy that, to get a good longer style, he needed to have it trimmed ‘just a little’ so that it could be trained into shape. She used the word ‘sculpted’ a lot.
So Lucien relaxed and she went about her work chatting the whole time about how lucky he was to have such fine hair and such a beautiful colour. With the gown on, and with Ruth lifting his hair up and out, it actually made it look longer and for a moment he pretended to himself that he was a girl.
He went red as he thought about this, as if Ruth could read his thoughts. She smiled back and the moment passed.

Back home he kept his hair down rather than tying it up. Now it was off his shoulders, he could feel the ends rub his chin when he moved his head. Sally knew it was a much more feminine style and she wondered why he didn’t object or look shocked when the work was finished. When she picked him up, he had bounced over to her, holding Ruth by the hand, so that she could admire the finished effect.

George was right, he did need her help. Lucien was a different child with this new look and he didn’t complain when Ruth handed him a hair clip with a butterfly on it. “A little present, to make you come back to me,” she had said. He didn’t wear it when they left the salon, he wasn’t ready for that yet, she noticed, but he held it in his hand the whole way home and looked at it continually.

It was Peter who said his hair was pretty when they got home. Sally and Frankie exchanged glances expecting Lucien to react but he smiled and twisted a bang around his finger. It was also Peter who, seeing what he had in his hand, took the hair clip and slid it on the young boy’s head.
“There!” he announced. “That finishes it off nicely!”

Lucien fingered the hair clip in his pocket that Monday morning. He didn’t need it, now that his hair was in a ponytail. He tried to slip onto the playground without being noticed. Seeing as how very few boys liked him, it always confused him that they spent so much time talking to and about him. He hoped that the fact that there was one other boy with hair tied back would mean he was not that unusual. He was wrong! The sniggers started first, girls as well as boys looked his way and then giggled inside their huddles, and then came the comments… or taunts.

It didn’t take long for a group of boys from his class to gather around him. To any observer, you would think he was quite popular with all the people he had attracted, forming a circle from which he couldn’t escape, even if he tried, which he wasn’t going to as he knew his limitations!
“I love what you’ve done with your hair,” said Steven Gates, a particularly nasty specimen as far as Lucien was concerned. Steven flicked his ponytail several times and then seemed pleased with himself as Lucien ducked his head away only to cause the ponytail to bounce around more.
“I think we need a little adjustment, though,” he continued as he called over to one of the girls at the edge of the group. “Lend us your flower, Jayde” he said and he took a hair band with a giant pink flower and slammed it on Lucien’s head. “There, that’s better!” he announced.

The group dispersed amidst laughter and Lucien pulled the hair band off his head. It was cheap and nasty, he thought. He would buy a much more elegant one, himself. He reached to the back of his head and knew that the ponytail Frankie had taken ages over that morning had been dislodged. He intended to go to the toilets to put it right but the whistle went for the start of the day and they all had to stand still. He was aware of Jayde just to his side. When they were released she moved towards him but a teacher appeared at his side.
“You there, tie your hair back. You know the school rules.” Lucien hesitated as did Jayde. “Come along, put your hair band on,” the teacher continued.
“It’s…” he began.
“It’s mine,” Jayde stepped in.
“I wish you girls would stop swapping hair bands. It is unhygienic you know.” He marched off leaving Jayde looking apologetic. “Sorry,” she said. Lucien handed her back her hair band but didn’t say anything.
“Shall I help tie up your hair?” Jayde asked. He nodded. He needed it doing or he would have a day of being stopped by teachers, some who obviously didn’t know him, telling him to abide by school rules.

Jayde did a fairly good job, not as good as Frankie but good enough. It was still quite high on his head, as he liked it.
“We meet over there at playtime,” she said. “Join us if you like. It’s just a few girls who like to stay away from the flying footballs.” She left, leaving Lucien to hurry to class. He was going to be late and that meant entering a room full of people staring at him. So much for being invisible!

He joined the girls, sort of, at playtime. He edged closer to them because he had nothing better to do and nowhere else to hide. The laughter from people in his class had hurt but it didn’t last. There was only so much fun to get out of the fact that he now had a ponytail. By playtime, the whispers and sniggers had pretty much died away. Playtime, though, was different. There was another group of people to notice and laugh at him. The girls in the corner seemed to be the best option. Jayde noticed him but didn’t do anything at first. Eventually she came over to speak to him.
“I’m sorry about earlier.” I should have known that Steven would be awful. I should never have given him my hair band.”
Lucien shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“I don’t even like this hair band. It’s a bit cheap and nasty if you ask me.”
“It’s alright,” Lucien answered. She smiled.
“My younger sister gave it to me. She’s over there.” She pointed. “She would be offended if I didn’t wear it at least once.”
Lucien smiled at this and taking this as a sign of friendship she pulled him into the group.

Later, when Peter asked him about his day, he told him about Steven and Jayde.
“Steven Gates is a squirt,” he replied. Lucien laughed. He would love to have Peter at school as his protector. But he was older and went to a secondary school. He would like to go to school with Frankie but she went to the best school in town and they had no spaces.
“Why get upset when he makes fun of you?” Peter asked.
“He called me a girl this morning,” Lucien replied. He didn’t tell him that a teacher had mistaken him for a girl, he still felt too odd about that. Steven Gates could make fun of him and call him names but an adult had really thought he was a girl. That was different.
“Nothing wrong with being a girl,” Peter said.

Later, Lucien stretched out on the carpet playing dolls with Frankie reflected on Peter’s comment. There was nothing wrong with being a girl. He still felt odd that a teacher had mistaken him for one. He was clearly a boy as far as he could see when he went off to school each day. Here, though, with Sally, Frankie and Peter he felt more relaxed and he knew he behaved differently in this safe space. He had his butterfly clip in his hair and nobody made fun of him. At school he would have been eaten alive! Here, he played with his doll, something he would never admit to at school. His clothes had changed slightly, too. He was wearing black skinny jeans, just like Frankie’s. He had long admired her very tight jeans, especially when she wore them with her red converse. Now he had a pair of his own, shame about the black converse, and a top just like Frankie’s. It was more of a vest than a shirt but it was light grey, quite long and they looked good together when they wore the same things. Shame about the black converse!

He was keen to thank his papa when he phoned him that evening.
“The new jeans are fantastic, Papa,” he said. “I love them!”
George could hear the delight in his son’s voice. Once again he was reassured that Sally was sorting things out for him. Leaving her money to buy new clothes was a big help and a weight off his mind; he never knew what clothes to buy his sons. He pictured him with his new haircut and jeans, maybe looking more like his older brother.
At the other end of the phone Lucien twisted a strand of hair around his finger and did little air dances with his hands. Sally, listening in, could hear that he was building up to something.
“Can I have some new Converse, please Papa?” he asked. From his face, she could tell George had said yes. She knew what colour he would go for!

Lucien didn’t mention his day at school. He had never told his father about the horrible names he was called or the things they did to him. He thought it would be a burden and his Papa had enough to worry about since his Mama left. His brother had told him many times to ‘man up’ but he wasn’t sure what that meant.

Back in his room he thought about the advice from Rene and the advice from Peter. His brother thought the answer to everything was to be tough. Fat lot of good that did when you weren’t! Peter, on the other hand said there was nothing wrong with being a girl. He thought some more about it. He knew he was a boy, he knew he didn’t fit in, and was certainly nothing like the other boys, but that didn’t make him a girl. But that teacher thought he was a girl. It made him feel funny thinking about it. ‘There was nothing wrong with being a girl!’ He agreed with Peter. ‘Nothing wrong with a boy having a ponytail… and playing with dolls, either!’ But, where did that leave him?

At bedtime, Sally told him his pyjamas were in the wash so he would have to wear something of Frankie’s. It didn’t bother him at all even though he thought his dad had packed several pairs for him. He didn’t make a fuss as Sally handed him what looked like a long T shirt but was actually one of Frankie’s nighties. It was pastel blue and had a kitten on the front. Frankie wore one exactly the same. “I didn’t know I had two…” Frankie began.
“You don’t do the laundry,” Sally shot back with a face that suggested no more talk was needed.

They were allowed some extra time downstairs before bedtime. Peter read them a story and they snuggled up, close to him, one on each side. Sally loved the way her son was so caring and sweet. He had certainly made Lucien feel at home and to see both children, heads resting on his shoulders looking at the pictures in the book, was a lovely scene. Her late husband would have been so proud of him. Her attention turned to Lucien who was so comfortable in the nook of Peter’s arm, his legs curled up under him, playing with his hair. Together with Frankie they looked like a pair of girls transfixed by their big brother.

It was this thought that led to her error, something for which she could have kicked herself. “Five more minutes, then it is time for bed girls,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth she realised she had said the wrong thing. “I don’t want you up late on a school night,” she continued hastily, trying to cover up her mistake. She knew she was red in the face so busied herself tidying around the room. When she did look up, Peter had closed the book and was kissing them both on the cheek.
“Sleep tight,” he said. The children moved away and hugged Sally before going up to bed. No fuss, no arguments, no mention of her mistake!
Sally was relieved but looked across at Peter. If George found out she had wrecked his plans at this stage he would be entitled to be very cross with her. “I need to be more careful!”
“What do you mean?” her son asked.
“I called Lucien a girl, by mistake!”
“Mistake? There’s nothing wrong with being a girl, mum!”
“And nothing wrong with being a boy either,” she said taking her son into a hug.
“We just need to be ourselves!” he replied.

In bed Lucien and Frankie chatted as normal. This was the best time of day as far as he was concerned. He didn’t have anyone to confide in at home but here every day had a built in therapy session when he went back over the things that happened, good and bad and Frankie usually made them alright.
“Thanks for lending me your nightshirt,” he said. “Do you have two of everything?”
“No!” she replied. “That must be a new one.”
They didn’t think much more of it but Lucien liked it, preferred it to his pyjamas and was glad that he had a reason to wear it. Best of all, no one at school needed to find out about it.