I’m naked when Janey does just this and we’re rushing towards the taxi rank, trying to avoid the wolf whistles, dirty jokes and sneers. It’s just as well that I’m getting so much attention, because it stops me from obsessing about the heaviness of my breasts, the puckering of my upper arms, the curve of my belly … At one point some little bastard takes several photos – but if I will strip off in the middle of town, I suppose I can hardly complain. It’s the attempt to photograph me that pushes a flushed, defiant Janey into loosening her tie and offering me her shirt. ‘Don’t!’ I say. ‘I want to undress you myself!’ ‘That’s rich coming from you,’ says Janey, with a wry grin and cocked eyebrow. ‘Anyway, I want to cover you up. When the world is looking at my naked beau, am I meant to be unpossessive?’ ‘Beau?’ I say, tickled by the French. ‘You’re possessive?’ I add, tickled by the romance. But I manage to persuade her to keep the shirt on. ‘You’re causing as much fracas as I am,’ I say, reminding her that gender-bending is hardly the norm in this small-minded town.
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