Dan tries to remember what he learned on his conflict-resolution course. Do you approach with your hands out to your sides, or is that when you see a bear?

‘Do you think he’s trying to rob us?’ Atticus whispers, as the stranger marches past them and starts pulling clothes off rails and flinging them over his shoulder, muttering, ‘No … no. Fuck, I don’t know …’

‘I don’t think so.’ Dan realizes Atticus is still holding him, and gently steps backwards out of the embrace. ‘I think he’s looking for something.’

Atticus picks up the pricing gun ‘just in case’ and then says, in a loud faux-jaunty voice, ‘Hello, sir, can we help you?’

‘I want my stuff back. Where is it?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.’

‘It was brought in by her. By a fat, lumpy bitch with purple hair.’

‘Betty?’ Atticus asks.

‘Who’s Betty?’ Dan asks, confused.

‘She helps out sometimes – she always brings in cake.’

‘Yes. Betty.’ The man’s face twists into a grimace as he says her name.

‘Atticus, I think there’s something wrong here,’ Dan says, feeling the tingling in his fingers he gets around people who are not containing themselves.

‘Where did you put it all?’ The man has stopped searching now and is panting at them.

‘What exactly are you looking for? Betty brought in some stuff a week or so ago, but it was all ladies’ things.’

‘Yes. My lady’s things. Where are they?’

Atticus whispers, ‘Ooh, a cross-dresser’ to Dan very quietly, hoping to make him laugh, but Dan frowns and says nothing because the man looks too flushed, his eyes are too wide and his shirt is buttoned up wrongly.

He touches Atticus’s sleeve gently, tries to pull him close enough to say, ‘Be careful with him. I think he’s delicate,’ but Atticus is in one of his flamboyant moods and shrugs Dan off.

‘I’m sorry. It’s all gone. We did the most wonderful window display, and everything flew out the door in seconds. We could help you get something new, if you like?’ He steps out from behind the counter and starts sifting through a rail of glitzy dresses in the corner, then pulls out a blue number with tassels and says, ‘What size are you?’

For a second, Dan thinks the old man might have a heart attack. He coughs and splutters and his hands tremble. Dan is about to ask him if he’d like a glass of water when he squeals, ‘You dirty bastard fags. You filthy stinking queers. How dare you?’

‘Hey now …’ Atticus stops looking through the dresses. ‘There’s no need for any of that.’

Dan feels the words crawl into his eyes and ears and burn him like acid. He’s never been called a fag or a queer before, and it feels even worse than he imagined.