Chapter 2: Danielle Goes On Holiday

She didn't tell Danielle. It was her secret, to share with her mother. "You never told me I was walking round town eating fish and chips with a huge great mucky handprint all over my tits," she hissed into the phone. She could just imagine Danielle's injured expression.

"What handprint? I can't see nothing without my glasses."

She'd been able to see her own reflection in the ladies' room mirror, no problem. "It was that slob of a boyfriend you tried to get me off with. He had the filthiest, sweatiest hands you ever saw. Or felt."

"Which boyfriend?" Danielle asked vaguely. "What was his name?"

"I never asked his sodding name. He was a pig. And a toad."

"He couldn't be both, Fluff. Can I keep this T-shirt of yours, by the way. It really does things for my boobs."

"You're not still wearing it? It will stink by now!"

"It's only been a day or two. And I don't smell."

"I need it back as soon as it's been washed. My mum's still trying to get that handprint off. Besides, my other T-shirts are too tight across the chest."

"Wooh, Fluff!"

Fluffy bit her lip. She hadn't intended it to come out like that. But it was strange. She had tried three T-shirts this morning and they had all felt snug, with creases radiating out where no creases had radiated before. Even her newest bra had felt a little tighter than usual. She didn't want to think about it, but it seemed as if she were getting bigger...

"Anyway, the reason I rang: I'm going away," Danielle said suddenly. "Mum and Dad said I've got to go with them. Holidays!" She spat out the word.

"Where? When? For how long?" Despite her ongoing feud with Danielle, Fluff didn't fancy the idea of a week on her own without her friend.

"Three weeks. Three weeks! That must be nearly ten days! It's a shitter. Three weeks at the seaside with my mum and dad. I mean, Dad's all right on holiday. He likes walking around with a big-titted bird, pretending I'm his girlfriend. But Mum's a pain in the arse. She's jealous 'cos I'm so short but mine are nearly as big as hers."

Don't go there, Fluffy thought. "Three weeks? That's for ever! And it's twenty-one days, not ten. Do you have to go? You could come and stay with me."

"That's what I told my Mum, but she said your Mum wouldn't want me hanging around. She probably thinks I'd try and screw your Dad..."

"Yuck! That's perverted!" Perverted, certainly, but probably true. Perhaps it was just as well. "When are you going? Saturday?"

"Tomorrow morning. Shit, here she comes now, and I haven't done the washing up. Catch ya later, right? Or maybe when we get back..."

The funny thing about school holidays is that time gets pulled all out of shape. On the first afternoon of the holidays, you come home and it stretches out for ever in front of you. Weeks and weeks. It goes on and on and you can't find anything to do; then maybe you do find something to occupy your time - but then just when you start enjoying yourself, suddenly there's only a week to go.

That's how it was for Fluffy. Danielle disappeared without another word - and without returning that smelly T-shirt - leaving Fluffy moping around, bored stiff with having nothing to do and not wanting to do anything but eat three square meals a day.

Then things started getting interesting.

"When's your period due, love?" Her mother was looking at her strangely.

"Oh, I dunno. A couple of days or so."

"Hmmm. That might explain it, but you look a bit fuller than usual. Stand up straight."

"Mum!" But her mother just stood there and waited, and she seemed to be prepared to wait all day. Fluffy straightened up.

"Shoulders back. That's better. Oh, dear!"

'Oh, dear' summed it up fairly well. The last couple of mornings, Fluffy had found it increasingly difficult to get into her shirts. She'd already given up on her bras, which were way too uncomfortable. Especially on school holidays, when there weren't any stupid rules. She'd chosen her baggiest, sloppiest sweat shirt, but there was no fooling her mother. The woman had X-ray eyes. Now, standing up straight with shoulders pulled back, X-ray eyes weren't necessary. At a rough guess, she must be a couple of inches bigger than usual.

"You've got to be a couple of inches bigger than usual. Take your top off and let's have a look!"

"Mum!" Unwillingly, she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of the shirt, and pulled upwards.

"Right off! You can't hide in there all day."

Off it came, and Fluffy slouched there, the sweat shirt dangling from one hand.

"At least two inches!" Why did the woman look so pleased with herself? "Stand up straight again."

"Owww!"

"Sorry! Cold hands, warm heart. You're definitely growing. You're putting weight on round your bum as well. And your tummy. But we're definitely going to need a new bra, I'm afraid."

"We?"

Her mother ignored her. She tucked a pencil under Fluffy's left breast. It stayed there. "A new bra, my girl. The pencil stays there. If you don't wear a well-fitting bra now, they'll end up round your knees. It won't be the pencil test, it will be the typewriter test."

Fluffy winced. It was a disturbing image; supporting a typewriter under her boob. It didn't help that the typewriter she imagined was that great big one in the school office, the long carriage machine they used for addressing envelopes for some reason.

"No time like the present," enthused Mrs Duffy. "Strike while the iron is hot. I've got to go into town this afternoon. You can come with me and we'll see about finding you something. Be a love and find me a tape measure, while I finish loading this washing machine."

The pencil fell out as Fluffy headed for the kitchen door. It bounced off her little belly and skittered away into the corner.

"And bring your old bra, as well. Your newest old one."

"Let's go into the little room and try it on." As if shopping for clothes with your mother wasn't already embarrassing enough, now she had to get undressed as well!

"Why do I need to try it on? It's only a bra! It's adjustable."

"Only a bra, as you say, but you're in between sizes. You're more than a 34, but not quite a 36, and you're about a D cup but different makes are different sizes. We'll try a couple of bras on, and if they don't fit, we'll try somewhere else."

We, again! But a D cup already! Same as Danielle's. She'd be bright green when she came home and saw what had happened. She'd be so mad! Shoulders hunched, Fluffy drew aside the heavy curtain and skulked into the little room. "It's all right, mum. I can try it on myself." To tell the truth, she'd have to; there wasn't room in there to swing a cat, whatever that meant. It was a poky little room with a low ceiling. Why so low? It wasn't anywhere near the height of the rooms at home. There wasn't even room for an ordinary overhead light fitting; a spotlight was screwed to the wall on the left-hand wall, next to a row of coathooks. Probably they'd made the ceiling as low as this because they'd already bought a curtain and it was only six feet long, she decided. There was a chair, and a full-length mirror occupying the width and height of the end of the room. Why the mirror needed to be as big as that was anyone's guess. The shop sold bras and underwear, not hats and skirts and shoes. Fluffy studied herself in the glass. Her hair was a mess, and remained a mess when she had run her fingers through it. How would it look if she let it grow long like Dan's? Maybe only down to her shoulders. It didn't need to come right down to her waist like Danielle's. As her friend always said, it was more trouble than it was worth sometimes. Sexy, though, Fluffy thought, and instantly blushed. 'Sexy' was one of those words that Danielle used a lot. Like 'wow' and 'cool'.

Hurriedly she unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged it off, tossing it on to the chair. In the mirror, her bra looked every bit as uncomfortable as it felt. There were mounds of flesh squeezing out above the cups, pushing together in the middle like a crease; what Danielle called 'cleavage'. Not a thing that Fluffy had ever imagined herself having. Well, she certainly had a load of it now. Experimentally, she pushed her boobs together with her palms, and her cleavage deepened alarmingly. That's quite enough of that, she thought, letting go, only to find herself bulging out of the underside of her bra cups. The thing was way too small.