But Tracey was unashamedly her mother's aspiration and avatar, her only joy, in those thrilling
yellow bows, a frou - frou skirt of many ruffles and a crop top revealing inches of childish nut - brown belly, and as we pressed up
against the pair of them in this bottleneck of mothers and daughters entering the church I watched with interest as Tracey's mother pushed the girl in front of herself - and in front of us - using her own body as a means of obstruction, the
flesh on her arms swinging as she beat us back, until she arrived in Miss Isabel's dance class, a look of great pride and anxiety on her face, ready to place her precious cargo into the temporary care of others.