The Red Shoes

'Look, Lizzie, its too late for this.'
I couldn't believe this was happening. I was fast loosing control of the situation. And that was bad.
'I don't understand what I've done wrong!'
'No of course you don't, because you have a twisted view of what's wrong and right!' He swore and turned away.
'But¦it's been a week Mark, and I thought you liked me¦'
He turned back and brought his face up close to mine, 'thought, Lizzie, thought. That was until I realised what you are!' he hissed. His venom hit me like a slap.
'And what am I?'
He started to march up the steps to one side of the clubhouse, his bag slapping his leg with every step.
'Tell me! What am I?' I demanded, from the bottom of the steps. I hovered nervously on the grass, trying to keep the mud off my red shoes.
'What are you?' he waved his arms around, mouth working furiously, 'you have red shoes!' he exclaimed eventually.
I followed him up the steps meekly, smiling politely at the older members of the club. He brushed by the commodore.
'Red shoes?' I whispered.
He nodded. 'Red shoes,' he agreed, 'you must know what kind of people wear red shoes.'
'What kind?' I asked stupidly.
'Well, you know, the flirtatious, attention seeking kind.'
I looked away.
'People like you,' he said simply.