• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1314 0

turned, twirled, lifted and swung, I tried to remember how I remembered all this, and realised it was all down to my father. His interpretation of Marxism – broad-minded even for his socially tolerant, if politically dogmatic, party – insisted on the desirabilty of culture in all its forms. Hence, piano practice and dancing classes – and, when that had led to playground taunts, boxing lessons. Hence also, the Science Museum and the BMNH and the Zoo and the theatre. He was interested in everything. He was there.

And at Hyde Park on Sundays, telling unbelieving onlookers that whatever demo-of-the-week was passing through was a complete waste of time…He thought he was turning a space-age schoolkid into a scientific socialist, but all he was doing was raising me to be as stubborn an outsider as himself.

The dances flew past as fast as the dancers, with only snatched gulps of whisky and puffs of smoke between one and the next. An eightsome reel finished the set. Annette and I leaned on each other’s shoulders with one thought between us. ‘Drink?’

‘Drink.’

We went to the bar this time, our fortuitous and fortunate position at the end of the dance getting us there ahead of the rush. Annette perched on a stool, the hang of her skirt concealing it so that she seemed suspended on air. I propped my elbow on the bar and ordered pints.

‘Well, that was something,’ I said. ‘I enjoyed that.’

‘Me too,’ Annette said. ‘Cheers.’ She sank half a pint of lager. ‘Mind you,’ she went on, ‘throwing the littlest flower-girl in the air, swinging the bride onto your hips, and carrying her granny halfway across the room weren’t all absolutely essential.’

‘Oh.’ I thought back. ‘Did I do that?’

She grinned. ‘You sure did. Made me proud. Nobody’s going to gripe now about me bringing along a strange Sassenach.’

‘I didn’t know I was a subject of debate.’

‘Well, now it’ll just be speculation.’ She winked.

‘About us?’

‘Aha,’ Annette said. ‘So there’s an “us”?’

Face suddenly serious, haloed in red and black.

‘If you choose,’ I said.

Her green eyes regarded me levelly.

‘And what do you choose?’

Around us people were shouting, reaching for drinks, brushing against us. The music was rocking again. I see and hear it only now. At the time there was nothing but her.

‘There’s no choosing,’ I said. I took a step forward and put my arms around her waist. Our foreheads touched. ‘It was all decided the second I saw you.’

‘Me too,’ she said, and we kissed. It felt strange doing it at the same height. By the time we’d finished she’d slid off the stool. She looked up at me, smiling, and said: ‘But I saw you first.’

‘So what,’ I asked in a bitter-tanged amazement, ‘have the past three months been all about?’

‘I’m like you,’ she said. ‘I want to be free.’

‘You can be free with me!’ I said. ‘Any time. Please.’

We were falling together laughing.

‘Yes,’ she said.

And then it had all been said, and we were just standing together at the bar, having a drink.

Irene, the bride, clicked up to us in high heels and a smart blue two-piece, gave me a wary smile and whispered to Annette.

‘See you in a few minutes,’ Annette said. I bowed to them both – and to this necessity – and watched their whispering progress out of sight.

Annette returned about a quarter of an hour later.

‘Everything okay?’ I asked, sliding her a G&T. She looked a bit preoccupied.

‘Basically yes. Thanks,’ she said, sipping carefully. ‘I just spent ten minutes hanging about in reception with Irene’s wedding-dress in a plastic bag over my shoulder. Finally got someone to stash it till I leave. Couldn’t leave it in the room. Some mix-up with keys.’

‘So it’s not all fun, being a bridesmaid.’

‘Ha, ha. Little do you know.’

‘I think I’d rather not –’

I realised the music had stopped and somebody was trying to make himself heard above a hubbub.

‘Hey, come on!’

Annette swirled about and dashed away to the nearest exit, where Irene and her man were backing out of the doorway with a kind of female scrum going on around them –

Something sailed over the heads of the scrum. As I looked up, startled,