Page 56 of A Snowfall of Silver

We all dance: me with Russ, Kit with Alma, Viola with Dan who is saying something outrageous that makes her laugh. Eileen dances with Hubert who has the blissful expression of a man whose dream has become reality, and Nora holds Sophie close as the two of them sway gently around the dance floor. Only Rhys Cantwell sits at the long table, watching the rest of us with the look of an indulgent parent.

When the song finishes, I head over to Mr Cantwell and ask if he would like to dance.

“How very gallant of you,” he says, “to take pity on a wallflower.”

“Not at all,” I admit. “Gallant would be volunteering to sit out the dance, but I’m selfish and I want to keep on twirling.”

“Then I shall be happy to oblige,” he says with a bow. He freezes. “That was not,” he says sharply, “an invitation to curtsey.”

“No, sir.”

He dances carefully, politely, keeping a rigid distance between us. We don’t talk very much, but I think he is enjoying himself.

I watch Kit who is now dancing with Viola. She reaches up and whispers something in his ear and I see his answering smile.

I dance with Dan, with Russ again – twice – and even with Hubert, who is surprisingly light in his feet, but it is a long time before I dance with Kit. I find that I am too shy to ask him. I look over at him often – I don’t exactly know why. Perhaps it is still the shock of seeing him all dressed up. Kit usually wears scruffy trousers and a worn jumper, and seeing him turned out like this, all smooth and polished – it’s as if it’s turned him into someone else, someone I don’t know.

By the time he does ask me to dance I am in a state of anxiety. I try to blame my breathlessness on the vigorous foxtrot I’ve just been executing with Hubert, but when Kit takes me into his arms I can feel myself trembling. We’ve danced together before, but this feels different.

I think he must feel it too, because his face is serious, the usual laughter gone from his eyes. I experience a brief instant of panic that somehow my friend has gone. I’ve never had a best friend before, but since that day on the train, Kit has stepped admirably into the role. He has become the person I want to share my good news with, the person I want to talk to all the time, the person who knows me best, and who makes me laugh. I feel greedy for his time and his attention. I force myself to relax. I’m just being silly. Everything feels unreal tonight, as though we’ve fallen right down the rabbit hole.

As we dance through the dusting of snow, his arm wrapped around my waist – none of the polite distance between us, just fine layers of purple silk and black wool – I rack my brain to think of something to say. I am finding it hard to concentrate on anything except the feel of his hand spread across the small of my back.

Finally, we come to a stop, having danced in total – and certainly uncharacteristic – silence. I step back from him, fanning my face with my hand.

“I’m so warm,” I say, in a choked little voice that I am not proud of. “I think I need to stop and have a drink.”

“Let me get one for you,” Kit offers.

“No!” I exclaim, too sharply. “You should dance with someone else,” I manage more calmly.

I hurry off the dance floor, just as Viola appears again to claim Kit’s hand.

I make my way over to a seat, and press my hands against my cheeks, trying to cool them down.

“Let me pour you a glass of wine.” Russ appears at my elbow. “This elderflower stuff is not bad at all.”

“Thank you.” I accept the glass from him. “I think I have danced my feet off.”

“Perhaps we should move on to the next part of the evening?”

“And what is that?” I ask warily.

That Cheshire Cat grin appears. “The games, of course.”

“What sort of games?”

Russ makes his way over to the record player, bringing the music to a clattering halt.

“What did you do that for?” Nora asks grumpily. She and Sophie were dancing again, and never mind the polite distances, you’d have been hard pressed to slip a sheet of paper between the two of them.

“It is time for the next portion of this evening’s entertainment,” Russ announces, like he’s the ringmaster of this particular circus. “Games! And the first game will be … sardines!” If he had a moustache, I think he’d be twirling it.

“Sardines?” Alma frowns. “What’s that?”

“It’s like hide-and-seek in reverse,” I explain. “One person hides and the rest of us have to look for them. When you find the person hiding then you have to get in the hiding place with them.”

“Like sardines in a tin,” Nora adds. “The last person to find the hiding place loses.”