by Moran, Beth
“Why did you never teach me to dance?”
“I wanted you to find your own steps. Your own passion. And look, you found dancing all by yourself.”
The song finished, and a slower one took over. Seth came up and tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Mrs Henderson. If Maggie can manage a dance, I’d really like to cut in.”
I clenched her tighter, even as she tried to pull away. “On one condition. Don’t you dare call me Mrs Henderson when you come for dinner this week. There’s only one Mrs Henderson and I am not anywhere close to filling her shoes.”
As they began to move away, Maggie turned back. “Oh yes – I came to tell you something and then you kept talking and I forgot. I have a message for you.” She looked up at the ceiling, pretending to try and remember. “I think it was from David…”
I took a couple of deep breaths, blowing them out again.
“He asked me to ask you to meet him in your place. Or something cheesy like that.”
“When did he give you this message?” My voice was faint, as if it came from a cave deep inside me.
“After the competition.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
She shrugged. “I was thinking about it. He said only to pass it on if I was sure.”
“Sure of what?” Don’t faint, Ruth. Not here, not now. Not when David is waiting.
“That I was okay with you meeting him in your place, wherever that is, and then meeting him again, a lot, for a long time and maybe even forever.”
“And you are sure?” I was staggered, gobsmacked, dumbfounded. “This isn’t just because I dropped the probation?”
“Hello? I’d already come to tell you, hadn’t I? We had a talk. Straightened out a few things.”
“I don’t know.” I began to feel a rising wave of panic. “It’s so soon, Maggie. You’re still recovering, and everything’s still up in the air with where we’re going to live, and you’re just starting to settle in at school. I don’t know.”
“Mum.” Maggie shrugged her shoulders. “I can see the way he looks at you. Dad never looked at you like that. Like you’re some beautiful, rare species of butterfly and he can’t believe you’ve landed on his arm. He’s going to stop everything and stay completely still in the hope that you stay for a few seconds longer. And even if you do fly away, it will still have been the most amazing thing that ever happened to him and totally worth it. Even if his dinner gets burnt in the oven, or he misses his train or has to give up the job opportunity of a lifetime, he would be grateful it happened. I will never love David like I love Dad. But David has loved you forever, and I’m not sure Dad ever did.”
“I think you need to stop reading Nanny’s paperback romance collection. Thank you for passing on the message. Now go and dance.”
I turned away before Maggie saw the tears, and stepped outside. I cried that I had given my daughter such a pitiful example of a relationship between a man and a woman for so long. That my words to her to go after her dreams, that she deserved the best, to be loved and honoured and cherished, were drowned out by my actions, that said, “Settle, don’t rock the boat, learn to live with it, be grateful he stayed with you. There is no Mr Right, no man who will still be blowing your socks off with his kindness and his sexiness and his strong love for you fifty years down the road. Men sneak, and ignore, and work late, and refuse to commit; they forget and get bored, and would rather watch golf on TV than bother to have a real conversation.”
I cried because she had seen what I could not dare to believe: that David not only loved me, but wanted, waited, fought for me.
I cried for fifteen years spent with a man who made me feel a little smaller every day.
I cried for the wedding dress I never got to wear; that my mother never got to sew the lace of my veil; that my father never got to give me away to a good man.
I cried because I was sad, because I was overjoyed, because out of all this God had given me a daughter who took my breath away.
I cried. And then I stopped. I wiped my face, told Mum I was going home, and started out on the longest walk of my life. It took me to the willow tree. And to the rest of forever.
The sun was setting as I walked round the corner of the cul-de-sac. A few wispy clouds floating along the western edge of the sky sent streaks of pink and gold, amber and violet across the deepening darkness. I made my way straight over to the tree made up of one half long, bushy branches trailing down to the earth beneath, the other still a lopsided, spiky bristle of new growth poking out from the fire-damaged trunk.
I slipped my shoes off, my aching feet sinking into the deliciously cool grass of the Big House garden. As I approached the willow, the sound of “I Don’t Want to Wait” – the song from that fateful summer; the one David had meant to play for me on the night of the school leavers’ dance – drifted through the leaves. My heart pounded. My bare skin flushed despite the chill in the air. As I reached the tree, a thousand white fairy lights flicked on, bathing the branches in a soft shimmer. Gingerly pushing past them, through the canopy, I stepped off the grass and onto a very small plywood dance floor. Later I saw the table with champagne and two glasses, the hamper of cheese sandwiches – not stale – and the folding chairs. But I didn’t notice them then. All I could see was David. Sticking his hands in his back pockets, a tiny frown creased his forehead. He coughed, then looked away, before shrugging his shoulders.
“A bit cheesy.”
“I love cheesy.”
“Took me ages to find the song.”
“I love this song.”
“I’m so sorry it’s sixteen years late.”
“I don’t care.”
“Ruth Henderson. I have loved you my whole life. Are you ready to dance with me now?”
I nodded, laughing in response to his widening grin. David stepped forward, one arm extended. I took his hand. And finally, we danced.
Epilogue
It was girls’ night at Lois’s house. We lounged around the garden on various chairs, beanbags and children’s play equipment while making our way through an Italian feast. Ana Luisa, balancing a bowl of gnocchi on a belly as round and ripe as a melon, shifted awkwardly in her camping chair.
“This is no good. Can somebody help me up? I have to empty my poor, squished bladder before something embarrassing happens.”
Ellie leaned forward on her cushion and managed to pull Ana Luisa to a standing position without even getting up. “Are you sure you’re going to last until after the weekend? I’ve delivered a few foals in my time, but I think whatever you’re incubating in there is going to need more than some strokes on the nose and a bag of oats before it gets out.”
“Tell me about it!” Ana Luisa stretched out her full magnificence in a dress that encased her glowing – and still growing – frame like a tent. “I cannot believe I have another six weeks of this to go. I can’t even remember what my feet look like. And my nipples! My goodness, they look as if –”
“Too much information!” Maggie, one of the night’s honorary guests, grimaced in horror.
“Keep going, Ana. Feel free not to hide the more unpleasant aspects of pregnancy with my loved-up daughter.”
Maggie spluttered. To be honest, so did a few of the others. “ME? Loved up? Says the woman who simpers and blushes every time anyone mentions tomorrow. Or David. Or anything remotely, vaguely connected with either one of those things.”
I smirked. I did do that. I was indeed utterly, deliciously loved up.
Ana Luisa waddled off to the bathroom.
“Where are your sisters tonight, Ruth?” Ellie asked. “Aren’t they coming over?”
“They’ll probably pop in later on, but first they need to get themselves beautified ready for tomorrow. Lydia’s brought them the latest celebrity fad treatments. Including a face pack made of nightingale droppings.”
“Nice.” With that thought, we resumed eating.
Emily suddenly barked out, “Hand it over!” thrusting her arm out in Rupa�
��s direction.
Rupa smiled sweetly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She surreptitiously folded her hands in her lap.
Emily waggled the fingers on her outstretched hand. “I told you if you couldn’t keep it in your pocket, I’d confiscate it.”
Ellie shook her head. “Seriously, Rupa. That’s been, what, all of eight minutes.”
“I know, but she’s got a cold and –” She broke off into a squeal as Ellie launched out of her chair and made a dive for the phone. The two women wrestled briefly before Ellie’s superior size and strength forced Rupa to give it up.
Puffing slightly, Ellie passed the phone to Emily, who tucked it into her jacket pocket. “There we go. If Harry calls, or texts, I will be sure to let you know.”
“That’s not fair!” Rupa looked at me for back-up. “You can’t stop me texting my husband. Why do you care anyway? I’m still joining in with the evening. And I’ll only get more stressed if I can’t check she’s okay.”
I pulled out my phone, reading from the screen. “Please take R’s phone if texts or calls me again. Hope asleep and new episode of Whole Wild World on.”
Rupa gaped at me.
“She’s fine, Rupa. Please try to relax and enjoy tonight. You really need it.”
Her eyes flicked from Emily, now tossing an olive into her open mouth, across to my mum, who pulled a wry face, lifting up her glass in a toast.
“All right. I’ll try. But you have to promise to tell me if Harry messages. And I’m going home at ten.”
“Of course you are.” Emily winked. “Here, have another glass of fizz in the meantime.”
Ana came back, leading a last-minute guest. “Look who I found lingering on the doorstep.”
Vanessa stepped into the garden, carrying a pretty gift bag tied with a cream bow. “I don’t want to intrude. I just came to give you this.”
She handed me the bag, hovering awkwardly until Mum propelled her into a seat, thrusting a cranberry and lemonade mocktail into her hand. I opened the bag, carefully taking out the silver tissue paper parcel. Inside the parcel was a set of ivory vintage lace lingerie, complete with garter.
“These are beautiful, Vanessa!” They were. A world away from the high street bra and knickers I had been going to wear.
“The garter’s just a lend. It belonged to my grandmother. I thought it would do as your something old and borrowed. And, see the blue ribbon?”
“Well, there you go, Maggie.” Mum tutted. “There was no need for the hair dye after all.”
Maggie flicked her cobalt-coloured hair over her shoulder and shrugged.
I stood up to give Vanessa a hug. Who’d have thought it? Vanessa Jacobs at my hen night. Vanessa Jacobs invited to my hen night. Lois leaned over and had a closer look.
“They are sensational, Vanessa. Sexy and sophisticated all in one. You should stock them in the shop. I think I might be able to persuade Matt to get me some.”
“You might. But don’t let him see the price tag before he agrees to it.”
“Oh, maybe I’ll just surprise him one morning.”
Emily grinned. “I take it you’re both enjoying Teagan starting nursery.”
“Enjoying? Relishing! This Wednesday was her first time staying for the whole day. Which of course, coincidentally, also happened to be Matt’s day off.”
“Oh, how lovely!” Mum boomed across the garden. “Did you have a day out together?”
A long, slow smile spread like hot fudge sauce across Lois’s minister’s-wife face. “We did not. We had a day in together. And yes, it was lovely.”
Maggie stood up, flinging her drink onto the table. “That’s it! I can’t take any more! Is this what you do on girls’ nights? Talk about sex and intimate body parts while ogling raunchy underwear? You’re all obsessed. If you don’t let me go in and watch TV with Seth and Matt I’m going to gag.”
“Permission granted.” I grabbed her as she slipped past me, and gave her a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t stay up too late. Big day tomorrow.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
A big day. Tomorrow I would wake up in the quirky cottage David and I had bought on the outskirts of town, half paid for with the earnings from my animal pictures. I would drink champagne and eat a smoked salmon bagel for breakfast. My hugely pregnant, about-to-be step-mother-in-law would style my hair and do my make-up, while my other friends faffed and laughed and helped keep my sisters under control. I would put on the exquisite silk wedding dress hand embroidered by my mum (no sequins), don my veil and take my father’s arm as he led me down the aisle to meet the man – not of my dreams but of real life. My life. It had taken long enough, but I had actually, finally got myself a life worth living.
If you loved I Hope You Dance… don’t miss
Making Marion
“A wonderfully warm-hearted story full of love and laughter.”
– Victoria Connelly
Marion Miller comes to Sherwood Forest to uncover her father’s mysterious past. She is looking for somewhere to stay, but instead finds herself on the wrong side of the reception desk at the Peace and Pigs campsite. Despite her horrible shyness, she promptly lands herself a job working for the big-hearted and irrepressible Scarlett.
It takes all of Marion’s determination to come out of her shell and get to grips with life on a busy campsite, where even the chickens seem determined to thwart her. Then an unfortunate incident with a runaway bike throws her into the arms of the beautiful, but deeply unimpressed, Reuben…
Can Marion discover her father’s secret? And will she find peace, and perhaps even love, among the pigs?
ISBN: 978-1-78264-099-8 | e-ISBN: 978-1-78264-100-1
£7.99
