Dancing In The Shadows of Love by Judy Croome Page B

dance
tonight
,’ she said. She leaned her head back on his shoulders and her hair shone silver. Mischievous charm lent her the face of an angel as the dull light pouring out of the ballroom softened the highways of age that marked her.
    ‘You can dance as much as you want to,’ I said.
    ‘Wonderful. Will you dance too?’
    ‘When I can.’
    ‘Tonight is your night, dear,’ she said. ‘You must embrace it with your heart.’ Her fingers brushed my chest, there where my heart began to thud faster. ‘Dance with all the young men you can, but leave time for Enoch. He’s the one you must dance with tonight. You can be as carefree as a young girl, like a little flower, when it’s young and precious!’
    Grace radiated a promise of redemption and, at her name—surely a strange coincidence, for where would Grace have learnt it?—Little Flower surged up from the depths. I was flooded with the same excitement that consumed her and could no longer hold back the waves of desire. They rose and rose as Little Flower did. She flexed her strength and sucked me into a whirlpool of great need, an irresistible need: I longed to plunge into Enoch’s arms. I wanted to beg him to love me, to love Little Flower as she longed to be loved. To love her as he loved Grace, so that I, too, could wear the mantle of Saint Grace’s peace, and Little Flower’s hunger could destroy me no longer.
    • • •
     
    Hours passed and I had yet to stand in his arms. Long hours of a loneliness I hadn’t felt since Little Flower cried for help in front of a heartless wooden nova .
    Barry swept me out of a vigorous foxtrot. ‘I must rest,’ he puffed. His face, his amiable face, shone with perspiration and happiness as we sat back at the table. Roses cascaded down the edge of crystal vases and the heavy silver cutlery set on white damask tablecloths lent a suitable dignity to the occasion.
    ‘You’re both so happy,’ Grace beamed, in a gentle, childlike way, as she often did when pleased. ‘Are you enjoying yourselves?’
    ‘My wife is the most beautiful woman in the room tonight,’ Barry said. He was proud of me and eased an arm around the back of my chair so his fingers could play a tune of pleasure along my satin-covered shoulders.
    I despised myself for the way I bloomed under his praise, for I had never needed Barry’s approval before. My need dislocated the power in our marriage back into his hands and I remembered the way Little Flower always sought her Daddy’s approval, an approval that only ever came in the night when Daddy called it love.
    Barry needed longer than a few minutes rest to catch his breath. I shifted in my seat so my shoulders slipped free of his touch. ‘Let’s dance,’ I said.
    ‘Not me,’ he said. Exhaling, he pulled out his handkerchief to mop his forehead. ‘You dance if you want to.’
    ‘Enoch will dance with you,’ Grace chimed in, as I had wanted, as I had hoped she would. ‘You haven’t danced with Enoch yet.’ She looked at him expectantly, as did I, and Barry. Did I alone see sadness scurry across Enoch’s face?
    The moment I stepped into his arms, the world and all its glitter receded. But he was uncomfortable with me in his arms and yet we were no closer than he had held Grace when they danced. He held me with one reluctant arm around my waist and the other clasping my hand at shoulder height as the opening bars of a waltz started. Something fierce and proud forced me to confront his resistance.
    ‘If the dance steps are unfamiliar,’ I said, ‘we can return to the table. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.’
    Those eyes. Oh, those eyes! They flickered with layers and made me want to weep as I stared into them, haughty to hide my hurt. And there, in-between the layers, I imagined I saw a young girl. She ran free and happy and loved. Her dark hair flew out behind her as her Daddy’s strong, safe arms picked her up and swung her round and round, until she screamed with laughter, her