The Hope by James Lovegrove

which lay locked in that part of her that said, “You’re too old and your time has been and gone. Who are you fooling?”
    “I don’t know why we make decisions like that. We just do. It might be pride, or a feeling that the old must give way to the new.”
    “New! They’re all over a hundred years old in there!” Angel exclaimed, with more derision than she intended, but it was hard to break with the habits of a lifetime. Immediately she regretted it and apologised, to receive another of Gabrielle’s famous smiles.
    “No need, my dear. Yes, they’re old, I’m old, and yes, there’s no new blood to take our places when we’ve gone, and I think that when we’re dead all the dances will die too, but that may not be such a bad thing. They belonged to the land, to the life which the Hope is meant to be leaving behind, and to return to them would be going back in a circle, getting nowhere.”
    And then Angel made a request she had been meaning to make for a couple of hours now: “Teach me.”
    As she said that, she considered what her friends would say if they found out, how they would think her some kind of deviant pervert, and she had a foreboding of the pains of withdrawal to come, and she glimpsed for the last time her old life like a dirty rag at the bottom of a bucket, and she remembered Push – had she blinded him? – and she understood that the desire had been there all along and had to be voiced, just as Gabrielle’s answer had to be: “Yes.”
     
    Days come and go in pain as the hunger burrows its way out of her system and Gabrielle cradles her when she needs it and makes her laugh when she needs it. When the worst is over, she begins trying to persuade Angel that the dancing is not for her and she really should go back to her home and people her own age, but the effort is half-hearted, nobody can pretend otherwise, and only makes Angel keener to learn.
    So the lessons start. Gabrielle has the knack of a good teacher, although she would never have suspected she did, and knows the right times to push or tease or coax or cajole or scold or congratulate her pupil. For her part, Angel is a good learner and, while she will never have Gabrielle’s innate grace, she finds a dignity within herself which she never believed existed, she has been keeping it under sedation for such a long time.
    The lessons are long and Angel is exhausted at the end of every day. Gabrielle says this is because Angel is putting in too much effort and not enough precision. Angel complains occasionally, throws a tantrum, screams she will never get this right, and Gabrielle weathers out the storms, before drawing Angel close and telling her to behave and kissing her. Lucius follows all this with half-closed, knowing green eyes.
    Angel has never been happier.
     
    It will be in the middle of the fourth dance of the evening. A few people will see the woman of smiles entering the ballroom with a companion. The woman of smiles has not attended the dances for a while, her absence has been noted with genuine concern, and there are rumours she has died, but she will walk into the room as if she is waltzing, with a young and frightened girl on her arm. When the dance ends, more and more people will take notice of the pair of them standing in the doorway and the conversation will become hushed and excited. The girl is beautiful, a little pale perhaps, but with dark and shining hair tied up and brilliant eyes and hands gripped tightly over her stomach and a nervous tilt in her posture, a slight hunch of the shoulders. Her dress is old and ill-fitting, one of the woman’s castoffs. She does not belong here and yet she cannot be more welcome.
    The handsome man with the grey temples who held the door for Gabrielle several months ago will turn to Gabrielle and Gabrielle will nod with approval and the man will lead Angel to the centre of the floor. The orchestra will strike up.
    But nobody else is dancing. They will watch the couple, they will