exaggeration and a sideways glance to check who might be watching. Maureen recognized a boy with oiled hair from one of her mother’s friends’ parties. She thought the young man was called Howard. If he wasn’t, he ought to be. She looked away before he could spot her. The floor beneath the mistletoe ball lay empty and polished, like still water.
The caller took his place at the front of the stage. And now here came the girls, stepping into line on one side of the hall, giggling with their friends, offering embarrassed half-glances across the dance floor, making a fuss about swapping places. Here came the boys, slowly, checking their ties, some of them still holding their drinks, with a look of studied casualness as if it were quite by chance that they, too, were falling into line. Charleen stood opposite the boy Maureen recognized and she gave a wonky grimace. Patty didn’t seem to have a partner. Esther’s curled hair was already flat. Pauline and Paulette Gordon were hand in hand. The band started up. The couples stepped forward.
And away they went, hands crossed, galloping the length of the floor, up one way and back the other, down the middle and along the sides, joining hands as they met again, some of them slapping into the walls, the top couple gripping damp hands to form an arch, the others hurtling beneath. One dance after another with only brief intervals to buy drinks from the bar. Left arms linked to move in a circle, then back to back, then casting off to dance outside the set. Cross hands, counter clockwise, figure of eight, up a double and back. Maureen could feel the pounding of their feet through the floor and it was as though the hall itself was dancing.
‘Ain’t you got no partner, Maureen?’ shouted Patty Driscoll. After over an hour of dancing, her face was red as a cherry. She was so breathless she could barely get her words out.
Maureen shook her head. She had stood on the side for a while and she had joined in for a while, but now she was watching someone so hard she could not really see anyone else.
She had noticed him from the start. She couldn’t miss him. Whilst the other couples danced in groups and pairs, he jived by himself in the middle of the dance floor. Sometimes they bumped straight into him, sometimes they caught him in a circle, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Arms out, head shaking, legs kicking; the flaps of his coat flew like dog-tooth-check sails. It was as if he was dancing out something that was inside him. He looked wild. Half insane. But he looked free. She’d never seen anything like it.
‘Who’s that?’ Maureen asked.
‘We call him No-Mum,’ said Patty Driscoll.
‘Why do you call him No-Mum?’ During the conversation, she’d lost him again, the wild-dancing young man. She was afraid he’d already gone.
‘’Cos he’s got no mum.’
‘Where is his mum?’
‘She left. And his dad’s a right bastard.’ Patty closed her eyes and staggered a little, losing her balance. ‘I love the ball. I don’t ever want to go home.’ She galloped back to the dance floor and Maureen shifted to one side for a better view.
There he was, the boy, still dancing alone. He was like a stranger in the room, a person from a foreign place who did not understand how things were supposed to be done. She kept watching and she was aware of time passing and she smiled. So long as she could keep him in her eye line, that was enough.
Maybe he sensed her watching because he stopped suddenly and looked back at her. Then he danced some more, for another half-hour or so, and she continued watching, but it was different now because he surely knew she was watching. He did not stop and neither did she look away. It was the raw energy of him that moved her. The completeness of what he was. He stopped again. Caught her eye again. Then he threaded his way through the crowd and stopped so close she could feel the heat of his skin. He smelt sweet, like oranges.
He stooped with
The caller took his place at the front of the stage. And now here came the girls, stepping into line on one side of the hall, giggling with their friends, offering embarrassed half-glances across the dance floor, making a fuss about swapping places. Here came the boys, slowly, checking their ties, some of them still holding their drinks, with a look of studied casualness as if it were quite by chance that they, too, were falling into line. Charleen stood opposite the boy Maureen recognized and she gave a wonky grimace. Patty didn’t seem to have a partner. Esther’s curled hair was already flat. Pauline and Paulette Gordon were hand in hand. The band started up. The couples stepped forward.
And away they went, hands crossed, galloping the length of the floor, up one way and back the other, down the middle and along the sides, joining hands as they met again, some of them slapping into the walls, the top couple gripping damp hands to form an arch, the others hurtling beneath. One dance after another with only brief intervals to buy drinks from the bar. Left arms linked to move in a circle, then back to back, then casting off to dance outside the set. Cross hands, counter clockwise, figure of eight, up a double and back. Maureen could feel the pounding of their feet through the floor and it was as though the hall itself was dancing.
‘Ain’t you got no partner, Maureen?’ shouted Patty Driscoll. After over an hour of dancing, her face was red as a cherry. She was so breathless she could barely get her words out.
Maureen shook her head. She had stood on the side for a while and she had joined in for a while, but now she was watching someone so hard she could not really see anyone else.
She had noticed him from the start. She couldn’t miss him. Whilst the other couples danced in groups and pairs, he jived by himself in the middle of the dance floor. Sometimes they bumped straight into him, sometimes they caught him in a circle, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Arms out, head shaking, legs kicking; the flaps of his coat flew like dog-tooth-check sails. It was as if he was dancing out something that was inside him. He looked wild. Half insane. But he looked free. She’d never seen anything like it.
‘Who’s that?’ Maureen asked.
‘We call him No-Mum,’ said Patty Driscoll.
‘Why do you call him No-Mum?’ During the conversation, she’d lost him again, the wild-dancing young man. She was afraid he’d already gone.
‘’Cos he’s got no mum.’
‘Where is his mum?’
‘She left. And his dad’s a right bastard.’ Patty closed her eyes and staggered a little, losing her balance. ‘I love the ball. I don’t ever want to go home.’ She galloped back to the dance floor and Maureen shifted to one side for a better view.
There he was, the boy, still dancing alone. He was like a stranger in the room, a person from a foreign place who did not understand how things were supposed to be done. She kept watching and she was aware of time passing and she smiled. So long as she could keep him in her eye line, that was enough.
Maybe he sensed her watching because he stopped suddenly and looked back at her. Then he danced some more, for another half-hour or so, and she continued watching, but it was different now because he surely knew she was watching. He did not stop and neither did she look away. It was the raw energy of him that moved her. The completeness of what he was. He stopped again. Caught her eye again. Then he threaded his way through the crowd and stopped so close she could feel the heat of his skin. He smelt sweet, like oranges.
He stooped with
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