Page 36

‘Well done you,’ said Lena coming in.

‘Oh…thanks.’

‘You kept being in the band quiet. Craig let on there’d be a surprise. Never expected it to be you. It was really good. You added something. I haven’t seen Rob so energised since… well for years.’

Lena was at the mirrors reapplying lipstick. Rose wondered if she should do the same but when she looked at herself, she saw someone bright with colour and shrugged. Who was she trying to impress? Besides, the image created by Sky’s views would take a long time to shake off.

‘Anyway,’ Lena continued through the contortions of blotting her lips, ‘go on out. Craig says you’re playing again later, and you’ll not have had a drink or anything too eat and you’ve got to have a dance.’

Rose went out and back into the hall, standing uncertain for a moment. She called Andrew again.

‘Everything’s still fine,’ he said. ‘Stop worrying.’

But it wasn’t just that unnerving her. She was on her own with people who were all still virtually strangers and she’d more or less exposed her soul to them.

She’d wanted to appear sophisticated but now she just looked hot and slightly dishevelled.

All the same, she was thirsty. She went over to the buffet table and got some water.

The array of food was amazing, but nervousness filled her stomach and in any event, she couldn’t play full.

‘Can’t tempt you?’ It was Imogen again, serving behind the table.

She looked hotter than Rose felt. Rose shook her head and wandered away, zoned into music, disinclined for conversation.

She stood a little aside, watching the room.

Everyone was indeed there from grans to bairns.

She recognised more faces that she realised she’d encountered.

They were in pockets: children in small competing packs; teenagers feigning indifference; the book-club mums with their men; the toddler mums with theirs; the Guild old guard, observing with narrowed eyes.

Iseult however, was in a kind of court of her own, standing near to a slightly stooped very tall man, who had two small children hanging on him. She looked immaculate, as if no matter how hot it became, she would barely raise a glow.

In a corner, Coira Straun sat in her wheelchair as if it was a throne and Emmeline stood to her side as if she was an adviser.

It should really have been the other way around.

Hester must be about somewhere. Rose scanned the room and jumped when she realised Hester was beside her, bearing a plate of food.

‘It’s not very traditional,’ she said. She was wearing neutral colours again but at least had made some effort to look festive.

Her dress was a beige check with orange threads.

It had been made with care, no off-the-shelf number.

But it had been made some years ago, decades, judging by the style.

The dress was soft with age and had been starched to give it some life.

It had been made for someone shorter than Hester and with more curves.

Rose, flicking a glance to Coira Straun, waiting for second helpings, felt pity.

She wondered how much it would take to pull Hester out of her life of dreary enslavement to her mother’s ideas.

‘I hope you’re going to let them play without you after the break,’ Hester went on. ‘A cello’s not quite right. It spoils the sound.’

‘Did you manage to dance to it anyway?’ asked Rose. Perhaps all she needed was some friendliness.

‘I don’t dance.’ said Hester. Her voice was neutral. Impossible to tell if she minded or not. ‘Mother doesn’t think I have the legs for it, or the rhythm.’

‘Give it a go anyway,’ Rose suggested. ‘Dance with me if you like, it doesn’t look that difficult and people are getting it wrong all over the place. No one seems to mind. ’

Hester recoiled as if Rose had suggested something else entirely.

‘I really don’t think so,’ she said, and walked off with the plate of food.

‘Don’t waste your breath.’ Rob was at her side, finishing a sausage roll. ‘If Ma says she mustn’t then she mustn’t. You however, have no excuse and there’s about to be a reel which’ll be a real laugh. Come on, we’ll make a four with Patrick and Angela.’

‘I have no idea what the steps are,’ argued Rose.

‘As you said, no one cares, as long as my feet are intact at the end, it doesn’t matter. The point is-’ Rob grabbed her elbow and spun her into position. ‘-the point is to have fun.’

The volume of the recorded music increased and the caller bellowed the name of the dance and the rudimentary instructions.

With a crash of chords, they began, Rose was whirling round elbows hooked with Rob and then spinning round Angela and whirling round with Patrick.

She took a wrong turn and crashed into Rob who caught her in his arms and danced them both on to the next couple.

By the time she was half way round the room, she had stood on three feet, grabbed the wrong person twice and was laughing so hard she was dizzy with it. The music stopped with a flourish and another tune started, two rings, one inward, one outward facing, every few bars, partners changed.

Rose found herself dancing with half the town, men, women, children.

She bent low for small people and stretched for an unusually tall man who spun her round, unsmiling, with strong arms. For some reason she associated him with a suit and shadows and remembered him sitting in the window of the hotel, drinking coffee and reading the paper.

Before she had time to marvel that a travelling businessman bothered to join in, she found herself in the arms of Imogen and giggling, they caught each other going in the wrong direction.

Just as she was getting the hang of it, the dance stopped.

She let go of Rob’s hand and wiped the tears from her eyes.

Mascara smeared her fingers. She pulled a face and looked at Rob.

He was staring at her, his face serious but a stillness about him as if he’d had a shock.

Then he grinned. ‘Serves you right for being a painted woman. Anyway, come on, we’ll be back on in a moment. Remember the running order?’

‘Hester says the cello’s not traditional and I shouldn’t join in any more.’

And you’re going to listen to her because…?’

‘Who said I was listening to her? I was just telling you what she said.’ They climbed back onto the stage and joined Patrick and Craig.

‘Remember the running order?’ Rob repeated.

The others nodded. Looking out onto the room again, Rose saw Hester standing behind her mother, arms akimbo.

If Emmeline was the adviser, then Hester was the chief spy.

She leaned forward and whispered something, her eyes narrowed.

Coira Straun and Emmeline turned their gaze to the stage and Coira Straun mouthed something.

The euphoria from the dancing evaporated and the unease Rose had felt earlier replaced it.

She turned so that she could no longer see the three women and caught sight of Iseult, standing a little apart from her husband and children, sipping wine.

She raised the glass to Rose and smiled.

Rose smiled back, but the unease remained.

She checked the tuning of the cello and waited for Rob’s nod to start.

They played two more traditional dances and then the caller handed a microphone to Rob.

‘Ladies, gentlemen and children,’ he said.

‘We thought you’d like to rest your feet for a while and listen, while you digest all the lovely food.

Let’s have a cheer for the caterers!’ He clapped and whooped and a cheer went round the room as people found somewhere to sit or went for more food.

‘We’ve been working on some pieces and hope you’ll enjoy them, they reflect the traditions of our folk heritage mixed with some more modern sounds.

We’ll start slow but I can’t promise we’ll stay slow.

Of course if anyone does want to dance, help yourselves! Here goes, hope you enjoy it.’

Rob handed the microphone back, settled his acoustic guitar, then with a nod to Patrick, he stood and waited.

Patrick started a low rhythm on the bodhran, almost a slow heartbeat, the sound of life pumping through the room.

After a few moments, Rose drew her bow across the strings - the sound of a river flowing, the breeze in the trees.

Rob joined in, plucking out the sound of birds and ambling feet and then Craig with his counterpoint to Rose.

The music rolled and swelled, gentle, happy, the sound of a summer walk in the glen.

One by one they withdrew until the slow heartbeat was all that was left.

There was a pause and then applause. Someone yelled ‘more’. Rose sneaked a look at the three women out of the corner of her eye and saw them poised, tense, frowning. She drew a deep breath.

The next number was like a dance number, but not a reel or square dance.

It started traditionally enough but then picked up pace.

The sounds were modern, the form new. But there was a strong rhythm.

After a bit of hesitation, one or two people got up to dance.

Others joined them, then more, even some of the older teenagers joined in.

Rose, her eyes closed, could feel the building vibrate with feet stamping and moving in time to the music.

She opened her eyes to see almost the whole room on its feet or moving in time from the edges of the dance floor.

Some were fitting in traditional moved and routines, others making things up as they went along.

People were laughing and waving their arms. On the edges of the room were a few people in the shadows, not moving at all, intent on conversation, though how it could be held over the din was anyone’s guess.

She looked over to Rob and he winked at her, a grin spread across his face.

Craig and Patrick were concentrating but smiling.

The room was alive with joy.

Then with a bang, the power went down.