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‘Don’t you dare try to sneak off this dance floor,’ Ruby warned Brad as she passed him.
‘As if I would,’ Brad fibbed. But he was dreading the moment when he knew he was supposed to dance with Abby. How could he keep things polite and civil, when his emotions were raging inside him? That sense of loss and regret, knowing it was all his own fault and wishing things were different, wishing he had the right to hold her close and remember their own wedding day and kiss her under the stars...
The rest of the guests joined in and the DJ kept things upbeat for a while, getting all the generations doing their particular versions of dances to wedding classics.
‘I guess the chief bridesmaid and the bride’s brother ought to dance,’ Abby said, coming to stand next to him. ‘Before the bride starts fretting that they’re having a fight.’
Polite and civil, he reminded himself. They could do this. ‘Sure,’ he said lightly.
He was expecting another upbeat song, one he could cope with—but, to his shock, the DJ chose that precise moment to dim the lights and slow things down with an old, old slow song.
They could hardly back out of it now, not without making a scene and making everyone feel awkward.
But dancing close to her like this...
Especially to this song. Art Garfunkel’s ‘I Only Have Eyes for You’—it was horribly appropriate. Because right now, there was nobody else in the room for him. Was it the same for her?
Maybe it was because, when the song ended and he forced himself to break the dance hold and take a step backwards from her, she looked as dazed as he felt.
Thankfully Stuart, her father, stepped in to dance with her; and Rosie came to dance with Brad.
‘That was a lovely speech you made, darling,’ she said.
‘It’s a lovely wedding, Mum,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘It is.’ Rosie looked slightly anxious. ‘Do you mind about George being at the wedding?’
‘George?’
She looked pained. ‘I told you about George earlier in the week.’
Of course. Her new partner. The one Brad hadn’t met because George’s elderly and frail mother had been taken ill last weekend, and George had gone to be with her. He’d come back today for the wedding, and Brad had shaken hands with him this afternoon and made polite and anodyne conversation.
How could he have forgotten? The emotion of the wedding—and of dancing with Abby—must’ve pushed it all out of his head.
But he really appreciated the fact George hadn’t tried to take Jim’s place on the day. He’d been diffident and decent and kept in the background, near enough to support Rosie but without pushing himself forward. He was a good man. And, most importantly, Brad liked the way that George looked at his mother.
‘Mum, I want you to be happy,’ Brad said.
‘I know how badly you took your dad’s death. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to the idea of me seeing someone else. I’ve wanted to tell you about George for the last year,’ Rosie said. ‘I should’ve told you before this week.’
Except he’d made himself unavailable. Been utterly selfish. Maybe Abby was right about that hair shirt. ‘I wish you had told me about him before,’ he said. ‘It would’ve been nice to meet him sooner and get to know him properly.’ And he meant it.
‘So you really don’t mind that I’m dating someone?’
‘Mum, you’re not exactly wizened and ancient. You can’t be on your own for the rest of your life,’ he said. ‘Dad wouldn’t have wanted that for you either. He loved you enough to want you to be happy, not being a—a—’ He struggled to find the right words. ‘A Miss Havisham.’
‘Wrong character, darling. Miss Havisham was a jilted bride, not a widow,’ Rosie pointed out with a smile.
‘I’m a scientist, not an English Lit graduate,’ he reminded her, smiling back. ‘You know what I mean, Mum. Isolating yourself and being miserable and living in the past. That’s not what any of us wants for you, and Dad wouldn’t have wanted that either. George seems a nice guy, Ruby likes him, and if he treats you the way you deserve then that’s good enough for me.’
