Across the Room

Fenna was already dancing when Gethin and I arrived at the hall six weeks after the anniversary. I stopped in the doorway long enough for someone behind me to ask whether I meant to go in.

“Sorry. Yes.”

I moved aside. Gethin paid for our tickets while I watched her turn beneath the new curtains, her yellow scarf lifted by the motion. The curtains were a dull green in daylight and much warmer under the lamps. I had seen the sample, offered my opinion and been outvoted. They looked better than I had expected.

The hall committee had invited both clubs back to see what the fundraiser had bought. Nobody had advertised a reconciliation. There was tea, dancing and a display of receipts by the entrance for anyone who felt an evening was improved by studying costs.

I took Gethin’s hand and went past the receipts.

“You may look later,”…