‘Oh, I’m so looking forward to this!’ she declares, and to his surprise she slips her arm through his, pressing against him, and his heart sings in response. He knows he must tamp down the glowing embers within him that threaten to burst alight. He cannot stay; there is no future for him here. And yet, those embers refuse to die. In a show of weakness, he permits them to flare. Just for tonight, he tells himself.

The village hall is a throng of bodies. An unsavoury fusion of perfume, sweat and beer hangs in the thick air trapped beneath the pitched roof with its darkly stained joists. The whole room reverberates with tunes belted out by the band – a loose, dinner-jacketed ensemble brought in for the evening, not quite the right side of professional. Their music is fast and loud and intoxicating, and Jack sees its giddying influence on Gwen immediately. There is a bounce to her step that proclaims her a slave to its rhythm.

Jack follows as she winds her way amongst the flush-faced revellers downing pints of ale and glasses of gin and orange, their spirits high. She presses forwards, towards the dancefloor that lies in the shadow of the stage at the far end of the hall. Periodically she stops, grabbing his arm to steady herself as she rises on tiptoes to survey the crowd like a watchful rabbit at twilight, and it crosses his mind that she is searching for someone. But then she drops down again and her smile is so carefree he convinces himself he is wrong.

They find themselves at the edge of the dancefloor. Exuberant couples whirl and pitch as they sweep across the parquet to the roaring music.

‘Will you dance with me?’ Jack asks.

Her lifting smile is his answer. He brings her round to face him, his hand resting lightly on her waist. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

The bombastic beat ends abruptly. Applause ripples around the hall, accompanied by a few whoops and cheers from the out-of-breath dancers. Almost without pause, whispering brushes on the snare drum set a slumbering pulse and a solitary clarinet rises from the ashes of the previous trumpeted chorus to sing a melancholy tune, with muffled trombones humming melodiously behind.

Jack hesitates, unsure Gwen will welcome the intimacy afforded by the sensuous music, but to his delight she makes no attempt to pull away. The air around them seems to contract as if the room itself is holding its breath in anticipation and, as their bodies draw together without discussion, their feet begin to move with slow purpose. They circle in unconscious movement, relinquishing themselves to the music, allowing it to carry them on its gentle swell. As they skirt the edges of the dancefloor, Gwen’s warm breath skates across Jack’s skin and he realises this is happiness.

‘I say, mind if I cut in?’