When we left, the night was cool after the hot club. We had to wait ages for a minivan taxi. The driver wanted to know why we were getting out in the middle of nowhere.

“My uncle’s got a caravan in the next field.”

After he sped off muttering about pikeys, we waited till the road was empty and climbed over the gate. It was like the first day at the manor, only now it was night, and there were five of us, not four.

In the rose garden, the air was heavy with scent. Em had made colored-paper lanterns and put tea lights inside. She borrowed Marcus’s lighter and managed to set fire to two before he took it from her and did the job himself.

“Why don’t boys dance?” When she was drunk, Em sort of looked out of one eye at you.

“There were plenty dancing.”

“But not you three. Sitting in a corner drinking like old men.” She had the radio in her lap and was sliding the tuner between the stations, slipping between voices and static and crackling music, and I was struck by the otherworldliness of it, as though the stations were not channels but glimpses of other times and places. Suddenly a big band, loud and clear, the kind Mrs. East listened to.

“Andy and Peter can dance,” Em said. “Mrs. East taught them. Show them. Show them how you do it.” And she wouldn’t give up till we did, demonstrating the few steps we knew, gliding up and down the worn stones.

Peter’s touch was light. I fought the urge to hold him, to dig my fingers in. I had that last feeling—last orders, last dance, last summer, last goodbye. The song ended and he let me go like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Em wanted a turn with Peter. Marcus wouldn’t dance with me, wouldn’t let me pull him to his feet, so I asked David. Mrs. East said you could tell what a man was like by dancing with him. David was careful, attuned to everything, pleasant, a quick learner. I saw him cast a glance at Marcus.

“Sure you don’t want to take over?”

So I learned nothing new from dancing with him, unless it was that he didn’t want to be known.

But then, when the music came to an end and we stepped apart, David gave a little exhale when he let go of me. It was the kind you might make after crossing a fast-flowing river via a slippery log. The kind made when you thought at last you were safe.

I heard it and looked up, and saw David realize he’d been found out. But he didn’t look away, and there passed between us something I can only call complicity.

And that was it, I think, the real beginning. That quick out-breath.

CHAPTER 10

SWIPE LEFT