‘Yes. Whoops.’ They collided with another couple, lost the step and stood hesitantly for a moment before they moved off again. Alfie was counting the step silently to himself: one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.

‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘My sister goes with a boy in the Wessex. He’s a cook. His name is Matthew. Do you know him?’

‘Matthew what?’ asked Alfie.

‘Matthew Southcott. He’s a tall boy. He’s here with her now. I came with them.’

‘I know him,’ said Alfie. Poor Floss, he thought, they brought you along like they brought me along.

The dance ended and he asked her eagerly if she would like some lemonade. He led her to the bar and fought his way through to the counter. It took him a long time to get served. The harassed woman behind the counter took little notice of him when he spoke up amid the clatter or tapped nervously with a shilling. He felt silly and apprehensive, jammed there in the crush, and he kept looking over his shoulder to see if Floss was still there. Each time he looked she smiled at him, nervously, over-brightly. She pushed through to him. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, ‘really it doesn’t. I’m not all that thirsty.’

‘Yes you are,’ said Alfie, ‘you wait over there.’ He brought her the lemonade at last and stood over her proudly.

They went in to dance again. He looked out for Charlie Venable and steered Floss ostentatiously past him.

‘Hi-yer, Charlie,’ he called.

Charlie held a thumb up in greeting over his partner’s shoulder.

‘Do you come here often?’ asked Alfie. He felt more confident now. Each time they bumped into someone Floss was thrown against him and after a while she did not move away, but kept close to him. Is this how they tell you, Alfie wondered, is this how they tell you it’s all right?

‘Every week,’ she said. ‘I don’t go out otherwise. Except to pictures. Do you come here every week?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’

Her hand was holding his more tightly. It was damp. Alfie streamed with sweat, and drew away for a moment to mop his face apologetically as they danced. He wondered what was going to happen next; what he ought to do. He was terrified.

‘Oh,’ he said gruffly, ‘I drop in sometimes, with the boys.’

There was a pause, and they stood in the centre of the hall waiting for the next dance.

‘Not fed up with me yet?’ asked Alfie.

‘Ooh, no.’

Somewhere amid the din and chatter the band began to throb again. ‘I like this one,’ she whispered. She began to sing, ‘When the Blue of the Night’ over his shoulder. Alfie whistled the tune softly with her. They were very close together now, and her dry hair was tickling his mouth.