I’ve almost given up when I finally catch sight of him. I’m dancing with Valentine when I see Ben through the crowds. I know instantly it’s him before he’s even turned round. I recognize the broad square of his shoulders in his jacket, and the quiet ease of the way he holds himself, like he doesn’t have to prove anything. And I feel such a sense of relief that I lose my step. Valentine catches me, twirling me around, and I laugh and we continue dancing. But I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is: Ben’s here. About how much I want to talk to him, even though I haven’t a clue what to say.

It’s when the music slows down that I realize I’ve run out of time anyway. It’s too late. It’s the end of the evening. Time for the last dance. At which point Valentine apologizes and disappears to the loo, leaving me sitting on the sidelines, feeling like a bit of a wallflower. I look for Ben, but I can’t see him any more. He must have gone home already. That tiny bit of hope I’ve been holding on to crumples inside me, and I rub the heels of my stockinged feet and watch Naomi and Danny slow-dancing; Ellie is fast asleep in his arms and squeezed between them. Maya and Will, arms wrapped around each other, are trying to be all romantic while not looking in the direction of her parents, who are swaying cheek-to-cheek nearby.

My eyes flick across the dance floor at all the different couples: Evelyn towering above the vicar, his head on her shoulder, her feather boa wrapped around his neck; the farmer who for the first time I’ve seen without muddy wellies, with his wife; Sheila the postmistress, tiny and oh-so-happy to be dancing with her soldier son who’s come home for Christmas; the ladies who own the walkers’ cafe, still wearing their striped aprons, as they’ve been serving up pie and mash. All the familiar faces. Except one.

‘Can I have this last dance?’

And then I look up and he’s there.

The Last Dance

Ben holds out his hand. I raise my eyes to his. He looks nervous.

That makes two of us.

‘Yes,’ I nod.

Standing up, I slip my hand into his and he leads me to the dance floor. It feels absurdly formal. Both of us are all dressed up. Like we’re in another era and there are different rules. He slips his arm around my waist.

‘You look nice.’

‘You too.’

‘How’s Stanley?’

‘He’s great. With his Aunt Holly. It would be too loud for him in here.’

Our bodies are suddenly pressed together, yet we’ve barely talked for weeks.

‘What about Harry? Quite the celebrity.’

‘He’s at home. Too loud for him, too. Hopefully the celebrity is not chewing up the house.’

Ben laughs politely as we begin moving slowly around more than just the dance floor – we’ll be talking about the weather next. I feel a sudden sense of urgency, in case I lose my nerve.