Spokes, his life suddenly trapped in novelty, paced around the Chief Superintendent’s office. He looked at the opened envelope on the desk – the envelope that contained his application for retirement. He understood, of course, that as soon as he had agreed to sit in the Chief Superintendent’s office during his absence, he had tacitly agreed to rethink his retirement and consider a promotion instead. He also understood that by entering into this unspoken agreement with the Chief Superintendent, he was on the verge of disappointing the lovely Loveness for the first time in their twenty-six long-loving years of wedded bliss.

And so, for much of the afternoon, Spokes had busied himself by moving the contents of his desk to the Chief Superintendent’s office and by responding to every variation of the question ‘Do you really think you will become the country’s first black chief superintendent?’ that the sergeants and several officers asked. Finally, having done all he could do to put off doing what he must, Spokes started pacing as he tried to think of ways to break the news to Loveness.

His pacing soon found its rhythm. Man leads with right. Forward. Side. Close. Back. Side. Close. Forward. Side. Close. Back. Side. Close. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three.

It was as his pacing turned to dancing that the solution to his problem presented itself. The only thing that could compensate for Loveness’s disappointment was for him to have them win the 33rd Annual City of Kings’ Township Ballroom-Dancing Competition, which was only a few months away.

The Molois had come second in the competition two years in a row; the Sigaukes, fifteen years junior and more extravagant, energetic and effusive on the dance floor, had happily seen to that. The secret to success lay in making the dance your own – Spokes knew that. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. The fault lay not with the lovely Loveness. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. She did all things well and was perfection itself. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. The fault lay squarely with Spokes – he was no Nathaniel Sigauke. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Forward. Side. Close. Back. Side. Close. Forward. Side. Close. Back. Side. Close. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three.

Man leads with right …

Just as Spokes was beginning to think he was on to something, the phone rang. The Chief Superintendent’s phone had a different ring to it – a shrill trill – another newness to which he had to accustom himself.