Charlie narrows his eyes and one corner of his mouth quirks up. “Are you giving me permission to prance?”
“Absolutely.” I nod enthusiastically and I go to take another sip of wine, but before the glass touches my lips, I change my mind. Instead, I reach and place it on the bar behind us. “So, do we have a deal?”
“Another evening of waltzing, head-banging and maybe a late-night kebab for me and a falafel for the lady?” he suggests, and I don’t know why my mind hitches on the fact he doesn’t make any mention of the fun we had in the cloakroom last Saturday night.
I push past it by offering him my hand, which he shakes firmly.
“Deal,” I say with a smile that isn’t forced at all.
*****
Three hours later, I’m breathless. Whether it’s from dancing or laughing, I can’t tell, but as I watch Charlie’s frankly terrible robot dance, his face all serious and a light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead, I can’t believe this has actually worked.
I feel better. I feel good. I feel… happy?
When did that happen? Was it when Charlie and I attacked the buffet and I challenged him to try and name just ten of the many more spices in my mother’s pakora? Was it when we played the name-guessing game again, and we laughed an irrational amount when we predictably but still correctly guessed that one of Nick’s footie friends was called Dave? Was it when we were the first on the dance floor again, this time waltzing to Aaliyah’sOne in a Million? Or was it when I happened to catch a glimpse of Hannah, still sat in the same chair with her arm around Sally, her jaw dropping as she watched Charlie and I pass them both?
Honestly, it wasn’t then. I was already struggling to contain my smile before then. And I wasn’t even looking for Hannah. I wasn’t even thinking about her.
Instead, I was thinking about how committed to our silly games Charlie can be. Instead, I was throwing my head back and laughing as he brought Dave over to introduce him to me and we insisted on buying him a drink, which Dave looked equal parts perplexed and pleased about. Instead, I was doing impersonations of the Strictly MC as we waltzed clumsily down one side of the dance floor only for Charlie to outdo me completely with an almost pitch-perfect Bruno Tonioli impression as he live critiqued our footwork but praised our enthusiasm and my “pretty little pout-ah”.
No, Hannah hasn’t crossed my mind once. But Charlie… Charlie has been front and centre of my view, and my thoughts. Because Charlie has gone above and beyond to make me smile, to make me laugh a lot, to make me happy. And Charlie, with his denim jacket off, his T-shirt now untucked on one side and his cheeks all flushed from exertion, is looking a lot like the dishevelled version of himself that he was when he was on his knees in front of me a week ago.
And it’s turning me on. Stupidly, annoyingly, and also in a small but very certain welcoming way, I’m turned on.
Furthermore, I’m pretty sure Charlie has no clue. Not now he’s down on the floor doing what I think is an unsuccessful attempt at the worm dance move. A disastrous and almost painful looking act that should have the heat in my core cooling off or the tension between my thighs dissipating, but it doesn’t.
“Please don’t hurt yourself,” I say, as I try to help him up. “Taking you to A&E was not part of my Evening of Fun plans.”
“But imagine the name games and people watching we could do there!” Charlie doesn’t miss a beat as he leans his weight on me to straighten up.
“Knowing us, we’d spend the whole time wondering who was the one who had got something stuck up their arse, and debating what exactly it could be.”
“Sounds like the best game ever.” Charlie chuckles as he brushes off his T-shirt.
“Catching your breath, are you?” My mother’s voice fills my ears and I turn towards it.
Oh God, she’s dancing. Which would be embarrassing at any normal moment in time, but right now as 112’sPeaches and Creamplays, and she bops along in time, I’m mortified. Damn my sister’s obsession with late 1990s and early 2000s R&B.
“Not for long!” Charlie declares before falling into step opposite her.
I watch them for a few seconds, assuming he’ll stop imminently but he doesn’t and then they’re holding hands and giggling together and I can’t decide if I want the ground to open up and swallow me down, or if I want to take their other hands and join in.
As it happens, my chance to do the latter is gone when Aisha steps in and starts dancing with them.
“Yes, Mum!” she shouts out encouragingly. Because of course, my ever-exuberant sister loves this. And that happens to be the only reason I need to also feel enthusiastic about this set-up.
I’m about to go join them but I realise I need to do something else much more urgently.
“Going to the loo!” I call out in their direction but I only get the briefest acknowledgements as they all continue dancing.
Still smiling to myself, I cross the busy dance floor and find the Ladies toilets, giving a few hellos and polite nods to people I recognise on the way, including Dave the footie lad who looks like he’s had many more drinks since the one Charlie and I bought him.
Once inside the toilets, I am grateful when it’s empty and I quickly dive into one of the cubicles. Once I’m finished, I walk to the sink and wash my hands. I’m looking into the mirror, studying my make-up that is a little smudged around my eyes, which is not a surprise at all, when the door opens and the noise from outside pours in.
And so does Hannah. Alone.
Our gazes lock in the mirror.
