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‘Oh, Annie, please,’ Sketch pleads. ‘You’ve been working here for just shy of a year now, and I love all the time we spend together, but a guy should bring his girl to a dance once in a while.’
‘But, Sketch, you know I can’t.’
‘I know you won’t.’ Sketch rolls the sleeves of his shirt down and stares at his fingers as he adjusts the buttons. I know he’s avoiding eye contact.
‘That’s not fair,’ I say, carefully placing the dress back in the box. ‘My father would lose it if he found out. You know that.’
‘The dance ends at ten thirty.’ Sketch reaches for my hand. ‘We’ve shared later nights staring at the stars in the orchard.’
‘But the orchard is safe,’ I stutter. ‘No one can see us there. No one can tell my father.’
‘There will be nothing to tell your father. I won’t kiss you or even hold your hand. We’ll just be two friends dancing to some good music. What do you say, Annie?’
‘I say what about my mother? Pa’s drinking more than ever, and I don’t want to leave her home late alone with him.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Sketch smiles. ‘Your ma is one of the chaperones. You’ll be near her the whole night.’
‘Really?’ I squeak, suddenly becoming excited. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘Mrs Murphy, the cranky old bag who runs the whole thing, fell and broke her hip,’ Sketch says. ‘Pops heard the women at the market talking about how they might have to cancel the dance if they can’t find someone to fill her shoes. Pops suggested your ma.’
I shake my head, my excitement short-lived. ‘That was nice of him. But I still can’t see my father agreeing to something like this.’
‘It’s already done,’ Sketch gloats. ‘Pops called round to your house yesterday, missing his afternoon snooze for his trouble. He explained about Mrs Murphy and asked nicely if your ma might be able to help. And, what with Pops being your employer and all, I think your pa felt obliged. Anyway, they shook on it, and your ma has got herself a new job. There’s no pay mind, but it’s a night out of the house, and your pa can’t cause her any trouble. Not with the whole town watching. So, what do you say, Annie. Will you come?’
I dive head first into the box and pull out the dress again. ‘I can’t dance,’ I confess, smiling so hard as I twirl I think my cheeks might burst.
‘That’s okay,’ Sketch says. ‘Bridget taught me. I could ask her to teach you too.’
I lower my arms and the hem of the dress sweeps the ground. ‘I don’t know.’ I shake my head. ‘It would be awkward. She doesn’t like me much.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Sketch says. ‘She’s the one who picked out the dress for you.’
‘Bridget chose this?’ I gather the dress into my arms and stroke the soft blue cotton. Suddenly, I want to dislike the dress. I want to hate the colour or think the fabric is too rough. I want to think it will be too big or too uncomfortable. But unfortunately, the only thing I hate is that it’s perfect and I couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful dress myself if I tried.
‘Why Bridget? Why did she choose this for me?’ I ask, confused.
Sketch slaps his hands against his chest and shakes his head. ‘I don’t know much about women’s fashion, Annie,’ he says. ‘I wanted this dress to be perfect. Bridget offered to help, and I accepted. That’s all. Are you upset?’
I swallow the lump of air in my throat threatening to choke me. I don’t want to be jealous, but I am. After everything Sketch has done for me, it makes me feel ungrateful and sick, but I can’t help it.
‘No,’ I lie. ‘I’ll wear the dress. I’ll learn to waltz, and I’ll come to the dance with you.’
I yelp as Sketch lifts me off the ground and spins me around. ‘You’re going to be the most beautiful girl there, Annie. Just you wait. All eyes will be on you.’
Sketch places me back down and kisses me on the lips. I kiss him back, shaking a little, and I don’t tell him that all eyes being on me is exactly what I’m afraid of.
THIRTY-THREE
HOLLY
‘Who’s that Bridget one?’ Ben says, standing up with his hands on his hips. ‘She sounds like a right bitch. I don’t like the sound of her at all. I think she was up to something. Had a thing for Sketch maybe.’
I laugh at my brother’s anger as he paces Nana’s room. Bridget and Sketch were a long time ago, but Ben is as worked up as if it’s happening right now.
‘The only Bridget I know is Mrs Donnelly from Athenry Village,’ I say. ‘But Mrs Donnelly and Nana are good friends. They have been for, well, forever. I don’t think it’s her.’
‘It’s weird Nana never mentioned this Bridget lady before,’ Ben says.
