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I shrug. ‘Honestly?’
Mam nods.
‘I have no idea,’ I say, unable to hide my worries that all this is madness. ‘I think the only person with a plan is Nana.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
ANNIE
I lie awake on my bed staring upwards, but I don’t see the ceiling over my head; all I see is Sketch’s face and the hurt scribbled all over it when I broke his heart. I replay the evening in my mind, and each time I get to the final scene I rewrite it with a very different ending.
The crunch of my mother’s shoes making their way up the driveway calls my attention to the window, and I hurry over to look out. She doesn’t see me as she walks up the driveway alone, a spring of happiness in her step. Sketch hasn’t chaperoned her all the way to the door. Sketch is a gentleman and quite the stickler for etiquette; dropping my mother at the gate is unexpected but not surprising. Sketch will probably want to avoid our place from now on. Avoid me. Anyway, it’s probably for the best. The rumble of Sketch’s engine might have woken my father, and the last thing either my mother or I need is my father awake tonight.
I don’t hear the front door open, and I reflect that my mother is even more of an expert at creeping silently around the house than I am. When my bedroom door rattles, I sit up nervously. I hurry out of bed and pull the chair away from the door knob and jump away as fast as I can in case it’s my father and not my mother on the other side. The door creaks open and I sigh with relief when I see the right parent.
‘I wanted to check on you before I went to bed,’ my mother says. ‘Pa is asleep by the fire. I’ve thrown another log on. It should burn all night, and he won’t wake with the cold.’
‘Good idea,’ I say.
‘How was he?’ Ma asks, as if I’d been babysitting a toddler.
‘Fine,’ I lie, making sure to keep my voice to a dull whisper. ‘He fell asleep soon after you left.’
My mother’s head bobs slowly up and down. She doesn’t believe me, I can tell. But we’ve both learned over the years that sometimes just accepting the white lie hurts a little less.
‘Did you get some sleep?’ Ma asks.
I think about telling her Sketch was here. I want to tell her how wonderful it was to dance with him, and how special it made me feel. I want to explain how my heart nearly burst out of my chest with happiness when he asked me to be his wife. But I can’t. I can’t tell her any of it. It would break her heart to know she’s the reason for my refusal, and she’d almost certainly insist I change my mind.
‘How was the dance?’ I ask.
‘Oh, Annie, it was wonderful. It reminded me of when I was a girl of your age. Carefree, as young girls should be.’
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I am a young girl, but I don’t ever remember being carefree.
‘Do you know the dances haven’t changed much since I was a girl? I was a little rusty at first, but it didn’t take me long to remember the steps.’ My mother shuffles her feet on the spot. ‘I’ll have blisters all over tomorrow. But oh, Annie, it was worth it. So worth it.’
Ma lets go of the door and steps into my room, dancing and swaying on the spot as she hums a tune I don’t recognise. I’ve never seen her so light on her feet or so euphoric. It’s wonderful.
‘I’m so happy you had a nice time, Ma,’ I say. ‘So happy.’
Ma stops dancing and tiptoes across the floor. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tight.
‘You know,’ Ma whispers. ‘I resent your father for a lot. And deservedly so. But do you know what the dance tonight made me realise?’
‘What?’
‘That if I had my life to live over again, Annie, I’d still marry him.’
I shake my head with disapproval, angry with her silly words. ‘Why? Why would you want to do that?’
‘Because he gave me you.’
I soften instantly and hug my mother back tight.
‘I’m so sorry you didn’t get to come to the dance, Annie,’ Ma says. ‘But I’m so glad the dance came to you.’
I smile.
