A ripple of excitement spreads throughout the room, people gathering around the edges of the dancefloor. The bride and groom move hand in hand to the centre, everyone clapping and whooping and then quietening as the band members get ready, giving a little nod to one another before beginning to play.
The slow, soulful notes of ‘No Greater Love’ fill the room, and Harper rests her head on Raj’s chest, his arms looped around her waist. Shards of light fall on their faces, their eyes softly closed. Tilly finds herself suddenly struggling to breathe.
‘Scuse me,’ she whispers, slipping out on to the balcony.
The air is bitterly cold, the lights of the city spread out before her as she hugs her arms tightly around herself and tries to take deep breaths.
A moment later Alfie is there beside her, the music resounding loudly and then muffling again as he closes the door behind him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just fiddles with a switch on one of the gas braziers. It bursts into life and he reaches for a blanket off the back of one of the outdoor chairs, drapingit over Tilly’s shoulders before guiding them both to a bench facing the heater. As they sit down, he reaches into his pocket for a travel-size pack of tissues and passes them to her.
‘You must have cleaned Boots out of tissues,’ she says as she takes one and sniffs loudly.
‘Best to be prepared. Weddings always make me cry.’
He doesn’t say anything else, just waits as she wipes her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ears. Clean-shaven, his jawline looks sharper than she had realized. She can see the whole of his face now and allows her eyes to linger on it, taking in every detail – the tiny mole below his bottom lip, the tiniest dot of red on his cheek where he must have nicked himself shaving, his skin that looks soft to the touch.
‘I am happy for her, I really am,’ she says. ‘I know it doesn’t look like it right now.’ She attempts a little smile, blowing her nose again. She pictures Harper and Raj dancing together, holding one another tightly as they dream about forever.
Snapshots from her own wedding come flashing into her mind. Joe didn’t have much of an appetite, so he barely touched the wedding meal they shared in the private top-floor room of a nearby Italian restaurant. Only their closest family attended, and it was a day full of love, but it couldn’t be further from this jubilant, colourful day. Harper and Raj’s wedding has felt like a beginning in every way. But when Tilly thinks back to her own, all she can think of is an ending.
‘No one would think you aren’t happy for her,’ Alfie says softly. ‘But it’s OK to feel happy and sad at the same time. Very few moments involve just one emotion. That’s life, isn’t it? It’s messy.’
Looking across at him, his face glowing in the light of the outdoor heater, she thinks how true his words are. That alongside her deep well of sadness there’s the way Alfie’s eyes seemto shine as he looks at her, the eucalyptus smell of his aftershave, and the comfort of having him sat here with her. She misses Joe with everything she is – and she also wants to run her hand along Alfie’s jaw, just to know what it would feel like.
‘I guess you’re right. Maybe I need to stop fighting it.’
54
The end of the first dance is signalled by riotous applause and cheering from inside. The band starts up with a different song, another whoop rising from the wedding crowd as they begin to passionately belt out the lyrics to ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor’.
‘Oh, I love this song!’ says Tilly, leaping from her chair, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.
Alfie tries not to focus too hard on the freckles on her bare arms.
‘Come on,’ she says, reaching out a hand. ‘I feel like dancing, and I really don’t want to dance alone.’
How can he refuse? He takes her hand, small and warm and soft in his, as he stands up.
‘I don’t really dance,’ he says, standing stiffly. But then the chorus kicks in and he just lets go, right there on the balcony, twisting and jiving, flailing his arms. He dusts his shoulders then breaks into an enthusiastic robot.
Tilly laughs wildly, clutching her sides.
‘Oh my god, I was not expecting that.’
‘What? Do I not look good on the dancefloor?’ he says, swinging an imaginary lasso around his head before going into something he’s seen his little nieces describe as the lawnmower, pulling an imaginary cord back and forth.
Oh god, what is he doing? He wasn’t kidding – he doesn’t usually dance – but she is still laughing, and the sound of it isso intoxicating that he throws all his inhibitions to one side and lets his long legs and arms move as if he were a child dancing with his dad to Toploader. Tilly is getting into the swing of things too, twisting her hips, the silk of her dress riding up, clinging to her curves.
She reaches for his hands and they bop along together, swinging each other’s arms.
‘We are definitely not in time with the music,’ she laughs as he swings her away from him and she nearly knocks into a rattan table before twirling and coming back towards him.
‘Doesn’t matter.’
They continue to twist and twirl, shaking their hips and kicking their legs in a mad, uncoordinated dance. Somehow, he has ended up with his arms around her waist, her hands draped around his neck.
A pain stabs him under the ribs and he lets out a groan. ‘I think I need to stop, I’m getting a stitch.’
They slow to a stop, their hands still on one another.
