and the local radio and TV stations were talking about the dangerous water levels in the canals surrounding the town. He'd been out to see for himself earlier in the day, and had helped carry sand bags for a couple of hours along with other town volunteers until the Army had come and taken over the job. He had walked back to his home, that doubled as his "office space", and eaten his solitary meal upstairs, and waited for the evening and the first of his dance class, pulling on a crisp white shirt, black trousers, socks and shoes.
His mother had insisted on he, his big brother, and little sister on learning how to dance as children. He'd never thought to turn dancing into his living, but after he had left the military life behind, his stint working in a factory had not appealed, ditto in an office, his long time girlfriend had decided that she preferred him away in the Marines and taken up with someone in the Paras. So he had stuck a pin in a map and moved, and since no one seemed very eager to employ a tall, scarred, perhaps intimidating man like him, he had come up with another plan. He'd cleared away all the furniture from his rented front room-cum-kitchen, which had an enormous cathedral ceiling and took up the whole whole ground floor. Then he'd put mirrors along the longest wall, opposite to the French windows and put a small stereo system on top of the kitchenette half wall. The hardwood floors became his studio, and the stairs behind the half wall led up to his converted upper story three bed, which became office, mini kitchen, (stove, microwave and fridge), and his bedroom. It was contained, and neat.
Jimmy looked for the umpteenth time out of the window. Of his three clients for the evening, two had cancelled already. Of the third, Emma, not a word. With the rain the way it was, he wasn't really expecting her, but he wanted her to come. She had been the best thing about this town so far. When she had first turned up, in baggy leggings and an even baggier tee shirt, she had very quietly told him that her fiancé had been some sort of semi-professional dancer in his youth. She wasn't very good, but wanted to improve so as not to embarrass him at their wedding. Jimmy had listened and they had moved around the floor together. She wasn't terrible, she really only needed a bit of practice, but suspected that the level she wanted to reach was way too far above the amount of time they had, and probably way above his own. He had told her so, and she had looked crestfallen. So, he had relented. He hadn't really needed persuading, teaching dance classes required students. She was prepared to pay, he would take her money, until he couldn't teach her anything else, three times a week.
He had wondered why her husband hadn't tried to teach her himself, and why her self imposed standards were so high. She quite obviously loved dancing, but as they had moved around the room and he had listened, Jimmy had begun to get an impression of a man who was cold to his fiance's interests and needs. Inside himself, some part of him reacted to her. Her lessons were always the last one of the day and always went on longer than they should have... Her dancing clothes had changed too. The baggy sweats had changed first to a long dress, and then to heels, as her confidence on the floor had increased. Just kitten heels, but they showed off her ankles, and as Jimmy had moved her around the floor he had begun to move her faster through the steps. Last lesson she'd worn a shorter skirt and blouse, and the twirl had begun to show off what he took to be stocking tops, or maybe not. He attempted to restrain himself from trying to deliberately twirl out faster to see. And she was nearly always wearing make-up now, not a lot, just a trace here and there. That was fine. He didn't like a lot of make-up on a woman.
Her attitude of quiet had changed along with the clothing. Where she had been quiet and reserved, gradually she had begun to climb out of whatever shadow she had put herself into and became bubbly, breathless, easily laughing at herself when she made a mistake. Jimmy remembered and contrasted this with her first few stumbles, when she had visibly tensed in his arms. Waiting for what, he wondered? But now, when she miss-stepped, she recovered easily and carried on through the figures without hesitation. Jimmy found himself more often than not watching her body in the long wall of mirrors, enjoying the contours of her moving body next to his own, and slowly it began trigger the feeling of need in him. Of desire. He had to fight that down! She was a client, a very pretty client, but a client! And almost married! Almost. It made no odds that he, a relative stranger, felt that the wedding surely must be a mistake. So, now, he stared out into the night. He wanted her to come, but then, he also did not want her risking the drive from her home in the rain, and thought she almost certainly wouldn't make the journey. Still, he couldn't help but watch, and wait.
The car's headlights, when they showed, were misty through the windows. It was impossible to tell what kind of car it was, but as Jimmy sat in the dark in his little upstairs kitchen, he watched it drive slowly down the hill, and finally turn into his driveway. He sat for a moment looking, almost in disbelief, and then he ran down the stairs three at a time. He hit the wooden floor at the bottom with the heavy thunk of his dancing shoes, and then ran to the door to pull it open. Then he was out into the small porch, wrenching the door open as he saw her in the rain, struggling to make it to the front door. She was having trouble wielding her umbrella in the wind. He saw the flash of her smile,and then he flattened himself against the wall as she ran past him into his hallway, the umbrella lifted in her outstretched hands and dripping water. She was dry, but he, and his hallway were not! Her umbrella had got him right across the chest
"Em," he said quietly. "Coat and umbrella in the porch, please."
She looked at him for a moment and then saw his very wet shirt clinging to his chest, and her smile faded.
"Oh, sorry."
