The Last Dance

I worry about the way my mind works. I have half a dozen drafts started, one about half-way complete, and then I saw a reader's letter to an newspaper advice column this morning and it triggered yet another idea for a story. So I had to write this; just to clear my head enough to focus on the story that I actually want to finish.

Its about sex but there's no sex in it. If there was, it would be between people over 18 years old. It's set in the UK to put the language, spelling and legal stuff into context. Otherwise, it could be set just about anywhere.

I originally wrote this in less than a day and that included going for a stroll, running grandchildren about and cooking a Brazilian beef stew. I noticed that a few constructive comments pointed out redeemable mistakes. Now that I've corrected them, some of the older comments may seem odd; that's why.

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It was nine o'clock that night when Bill finally made his mind up and walked upstairs to the bedroom. Anna, his gorgeous twenty six year old wife, was getting ready to go out with her friends. He hadn't been particularly happy when she went out with those women last Friday, but he couldn't, wouldn't, accept this, or them, as part of a new weekly routine.

She saw the look on his face and sighed. "You're not going to be boring about this, are you?"

He nodded at the tiny dress laid out on the bed and the sexy blue underwear she was wearing. She looked stunning in them. "I've not seen these before," he said.

She looked uncomfortable. "Well, no. I only bought them this week."

He assumed a thoughtful expression and walked to the bathroom, returning with her underwear from the wash basket. "So this is okay for your husband." He indicated the very plain, unmatched bra and briefs in his hand. "But you're happy to buy those," he indicated the tiny blue bra and her matching lacy thong barely concealing her charms, "for the benefit of some men you haven't met yet."

He stared at her. "Unless." He paused, meaningfully. "Unless this isn't just another night out with the girls from work; perhaps you've actually arranged to meet someone there; almost like it's a date." He cocked his head at her as she stared at him in disbelief.

"No!" She exclaimed. "There's no one else. How could you even think that?"

"So," he said, ignoring her question and choosing his words carefully. "When you're out with these friends you never dance with other men, hold them, kiss them or let them touch you?"

"How dare you even suggest that?" She was angry now.

"I dare suggest it because I know more about your friends than you probably imagine," he replied. "A single woman, two divorcees and then you, to make up the numbers. Do you honestly expect me to believe that when they are out trawling for casual sex they aren't going to try to drag you down to their level?"

"How dare you judge them!" She snapped at him.

"I'm not judging them," he responded evenly. "They're free to make their own choices, as are you."

She looked at him with suspicion. "And yet you're telling me not to go. How is that a choice?"

"I haven't told you not to go. I've just made it clear that I think this is inappropriate behaviour for a married woman and that your friends are leading you into situations that will inevitably end badly for our marriage."

She started at that. "Are you honestly suggesting that my going out with friends could put our marriage at risk?" She snorted in derision. "Don't be so fucking insecure. I'll always come home to you. Why are you so concerned?"

"I'm concerned because you are the most beautiful woman I know and you're going clubbing with single women who I don't trust. Add horny men and alcohol to the mix and that's a recipe for trouble. And," he continued, holding his hand up to forestall her interruption. "Our marriage is already at risk because you think that this," he waved his hand at her near nakedness, "is something your husband should just accept without question."

"Well it's too late now. I've promised to meet them at ten and you're going to make me late carrying on like this." She dismissed him and went back to her make-up.

He decided to make a final effort. "You also promised to honour your husband," he pointed out, acerbically. "You seem comfortable enough ignoring that promise. Or are your friends' feelings more important to you than mine?"

"What the Hell has got into you?" She snapped. "I'm going out for a drink with some friends. That's all. Now, for God's sake, give it a rest!"

He took a deep breath. "The thing is, I want to trust you but I refuse to sit at home every Friday evening wondering if this is the night you'll go that extra step and end up casually fucking some guy up against a wall."

"I wouldn't! You..."

He stopped her again. "Gale bragged about her exploits on social media last week. She's one of your 'friends' and that's exactly what she did. How long before you start to believe that's okay, as long as I never find out?"

She just glared at him, speechless.

He continued, angry now. "If you want to go dancing, invite me to take you. If you just want to rub your tits up against strangers, then be honest, and we can end this now."

"Now you're just being offensive!" She stormed at him.

"No. I'm being honest. I don't believe that you aren't dirty dancing and kissing chancers who are looking for a grope or, even better, a quick fuck. I'm willing to believe, just, that you haven't shagged anyone else, yet. But this is the choice I offered you. Go or stay; it's up to you. But bear in mind that I have choices too. If you go, then you can stay out as late as you like. I certainly won't be here to complain when you get back."

There. He'd said it. He'd given her every chance to understand his concerns, hear his desire to make their marriage work, but she'd ignored him. Now she had a choice; him or them.

"You're fucking joking!" She was as angry as he'd ever seen her in the four years they'd been a couple.

"No," he said quietly. "If you want to dress like your slutty friends and go out drinking and dancing with them every Friday night, that's fine. I'm just telling you that the prospect of me sitting waiting for you to come in one night with another man's sperm running down your leg isn't how I see my future. Now." He said, walking to the door. "I have things to do. I'll be downstairs when you decide."

She sat in front of her mirror, considering. She hadn't had sex; not really. But she had been really tempted last week and she'd given the guy a consolation wank, but that was all. And she liked the way men looked at her on the dance floor. It made her feel more desirable. Bill always complimented her on the way she looked, but he had to, he was her husband. The guys in the club though; they wanted to devour her.

Bill sat at his laptop filling out a form on-line. At quarter to ten she came downstairs. He looked up. Was she staying or going? She was wearing high heels, showing off the long shapely legs disappearing into the short, tight, blue dress. He said nothing. Was she going to accept his offer to let her husband take her dancing or did she intend to go on the pull with her slutty friends?

She still looked undecided: Then she spoke. "I won't be too late. We can talk tomorrow."

He shook his head slowly and turned back to his computer, silently ignoring her; dismissing her. She stood for a moment, uncertain if he was bluffing. He never even heard the front door close as she left. He finished and submitted the form and attached the link to an email and hit 'send''.

He went upstairs and threw some clothes into a couple of suitcases. On Monday he'd tell his boss that he'd accept the job he'd been offered in Dubai. He called for a taxi and, while he waited, he sent a text to his wife's WhatsApp family group.

'Hi. I'm sorry that you have to find out like this, but Anna has made it absolutely clear to me that she requires more excitement and variety in her life than I can provide. I have emailed her the link to our divorce petition. It has been a privilege being part of your family, but I hope you'll understand why I have decided not to keep in touch with you all from here on.'

He had one more thing to do, so he went to the printer and took the sheet of paper from the output tray and wrote on the bottom. He stuck it over their wedding photo over the fireplace. Then he switched his phone off and went outside to wait for his taxi.

Anna had just sat down in the club and was chatting to Gale, when her phone rang. "If that's Bill begging me to go back home..." she said in exasperation.

It wasn't. It was her older sister, Karen. "Where the fuck are you?" Karen yelled.

"Er, I'm at Stardust with some friends," she said, defensively. "Why?"

"Does Bill know?" Demanded Karen.

"Er, yes. Well, he knows I was going out with friends. Why?"

"Was he happy about it?" Karen seemed angry. But then, she'd always had a soft spot for Bill.

"Well no. Not happy. But I've told him we'll talk tomorrow."

"Well fucking good luck with that, you stupid cunt. He's left you. If you don't believe it check your email."

Gale watched, bemused, as Anna frantically scrabbled to open the email app on her phone. Even in the subdued lighting of the nightclub, she could see her friend had paled visibly. Then Anna noticed the WhatsApp message to her family. That must have been what triggered Karen's call.

Then her phone rang again. Thank God, Bill! No, it was her father. "What have you said to Bill?" Her dad demanded. "The man treated you like royalty and you wanted more?"

"No dad. It isn't like that. I just felt trapped. So I needed to have just one night a week, you know, to be me."

"Are you in a fucking nightclub? Your husband has just left you and you go fucking clubbing?" He said, incredulously. Her dad was obviously furious. He never swore like that in front of his family.

How could she answer? She was in a club; it was obvious from the background noise. "No, dad. He must have decided after I'd left. Dad? Dad?" He'd hung up.

Anna grabbed her bag and phone and hurried out; completely ignoring Gale and not noticing her other two friends as she passed them outside. She found a taxi and was home in fifteen minutes. She tried to call her husband on the way but his phone just went to voicemail.

The house was silent; deserted. She kicked off her shoes and ran upstairs. Most of his clothes, his shaving kit, gone. Downstairs again, his phone, laptop, wallet, all gone. Back upstairs, his passport, also gone. He'd warned her. No ambiguity. No room for misinterpretation. If she left that night, she would come home to an empty house. She knew he hated lies. He'd been betrayed by a girl in the past and he put honesty above everything else. He'd done exactly as he'd said.

Anna made her way downstairs, totally at a loss. An hour ago she'd been married. Now she was separated. In less than a year she'd be divorced. For going out dancing! Then she saw the photo over the fire. It looked wrong. When she saw what he'd done, she nearly threw up. It was a picture from someone's social media site. It showed a young man on his knees proposing to his girlfriend. But there, in the background was Anna. Kissing that guy while he felt her tits. Underneath Bill had written in big black letters, "LIAR".

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I agonised about this abrupt ending; honestly, I did. But Bill is going abroad and Anna has been given the freedom she desired. Everything after this, Anna's abortion six months later, Bill eventually marrying that cute and adorable Australian girl he met paddle-boarding in Dubai, they are separate stories that may, or may not, be written. But their story, Bill and Anna's story, ended here.