been talking for twenty minutes, ever since the start of the session. Lucy had said nothing, while Martin explained to Marian, as though to a stupid child, exactly why his business was not yet making any money, why he had needed to go with his friends to rugby matches in Wales, Scotland and Italy this year, as well as attending local matches nearly weekly. He had told her what a wife’s duties were and how he had agreed to let Lucy work – ‘I’m a feminist really, wouldn’t force my wife to stay at home’ - and how he bathed the children at weekends, ‘rugby permitting of course.’ Then he explained how his brother and sister had fallen out with him and how that was affecting his ability to concentrate and had reduced his self-confidence so badly his work might suffer if he did not have a secure family background.
Marian smiled at him, so calmly that Lucy was amazed and had to hide her own amusement, then announced that they would now work through his points one at a time and that she would ask Martin to stay quiet while he listened to Lucy’s comments.
“Good for you, if you can achieve that,” Roki said, from his place on the windowsill, “He talks a lot. I mean, I don’t ask much of him, just to listen occasionally, but he talks through me every time. You hear, Marty? Listen to these women now, just for practice.”
“Let’s go for coffee and I’ll tell you what that Marian needs to learn,” Martin was in full flow again, “come on, I’m buying.”
“What an offer. I can’t resist,” said Lucy as she followed him into Bewley’s and prepared to be told in full what was wrong with this experienced counsellor.
David let himself into the house, humming under his breath. He felt energised by the evening, as he always did, moving to music was a good idea. Trust Clare to think of something useful. But the Samba this evening had been a bit of a disaster in dancing terms. He had discovered his third foot and put it everywhere he shouldn’t. His partner had been highly amused, ‘in hysterics’ she had said, wiping her eyes. It was her third year of dancing classes and she knew what to do. I’ll get the hang of it, David said to himself, like I did with the other dances. Eventually. He went into the livingroom, sat down at his piano and stroked the smooth wood before lifting the cover and starting to play a waltz, one he had danced to earlier that evening. So wonderful to have a piano at last. Unlike those holidays, I have it every day, it’s not just a memory. His body swayed with the rhythm of the tune and he didn’t hear the door opening. Clare came in quietly and sat on the couch. The waltz ended and David sat still, the last notes dying away.
“That was lovely, Dad.”
David spun around, gasping.
“Clare, you put the heart across me! Don’t creep up on me like that!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t actually creep. You were too absorbed to notice. Good class? Any girls yet?”
“Why do you want me to meet a ‘girl’? There’s lots of women there. All very nice. Thought my samba was a riot.”
“Wow, you learning the samba? I’d like to see that! Why was it a riot?”
“My first time, I don’t know the steps, got them wrong, nearly fell over. Carmel was in hysterics.”
“Oh, ‘Carmel’? My idea is working, then? First name terms?”
“Carmel is over seventy. She always grabs me as a partner, says I remind her of her nephew. She dances well, so I don’t object.”
“But you should object, Dad. I sent you to the class to meet a girlfriend, not a granny. Dance with someone else next week.”
“No, not after all my hard work getting Carmel to monopolise you. Just learn to dance. We’re working on Lucy.” Jotin was sitting on the piano, where he had been enjoying the vibrations from the music.
“Well, I do try. There is a shortage of men, like you said. None of the women stands out. I’m happy enough for the moment, it gets me out of the house and back into the music. I missed the music, all the time you were small.” He turned back to the piano and started to play again, very quietly. Soft notes escaped gently from the wooden case and gathered around him and he escaped from the moment, back across the