Dancing Backwards Read Online Free

see that sympathy was called for. But sympathy, that comes so readily to some, can be hard work. Vi decided it was time for Bunbury.
    Vi had learned about Bunbury from Edwin. The original Bunbury, the fictional fiction, employed as an alibi in Wilde’s most famous play, was, Edwin had taught her, a concept capable of being recruited.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said after they had drunk one cup of coffee and she sensed that the offer of a second was imminent, ‘but I have some work I must do.’
    ‘Work?’ The captain’s good-hearted face betrayed puzzlement.
    ‘Yes. I’m a poet.’ With luck that would put the lid on any further questioning.
    ‘A poet?’ said the captain. Had she confided that she was a belly dancer he could hardly have looked more ill at ease.
    ‘I don’t generally mention it, because people can be nervous of poets.’ Guessing she could rely on his chivalry, she went on, ‘so if you wouldn’t mind keeping it to yourself?’
    As she had hoped, flattery—not a bad strategy if it is only employed for self-preservation—did the trick.
    ‘Of course, dear lady. Our little secret. Kath liked poetry. She was the clever one. Over my head, I’m afraid, except for the one about the tall ship and the star to steer her by. Kath read that to me sometimes.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Vi, ‘people seem to like it. But on the whole, poetry is not most people’s cup of tea.’
    Which is true, she thought, making her way back to the privacy of her cabin. She wondered if Kath really read poetry or if that was the captain’s own form of Bunburying. The dead, how ever much missed, could, as she knew, be usefully pressed into service.
    Back at her cabin, she found Renato energetically shaking out the gold counterpane. ‘Mrs Hetherington, please, I can go away now and come back later.’
    ‘No, Renato, it’s OK, you go on.’ He had switched off the TV but she had caught the picture. ‘You were watching dancing?’
    ‘It is our own dancers on the ship. The TV programme which is relayed to your room, you see. They give demonstrations. Every day in the King Edward Lounge is a tea dance. You go?’
    ‘I’m afraid I can’t dance, Renato.’
    ‘You dance well. Nice figure. Not like some ladies.’ Renato held his hands wide and giggled. ‘Forgive me I speak like this to you, Mrs Hetherington.’
    ‘Nobody minds a compliment, Renato.’
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘I am delighted you think I might be able to dance. But I’m afraid you’re wrong.’
    ‘Oh yes. You dance well.’ Renato began to spray the desk with a vile-smelling cleanser.
    ‘Renato, would you mind, only my eyes…’
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘The cleaner you’re using. I’m sorry, but it is making my eyes sting.’
    ‘Excuse me, Mrs Hetherington, but I must clean the cabin.’
    ‘Couldn’t you just dust it or wipe it over with a damp cloth?’
    Renato looked opaque. He left the room stinking to high heaven and to escape the fumes Vi went outside on to the balcony.
    And there was the sea, reminding her that nothing that happens matters much in the great sum of things. And yet, she thought, how can we help minding?
    She walked back into the cabin. On the zealously cleansed desk, Renato had stacked her books in neat piles. Beside themhe had placed, in a parallel pile, her notebooks. She had not opened the notebooks in years. Goodness knows what had induced her to bring them. Except, of course, she did know. Edwin.
    What would it be like seeing Edwin again after all these years? Was she excited? Scared? She wasn’t sure. She had set out on something stronger than a whim. It was an impulse, but with an attendant caution that had led to her making the crossing by sea. But for what? Time, she supposed. Time to consider. Time for reflection. Although you would think she had had all the time in the world for that.
    She tried to recall when she and Edwin had last met—but the years had evaporated to a mist. Had they even said goodbye? She wasn’t sure of