The Last Dance Card – Part 1: Waltz Number Four

The dance card was cream-coloured card tied with a ribbon of pale blue, and Freja had been given it by the bride at the door of the little wooden church on the island. Every waltz on the card had a name beside it. Every name was pre-booked by a cousin, an uncle or a very determined aunt.

Except the last one.

"That's the only free dance," said the bride, beaming. "Save it for someone special."

Freja looked at the blank line and sighed. She had come to the wedding alone, in a green dress and borrowed shoes, to be a bridesmaid for her oldest friend. She had not come to dance.

The reception was in a barn full of paper lanterns and long wooden tables. Someone played an accordion. Children ran between the chairs with sparklers, and the air smelled of smoked salmon, dill and sea.

She spotted him across the room by the bar. Erik. The best man. Her ex-boyfriend's best friend, which had been awkward the first time they met and had got steadily more awkward every time they met since. He was tall and broad-shouldered, in a navy suit that looked slightly too tight across the shoulders, and he was leaning on a cane.

He had hurt his knee, Freja remembered. Falling off a boat in Gotland.

He saw her looking, and smiled. It was not an awkward smile. It was warm and rueful, the way you smile at someone you've wronged a long time ago and hoped had forgiven you.

She crossed the room.

"You're limping," she said.

"I'm recovering," said Erik. "Very dramatically. Everyone is watching me sit down."

"You were very dramatic on the boat."

"I was very brave on the boat."

"You fell in the sea."

"That's brave," said Erik. "It takes a certain courage to sink."

She laughed, and he looked surprised, and then delighted.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Yes."

"Did you ever forgive me? For the thing I said at the party, in Uppsala? About Anton?"

Freja's throat tightened. She had not thought about that party for years. He had told her, very drunkenly, that she was too sensible to ever be happy with someone who wasn't.

"Yes," she said. "Eventually. You were right, in a horrible way. I was too sensible for Anton."

"I'm sorry I said it like that."

"You're sorry for the delivery," said Freja. "Not the content."

Erik looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded, slowly.

"Then can I ask you for the last dance?" he said. "Even though I can barely stand up straight. I'd like to make the delivery better."

Freja looked at the dance card in her hand, the single blank line, and then back at him, leaning on his cane with his hopeful, tired face.

"Yes," she said. "But only if you let me lead."

"Deal," said Erik. "Green?"

"Green," said Freja, and tucked the card into his jacket pocket. "Very green. Now get up, Erik. The accordion is starting, and I want to see you fall gracefully."