The sun is setting behind the houses across the road. The dunes, the grass and the waves breaking on the shore. I’m looking at empties and a full ashtray. It’s got colder as the shadows have grown and she’s moved closer so that we are cuddled in together. My jacket across her lap. The sound of the band playing drifting out across the beer garden.
There’s a few people at the other tables but it doesn’t matter. No offence to them, fuck Springsteen could be at that table having a passionate chat with Lucinda Williams and I wouldn’t give a fuck.
It’s me. And it’s her. These moments. And she’s telling me about the Wedding Present. She’s seen them 12 times, and she’s got that look in her eyes and that smile that lights up her whole face. And she’s telling me that folk with beards think they know everything about music as she laughs. I’m telling her nah that’s not true, it’s just me that knows everything about music and she looks at me and chuckles.
“I can’t wait to see you on the dance floor,” I say, and she gives me a serious look. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
We go back inside and the band is playing. She whispers in my ear, “Dance with me.” And we are out onto the old wooden floor and we dance close, the floor full of couples together. The song finishes, we kiss deeply. The drummer counts off four and the band breaks into Baggy Trousers by Madness. We dance like fools, smiling and laughing.
