Slow Dancing

David disengages from his gaggle of new friends and takes my arm - I smile up at him, amused at the slightly jealous looks I'm receiving from several other attendees. We follow the crowd of guests, taking seats on the bride's side of course. The usual order of ceremony takes place - the bride enters, looking radiant, the minister introduces himself and them, and I zone out as I normally do. The ceremony's long on humour and light on religion and is over pretty quickly. No objections, no catastrophes. The bride and groom disappear off for photographs, and the rest of us mill around outside with our champagne and finger food.

I suppose that one could make the charge that I'm cavalier about the whole marriage thing. I guess it's important to the newlyweds and their families, but to me it always feels slightly forced; a brash 'look at us, we've finally arrived'. Perhaps I'm being unchivalrous - maybe I'm just the kind of girl who needs nothing other than to know that she belongs somewhere. I just wish I knew where that somewhere was.

Actually, I correct myself; I know precisely where it is.

But I'm exiled from that space.

I sigh. Suddenly, I find the crowd of people annoying, cloying, and decide to explore the formal garden and grounds of the manor for a breath of perspective and fresh air. I make my way out of the reception area, and soon I'm strolling slowly, admiring the topiary and the flower beds, enjoying the sound of birdsong and the feel of the sun on my back.

While I walk, I finger the pendant. David's always bought me trinkets on my birthday; small tokens and keepsakes. This is something different. This isn't costume jewelery, it's the real thing, and I can't help but feel that he spent more than he should have on it. I sigh again, then square my shoulders. I'm a past master of burying my feelings when it comes to him. Nobody, and I do mean nobody, knows about the candle I carry for David. It would destroy both of us if it ever became public knowledge.

I guess you could call it calculating, cold. The fact that I'll be with other men, using them as a simulacrum of him; as a buffer. But I can't get away from the fact that I need physical attention. I need to be loved, and failing that to at least be held, and since I can't have him... any port in a storm. As a corollary, I try my best not to dig into his own personal life, for fear of the jealousy it will arouse in me.

I wander onwards, drawn by whimsy. Soon I find myself in a small arboretum, complete with folly. I poke my nose through one of the arches of the folly, and discover to my delight that there is a window seat, complete with clean cushions. I kick off my heels and pull my legs carefully up under me, then make myself comfortable and close my eyes for a while, just listening and thinking. I can feel the gentle breeze on my skin, and the rustling leaves all around me.

It's a moment of blessed peace. I love formal events, but weddings, not so much. They cut a little too close to the bone for me. But I guess I need to make an effort with this one, given that David's gone through the trouble to attend with me.

I dilly dally a bit, but then unfold my legs, slipping them back into the heels. I take a sip of my now lukewarm bubbly, then stand and make my way back out through the garden. I find David, and flash him a small smile at his enquiring look, but say nothing. He's chatting away to a mixed bunch of people, most of whom I don't recognize, but he makes room for me in the circle and introduces me as 'Emily', which I find interesting. David's describing his work, and I derive some amusement watching his audience lapping it up.

Soon, however, he breaks away, and takes my arm with his, leading me off to the refreshments table. He grabs us two more glasses of champagne, then steers us out into the gardens.

"Are you ok, Em?" he asks with concern once we're out of earshot.

"I am. Just a little raw is all."

"Weddings can be difficult" he agrees.

"Especially as we get older, and everyone else's married off" I sigh, theatrically.

"Older?" he comments, raising an eyebrow. "Em, you're practically still a teenager."

I stick my tongue out at him. "Just because you're older than me doesn't mean I'm not ancient myself." I hunch over, pretending to totter around. He snorts, but says nothing.

"So where did you see yourself at twenty six then?" I ask, piqued.

"Pretty much where I am, really." he replies, after a short pause. "Maybe a harem and a manor house like this."

"A harem, huh? Sounds scintillating."

"Well, you know, a dashing gentleman like myself requires an entourage of sorts."

We enter a small, knee-high mock maze, paved with gravel, and I entertain the amusing fantasy of being lost deep within it.

"Remember, always turn left at any junction," David says, and I shoot him a quick glance. "Get out of my mind, mister," I grumble at him, and he smiles, smugly.

"So this harem," I continue, "Describe it."

"Oh, you know. Typical harem. Lots of diaphanously-clothed nymphs all plotting against one another and manoeuvring to be the one who gets to feed me peeled grapes."

"Why would you peel grapes?" I wonder, aloud. "The skin is one of the best parts of a grape."

"Particularly when wine-making", he agrees, "But I'm talking boudoir, not pinot-noir"

I groan at the pun, and he cackles.

"I always viewed harems as a waste", I muse. "It must be pretty dull, sitting around looking pretty and hoping that master notices."

"Truth be told, I agree" he says. "I can't focus on more than one woman at a time."

"Your Lake-District girl."

He's quiet for a while. "Truthfully, no."

"Oh?" I ask, intrigued.

"Yes." he says, and uncharacteristically doesn't explain any further. To be honest, I'm glad; I don't want to know about the competition, such as it is.

He takes my arm and pulls me slightly closer as we walk.

"Are you seeing anyone, Emily?"

I sigh. "No. Jason was a bridge too far, David. I need time to mend that particular betrayal before I'm willing to trust anyone again."

He frowns at that. "Bad idea, Em. Never stop trusting people, you will miss out on so many interesting stories if you treat them with suspicion from the outset."

"There's only a few people who've ever earned my unconditional trust, David."

"And that makes me sad, Em. I worry about you constantly."

"About me?" I say. "Why, David?"

"Because you're my baby sister, the only baby sister I'm ever going to have, and the thought of you being unhappy drives me to distraction."

I shoot him a quick glance. "David, the guy I was fucking fucked someone else. I'll get over it."

He stops then, which in turn forces me to stop and turn back to face him.

"That's a harsh way to describe a two year relationship, Em."

"Betrayal brings clarity, David. I guess I'm facing the reality that childhood is over and I've got to put on my big girl panties now."

He shakes his head. "Don't ever let what other people do change who you are, Em. Who you are is too precious to ever lose."

I smile sadly up at him. "David Anderson, I do believe you are practicing pick-up lines on me."

"Emily," he says, quietly. "You are my sister, and because of that I hope that what I say carries some weight. Here's what I know."

He meets my eyes.

"Something's happened to you. Somewhere, sometime, in the past, something happened; something you've never told me. Whatever it was, it's made you... not bitter, bitter's the wrong word. It's made you cut off part of yourself from other people. I can see it in the way you act towards the guys you're with... not all of you is present; you always hold a part of you back. I'm worried that if you never let go of that reserve that you'll never be truly happy."

Denials die in my throat, and a shudder runs through me. I know David notices because he reaches out to touch me; giving me a confused look as I pull back out of reach.

I take a deep, painful breath.

"You know me too well, David."

"Em?" he says.

"I've loved someone for a long time," I say, quietly. "I can't have that person. I have to try to make the best I can of my life given that restriction. Do you understand?"

"Why can't you be with him?"

"Are you so certain it's a him?" I ask, teasingly.

"Em, while I wouldn't put the occasional lesbian dalliance past you, I know for a fact that you are far too fond of muscular guys to bat solely for the girls team." I laugh at this, and calm down slightly. David shakes his head in amusement.

"Just take it from me, Davey. I can't be with the person I love because of matters beyond my control. That doesn't mean I don't need love and attention... so I get it where I can."

"At what cost, Em?"

"A very high one. But one I'm willing to bear, for love's sake."

"It sounds like a recipe for a lifetime of deferred pain, Em."

"I can't deny that," I respond, with a small sigh.

He steps closer to me and pulls me into a tight embrace, and once again I feel myself struggling as his physical nearness overwhelms my defences.

"Em, don't cry," he says, quietly. "You know I'll always love you."

Which is really pretty much the worst thing he can say, considering the situation. Poor David. Luckily I have tissues and emergency makeup in my vanity purse, and an extended session of tears followed by a quiet recovery period next to him on a bench sort me out enough that we can re-emerge to mingle once more with the other guests.

---

I can feel his watchful attention throughout the meal and speeches. I make desultory chit-chat with the other people at our table, trusting David to carry the conversation through dinner. I spend my time observing couples at other tables, trying to work out who's happy and who's not. I sip my wine, estimating it at a close to even split between both camps. Nothing like a wedding for bringing cracks out into the open, I suppose. I toy with my food, not really tasting it, and putting it aside when I no longer feel hungry.

After my third glass of wine, though, David leans over to me and gives me a gentle nudge. Then he whispers "Alcohol helps, but only short term. Dancing's a better cure. I'll dance with you as much as you like."

"Promises, promises" I whisper back to him, but am secretly pleased by the prospect. I'd wondered whether he'd feel odd about dancing with me, but I should have realised that he's never been embarrassed about having me as a sister... so why would this be any different?

Slowly the interminable pomp winds to an end, and the party proper starts. The first dance of the evening is for the bride and groom only, and they enjoy themselves to Fats Waller's "Aint Misbehaving." Slowly, the music evolves into an eclectic mix of modern rock, swing and blues, and after a short while David stands and smiles at me, offering his hand. I take it, stand, and he leads me out onto the dance floor. Other couples are already there, and there's a lively competition developing between the hardcore dancers and really good fakers.

David steers us through the melee, both of us laughing as we move to classics including Gershwin, Don Maclean and the immortal Louis Armstrong. My gown gains me appreciative looks from other men and I catch more than one girl giving David serious come-hither glances. Occasionally I amuse myself showing a bit of leg in a turn, and on one occasion I catch David glancing; this makes me far happier than it should, but I've made peace with my internal hussy.

Then, the first slow dance number begins. I sigh, and turn to leave the floor, but David catches my hand and pulls me back. "Dance with me, Em" he says, as Air Supply start to sing "Making Love out of nothing at all"

I experience a moment of horrible indecision, but David solves it for me by taking my left hand and placing it on his shoulder, while he circles his right arm around my waist as he pulls me closer and leads us off.

I can feel myself flushing. The song is one of my favourites, full of lyrics that have special significance to me because of the way I associate them with him. I think David senses that I'm flustered, because he winks at me and shifts his hands slightly, pulling me even closer. I surrender, placing my cheek to his chest and letting him guide our dance, while I simply focus on how amazing it feels to be this close to him, dancing with him.

It's the first time I've ever slow danced with him, and I'm a big puddle of jelly. Nerves jangle, butterflies flutter, and through it all I can feel him breathing as he holds me. Air Supply transitions to Guns and Roses, and I creep closer to him. The faint fuzz of alcohol makes me bold, and I take little risks. I wrap my arms around his neck to get closer, and allow my thigh to occasionally 'accidentally' brush against his.

I can smell his aftershave and the scent of the soap he washed with, but under that the scent that is quintessentially his. I could recognize him with my eyes closed. He smells of home, of my childhood, of never having to fear being alone. Closer, I creep, teasing myself. I slip one leg between his, feeling his hip against my belly, his abs against my chest, his chest against my breast, and the slightest prickling of stubble against my forehead. Then he shifts slightly and I feel him against my thigh... hard.

I miss a step.

"Ok, Em?" he asks, concerned.

"Yeah. Just woolgathering."

I feel him snort, then he spins me slowly around and we dance on for a short while. Then, as Snow Patrol's "Chasing cars" ends, he leads me off the dance floor. "Need a drink," he explains as I make protesting noises. I sigh long-sufferingly, then grin at him. "Get me one too please," I ask. "White if you can." He nods and heads off. I sit, and fan myself slightly with a menu in an attempt to kill off my flushed face. It's a little unsettling to think how scandalously I was just behaving with him... and that he (or his body, at least) was clearly enjoying it.

I groan. I want him, desperately.

---

"Em?"

I realise I was lost in a fantasy, and give him a guilty smile. "Sorry, Davey. I'm zoning out today. No idea why."

"Need some fresh air?" he asks.

I think. "Actually... yes, that would help a lot."

He helps me slip into my jacket, and we make for the doors to the garden, slipping out through the press of wallflowers gathered there and making our escape into the grounds. The gardens are lit at intervals by candles hanging from trees or fastened to stakes in the ground; it gives the manor the appearance of something from Wonderland.

I steer David towards the folly, and am glad to find that it is free of other people. I perch on the seat, and pull David down next to me. We sit, sipping our wine, listening to the muted sounds of conversation and music drifting down from the Manor, breathing.

"Do you remember saving my life?" I ask him, after a brief internal struggle.

He gives me a startled look. "Vividly." he says. "I had no idea you remembered it."

"It's a fixture of my dreams. I can see you as clearly as I see you now, swimming towards me to save me."

"You're my sister, it's not like I would let anything hurt you or anything bad happen to you."

"Or anyone," I say.

He says nothing.

"Was it you who... sorted out... those kids who attacked me?"

"Me and others." he says, quietly.

"Oh."

"Why're you asking these questions, Emily?"

I sigh. "Just checking that you know how much I love you, David."

He smiles at me. "You don't need to check, I know you love me."

I stare at the lantern in the folly. Quietly, I take a decision.

"I have something that's been eating my heart out for nearly ten years now, David. I've never told you, but I need to tell you now."

"Em, what is it?"

"The reason I can't open up fully to any men I'm with. It... oh, god, this is difficult to say to you."

"Em, you've told me everything in your life. Whatever it is, I'll listen and help if I can."

I laugh helplessly. "That's just it, David. It's about you."

"About me?"

"Yes." I put my head in my hands, and take a breath.

"Em, I'm going to do my puzzled panda impression if you don't spit it out."

I give him a helpless look.

"I love you, David."

"I love you too, Em" he says, clearly puzzled.

"No! Listen!" I say, urgently. "I. Love. You. You and nobody else. You're the one."

"Oh," he says, and I swear that I can see the cogs turning in his head. "That explains... well, that explains lots, really."

"Uh huh." I mutter.

"So if we follow the timeline, ten years would put it back to..."

"Yes, then." I sigh. "That's when it started. When you held me, helped me, and made sure Mum and Dad never knew."

"And you've kept this quiet, all this time?"

"Yes."

"And this is why you've always been so brittle?"

"Yes."

"And you never thought to tell me about this earlier?"

"What good would that possibly have done?" I demand, angrily. "David, do you realise how serious this is? Your sister is a twisted puppy who wants her brother."

He's quiet for a short while, then he puts aside his wineglass and turns to face me directly. I steel myself for the crushing rejection that must surely follow, and I fight hot tears of shame back with iron self-control.

He kisses me.

I am so surprised that I drop my own glass, which shatters to smithereens on the folly's stone floor.

"David...what...why?" I manage, totally thrown.

"Firstly, Em, you're the silliest of all my sisters."

"I'm your only sister" I say, confused. He puts a finger to my lips, silencing me.

"Secondly, I know"

"You... know? How?" I whisper.

"I'm your awesome elder brother, Em, I know things. Thirdly, and this one is a doozy... ditto."

"Ditto?" I say, now totally out of my depth.

"Ditto" he says.

"Don't... David, don't lie to me. Don't make me hope. Don't do that..." I feel myself going to pieces, and turn my head away as the tears take me.

"Emily." He reaches out a hand, turning my head back. "Don't cry. I'm here."

"I can't... help... " I start to sob. I feel him wrapping his arms around me, and before I know it he's got me nestled on his lap, and he's rocking me gently. I don't remember much, just impressions really. The flame of the candles. The ache in my chest. The raw, quiet sobs that rack me. The way he holds me, letting me calm at my own pace, letting the proximity to him and the sound of his breathing slowly help me unwind as it always does.

I scrub at my eyes, and take a juddering breath. It feels like years have passed.

"How... how long?" My voice sounds strange, hoarse and raw. I swallow, painfully.

"How long have I known you loved me? Or how long have I loved you?"

"Both."

"I've known your feelings for me forever, Em," he says. "You never treated me the way other siblings treat one another. When we were younger you'd always be more interested in me than in anything else; always shadowing me. As we grew older, I thought that would change. But it didn't. You were always physically close with me, and told me everything. Then there was the day you were attacked." He stops here, and takes a breath. "I don't know if you remember how tightly you clung to me." he says, quietly. "How you begged me not to leave you."

"I don't" I whisper. "Most of that day's a blur to me."

He squeezes me. "Lets just say that after that it was pretty clear where your feelings ran."

"And you?" I ask, quietly.

"Since then," he says softly. "I realised I was yours when I reacted the way I did towards those boys. Nobody hurts my Em and gets away with it."

"Your Em?" I say, smiling weakly.

"My Em." he says.

"Why'd it take you so long to claim me, then?" I ask, as I burrow against him.

"Mostly out of worry that it would ruin what we already have."

"And now?"

"Now I don't care anymore. And from the way you've been dancing with me tonight you don't seem to either. So the question I guess I have for you... is whether you'll be happy with me and me alone?"