Where Have All the Boys Gone?(94)

Louise nodded. “God, yes.”

“I don’t just mean that I want to go to bed with him.”

“Although you do.”

Katie looked annoyed. “Well. Yes. I suppose. Yes.”

“So, you fancy him?”

“Yes. But I fancy Iain too. And now, he’s saying he wants . . . well I don’t know quite what he’s saying. I think I need to talk to him.”

“He hasn’t turned up to be auctioned yet.”

“Well, maybe I need to find him.”

BY THE TIME they got back to the marquee, it had changed completely. The auction was over, and all the tables had now been moved to the side, and the band had started playing in the corner. There were people everywhere, drinking, talking, reapplying lipstick. A haze of perfume and smoke hung in the air, and the noise was deafening.

“Blimey,” said Louise. “I guess your party’s a success then.”

“Hmm,” said Katie.

There was no sign of either Iain or Harry in the throng. Every so often a giggly woman would be walking along, arm in arm with her toga, looking pleased but proud. Mrs. McClockerty could be seen talking intently to Lachlan, whilst keeping a firm eye on the cake.

Katie wandered through the crowds in a dream, scarcely knowing who she was looking for. Louise was hard by her elbow. Suddenly, like the parting of the Red Sea, the ocean of people disappeared all around them. They looked around, twitching, only to find the band were all standing, ready to play, and the band leader was looking at them crossly, isolated in the middle of the dance floor. All around the marquee, couples were lined up like Siamese twin soldiers on parade.

“Now, we’ll be starting with a Gay Gordons . . .” announced the band leader. “And a one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .”

“Oh bollocks,” said Katie. “This is the one I know, but I don’t know it on my own.”

“Quick, scram,” said Louise, and they made a dive for the side of the floor, fighting their way through a tightly-packed circle that was already huffing into the steps.

“Aha!” said two techies, who were standing on the other side, just as they stumbled out.

“It’s you two! Come dance with us, all these women are nuts.”

“No they’re not,” scolded Katie.

“Aye they are!” said the shorter of the two. “Three of them just held me down and put their hands up my kilt!”

“Well, that shouldn’t be happening,” said Katie, disapprovingly.

“Oh, no, I liked it, ken. It just might be a bit trickier on the dance floor.”

So Katie and Louise let themselves be swept away onto the huge floor, the sound of Dougie’s accordion ringing in their ears.

IN SOME WAYS, Katie thought, dancing was incredibly good for taking your mind off things, and there was something intensely satisfying about the whole room moving as one. In another way, of course, it was completely strange, as she found herself pressed up against millions of backs, trying to avoid rogue stilettos. The music changed, and she was suddenly in a completely new dance, which involved facing your partner, moving to the side, then moving out to the wall to clap . . . and when she came back, her partner was no longer there, and she found herself face to face with one of the farm labourers, whose face she recognised.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Travelling dance, aye?” he said, enlightening her no further. He was looking very red in the face, as if he was having a completely great time, and he waltzed her around with some energy. “You just keep changing partners.”

As, indeed, she did, with every whirl and spin of the music. The men on the inside track moved around with every repeat of the dance. There was barely time to say much more than hello to her partners, attempt to keep up, and try to catch her breath before she was twirled off once more. Many of the men thanked her or wanted a quick word about whichever girl they particularly liked, which was touching, she felt, feeling more a part of this community than she could ever have dreamed, standing on that little railway halt, what felt like a very long time ago.

She found herself nodding as she flew along, the crowd seeming to get hotter and heavier all the time, and the music getting louder and more emphatic; so absorbed that it took a while, when she came back from clapping at the wall, to find herself hand in hand with Iain, who was wearing, oddly, a toga.

“Hey,” said Katie, gulping. He looked at her as they took their two steps to the right. “Didn’t you go up for auction?”

Iain shrugged. His hair was flopping over his left eye. “I thought . . . I thought about what you said, and I thought, well, maybe I shouldn’t be seeing any other women . . . you know . . .”

“They don’t make you a real slave,” said Katie, her heart pounding, as they kicked their legs out to either side. The woman next to her caught her ankle. “They can’t order you to perform cunnilingus or anything like that.”

Iain looked pale. “Please . . . look, Katie, I’m really sorry I didn’t call you.”

Katie twirled lightly. “You should have.”

“I know.”

They twirled the other way.

“Katie, if I can make this up to you, any way I can . . . I’d really love to.” He looked at her imploringly, with those big green eyes.