The ballroom swayed to the sound of Glen Miller and Tommy Dorsey.  From the balcony, the colours and glitter were mesmerising.  Bodies moved back and forth, arms in the air, legs going in all directions.  Smiling faces as they twirled, others close together to the sound of Moonlight Serenade, oblivious of people around them. Jack had them eating out of his hand.

He was in his element, up and down, side to side with his baton.  He was in charge and he loved it.  This was his domain, the whole thing depended on him.  From the slow smoochy ones to the rip roaring Charleston, Doodlebug, call it what you like, this was his show, and the crowd loved him.

Back in the real world, he was like everyone else.  His day job was an insurance salesman. Although he never told her, he wouldn’t have been very good at that except that his wife, Ellen, did the books for him.  They had a son Peter who was at junior school.  Ellen helped Peter with his homework and went to school meetings when necessary.  Ellen sensed from the start that Jack thought he was special, different, but his good looks were hard to resist in the early days, so she put up with his bad humour and self interest. She could admire her new red formica kitchen and American toaster.  Everything was in its place. She polished the surfaces till they shone.  She listened to the radio during the day, especially ‘The Archers’ or ‘Mrs Dales Diary’, and the black and white television kept her company on the nights that Jack was out.

Peter had often asked his dad to play out in the garden with him or go over to the park.  The answer was always the same, “we’ll go next week”.  It was always “next week”.  Peter’s mother always filled the gap so there was no pressure there for Jack.  He did go to a lot of trouble every Christmas for Ellen’s sister Sheila.  Sheila had six children.  Every year Jack made an igloo with cardboard and cotton wool and put small presents inside for the children.  Peter loved being part of the annual Christmas ritual with his father.

By the time Peter was in secondary school, the music scene had changed.  Bill Haley, Elvis, Buddy Holly, were all taking over from the big orchestras.  Jack hardly noticed the scene fading out, or his hair receding, or his suit feeling tighter.  There were fewer bookings now, and even the insurance industry was changing. Some day there wouldn’t be the need for people like him driving around all day collecting money from people.

It was Thursday.  Jack decided to take the day off.  “Would you like to go for lunch to the pub by the Green Ellen?”.  Ellen stopped in her tracks as she headed for the stairs.  “But you know I go out on a Thursday.  I can’t let Betty down”.  “You see her every week” Jack said, his chin dropping to the floor.   “Its too short notice.  I’m sorry” she said, and with that, coat in hand, she walked out the front door leaving a trail of fragrance wafting in the air.

Jack never asked Ellen out on a Thursday again.  They continued their domestic routine, Jack taking a little more notice of Peter as time for leaving school approached.  Peter had his teachers and friends, but listened to whatever his father said about job choices.  He was already playing in a band with his friends but thought of becoming an electrician, which meant getting an apprenticeship.   To the outside world, they were a very ordinary family.

Ellen got the bus at the bottom of the road, which took her to the pub in the next village.  Betty had introduced Ellen to some of her friends.  They were a mixed group and played cards and darts, or just had a drink and a chat.  One was a man from her schooldays.  What started as reminiscing, had turned into something more, and she just loved the way she felt young again for a few hours every week.  She wasn’t about to give it up on a whim from Jack.

Josephine Nolan