Starting Again

Here's the revised ending: They stepped into the lift together. Frank watched their reflections in the polished doors: Sarah in her dark jacket, himself in the navy dress, his hand resting on her arm. For a moment, they looked like strangers on their way to somebody else's evening. Then Sarah tugged at her collar. "If this tie gets any tighter, you may have to cut me out of it." Frank smiled. "After what I went through getting dressed, you're keeping it on until dessert." The restaurant was small and warmly lit, with candles on the tables and soft music from a little dance floor in the back. Sarah gave their name, then followed the waiter between the tables while Frank concentrated on his heels. At the table, they both reached for his chair and stopped. "Sorry," she said. "No, it's all right. I thought I ought to—" "You can, just give me a moment to work out where the skirt goes." She waited while he sat, then took her own seat. For a few seconds, only cutlery and other people's laughter filled the space between them. "You look handsome," Frank offered. Then he winced. "Was that all right?" Sarah glanced down at herself, then back up. "I think so. It surprised me." "I meant you look nice. You've made an effort, and I noticed." Her fingers relaxed around the menu. "Thank you. I nearly wore the other shirt." "So did I," he said, solemnly. "About twenty past five. I was going to abandon the dress and come in trousers." "You should have said. We could have both worn shirts and spent the afternoon watching television." "And missed my argument with the tights?" Sarah laughed, tipping her head back slightly as she always had, and Frank grinned before she'd finished. "What?" she asked. "Nothing. I've missed that." Her smile softened. "So have I." Dinner eased after that. They talked about parcels and neighbours. Sarah confessed to breaking a mug simply by knocking it against the tap. "I keep forgetting how far away my hands are." "I keep getting my hair trapped under my bag strap," Frank said. "Then I think somebody's grabbed me." They laughed, but when the laughter faded, Frank turned his glass between his fingers. "Some mornings are still awful." Sarah put down her fork. "Yes." "I'll be doing something ordinary, making tea or looking for socks, and for a few minutes I forget. Then I catch sight of myself." He looked up. "I didn't know how to talk to you about it. I thought you were avoiding me because you didn't want me anymore." "No." "I know that now. I didn't then." Sarah rested her hand beside his, leaving space between them. Frank closed it. "I don't know what happens next," he admitted. "We can finish dinner," she said, gently. "I meant after tonight." "I know." Her thumb moved once against his fingers. "But dinner seems manageable." Later, she nodded towards the dance floor. "Would you like to?" "I'm likely to tread on you." "I bought sturdy shoes." Once there, they both raised an arm to lead, froze, then laughed again. "We could just sway." "That sounds within my abilities." Their first steps were awkward, then smaller, then easier. "We're dreadful," he said, smiling. "We weren't particularly good before," she reminded him. His shoulders loosened. "I'm glad you said yes," she murmured. "So am I." Later, outside his flat, he admitted, "I had a lovely evening." "Even with the dancing?" "Especially with the dancing," Sarah asked if she could kiss him. "Yes," he said. It was brief and tentative. "Different," he told her, then tightened his fingers on her sleeve. "I didn't say I disliked it." "Perhaps we could have dinner again," he said. "Something simple next time." "Seven o'clock?" "Seven." "Ready at seven?" He smiled. "Come at half past." Her laugh followed him into his flat. Later, he texted: "Thank you for tonight." Her reply came fast: "Thank you for saying yes." He smiled and began searching for the first hairpin.