Nicholas Evans: The Horse Whisperer

'Pity it's not raining,' she whispered.

'Come and dance with me,' he said. And he took hold of her before anyone else could and steered her off.

The music was quick and they danced apart, only uncoupling their eyes when the intensity threatened to overwhelm or betray them. To have her so close and yet so inaccessible was like some exquisite form of torture. After the second number, Frank tried to take her away but Tom made a joke of being the older brother and wouldn't yield.

The next number was a slow ballad in which a woman sang about her lover on death row. At last they could get their hands on each other. The touch of her skin and the light press of her body through their clothes almost made him reel and he had for a moment to close his eyes. Somewhere, he knew, Diane would be watching but he didn't care.

The dust dance-floor was crammed. Annie looked about her at the faces and said quietly, 'I need to talk to you. How can we get to talk?'

He felt like saying what is there to talk about? You're going. That's all there is to say. Instead he said, 'The exercise pool. In twenty minutes. I'll meet you.'

She only had time to nod, because the next moment Frank came up again and took her away from him.

Grace's head was spinning and it wasn't just from the two glasses of punch she'd had. She had danced with almost everyone - Tom, Frank, Hank, Smoky, even dear sweet Joe - and the image she'd had of herself was thrilling. She could whirl, she could shimmy, she could even jive. She didn't once lose her balance. She could do anything. She wished Terri Carlson was here to see it. For the first time in her new life, perhaps even her whole life, she felt beautiful.

She needed to pee. There was a toilet at the side of the barn but when she got there she found a line of people waiting to use it. She decided no one would mind if she used one of the bathrooms indoors - she was family enough and after all it was her party, kind of - so she headed for the porch.

She came through the screen door, instinctively keeping her hand on it so it didn't slam. As she walked through the narrow L-shaped boot-room that led to the kitchen, she heard voices. Frank and Diane were having a row.

'You've just had too much to drink,' he said.

'Fuck you.'

'It's none of our business, Diane.'

'She's had her sights on him ever since she got here. Just take a look out there, she's like a bitch in heat.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'God, you men are so dumb.'

There was an angry clatter of dishes. Grace had stopped in her tracks. Just as she decided she'd better go back to the barn and wait in line, she heard Frank's footsteps heading for the open door to the boot-room. She knew she wouldn't have time to leave before he saw her. And if he caught her sneaking out he'd know for sure she'd been eavesdropping. All she could do was head on in and bump into him as if she'd just come in.

As Frank appeared in front of her in the doorway, he stopped and turned back to Diane.

'Anyone'd think you were jealous or something.'

'Oh give me a break!'

'Well you give him a break. He's a grown man, for Christsakes.'

'And she's a married woman with a kid, for Christsakes!'

Frank turned and came into the boot-room, shaking his head. Grace stepped toward him.

'Hi,' she said brightly. He seemed a lot more than just startled but he recovered instantly and beamed.

'Hey, it's the belle of the ball! Howya doing sweetheart?' He put his hands on her shoulders.

'Oh I'm having a great time. Thanks, for doing it and everything.'

'Grace it's a real pleasure, believe me.' He gave her a little kiss on the forehead.

'Is it okay if I use the bathroom in here? Just that there's a whole line of—'

'Course you can! You go right on in.'

When she went through into the kitchen there was no one there. She heard footsteps going upstairs. Sitting on the toilet, she wondered who it was they'd been arguing about and got a first uneasy inkling that perhaps she knew.

Annie got there before him and walked slowly around to the far side of the pool. The air smelled of chlorine. The strike of her shoes on the concrete floor echoed in the caverning darkness. She leaned against the whitewashed block wall and felt its soothing cool on her back. A sliver of light was spilling in from the barn and she watched its reflection on the dead calm water of the pool. In the other world outside, one country song ended and another, barely distinguishable, began.

It seemed impossible that it was only last night that they'd stood there in the creek house kitchen with no one to trouble them or keep them apart. She wished that she'd said then what she was going to tell him now. She hadn't trusted herself to find the right words. This morning when she'd woken in his arms, she had been no less sure, even in that same bed which only a week ago she'd shared with her husband. Her only shame was that she felt none. Still however, something had restrained her from telling him; and now she wondered if it was the fear of how he would react.

It wasn't that she doubted for one moment his love. How could she? There was just something about him, some sad foreshadowing that was almost fatalistic. She had seen it today, in his desperate intent that she should understand what he had done to Pilgrim.

There was a brief flooding of light now at the end of the passageway to the barn. He stopped and scanned for her in the darkness. She stepped toward him and at the sound he saw her and came to meet her. Annie ran the last few separating steps as if suddenly he might be snatched away. She felt in his embrace the same shuddering release of what all evening she had tried herself to contain. Their breathing was as one, their mouths, their blood as if pulsed through interlacing veins by the same heart.

When at last she could speak, she stood in the safety of his arms and told him that she was going to leave Robert. She spoke with such calm as she could muster, her cheek pressed to his chest, fearful perhaps of what she might see in his eyes were she to look. She said she knew how terrible the pain would be for all of them. Unlike the pain of losing Tom however, it was a pain she could at least imagine.

He listened in silence, holding her to him and stroking her face and hair. But when she had finished, still he didn't speak and Annie felt the first cold finger of dread steal upon her. She lifted her head, daring at last to look at him, and saw he was too filled with emotion yet to speak. He looked away across the pool. Outside the music thumped on. He looked back at her and gave a small shake of his head.

'Oh Annie.'

'What? Tell me.'

'You can't do that.'

'I can. I'll go back and tell him.'

'And Grace? You think you can tell Grace?'

She peered at him, searching his eyes. Why was he doing this? She'd hoped for validation and he'd proffered only doubt, thrusting at her immediately the one issue she'd dared not confront. And now Annie realized that in her deliberation she'd resorted to that old self-shielding habit of hers and rationalized it: of course children were upset by these things, she'd told herself, it was inevitable; but if it was done in a civilized, sensitive way there need be no lasting trauma; neither parent was lost, only some obsolete geography. In theory Annie knew this to be so; more than that, the divorces of several friends had proven it possible. Applied here and now, to them and Grace, it was of course nonsense.

He said, 'After what she's suffered—'

'You think I don't know!'

'Of course you do. What I was going to say is that because of that, because you know, you'll never let yourself do this, even if now you think you can.'

She felt tears coming and knew she couldn't stop them.

'I have no choice.' It was uttered in a small cry that echoed around the bare walls like a lament.