Read Online The Ballroom on Magnolia Street by Sharon Owens - Free Book Online

And he wouldn’t be worried that he was getting himself involved with a limpet-girl. He would be flattered and delighted that a lovely girl like Shirley Winters wanted to get to know him better. And of course, he would fancy her, too. He would have to close his eyes with the sheer strain of stopping himself from falling on her and tearing the brocade coat off her pale and tender shoulders, like a vampire seducing a willing virgin in a Hammer horror film.
    She would like him to do that, of course, but he would wait. He was a gentleman. He would savour this time before any intimacy took place, because afterwards there would be no going back. They would be a couple for life. The gods would make sure of it. For the moment, they would begin their courtship in the usual way; they would dance.
    What would they dance to? A selection of songs appeared in Shirley’s head; a romantic jukebox of the mind. Japan would be the band. There was nothing to match their mixture of bitter-sweet longing. ‘I Second That Emotion’ would be the song. He would hold her hand, and lead her onto the floor as if they were professional dancers. They would melt into each other’s arms and begin a smouldering dance together. Even the worldly Kate would be suddenly awestruck.
    They would sway beautifully, still without speaking, their fingertips buzzing with chemicals, their eyes maintaining contact all the time, moving around the floor, his arm firmly around her waist, or a hand placed gently on her back, sometimes touching her face. She would be graceful and dignified; not the opinionated daydreamer she usually was. (Saying too much, too soon, and then running out of steam.) Afterwards, Kate would applaud them, then they would say goodnight to the ballroom and collect their coats, and walk along the streets of Belfast, holding hands. And there would be no one else on the streets; no drunks, hooligans, layabouts, wasters, troublemakers, clowns or losers of any description. And the streets would be clean of chips and cigarette butts and political slogans and hungry dogs. The council sweepers would have washed all the dust away, just for them. Everyone in the city would be happy for them. It was a fantasy, after all.
    Where would they go? It was too common to kiss in the street, with the outline of house bricks pressing into your back. She couldn’t bring him to her own tiny bedroom with its pink floral wallpaper, small single bed with a homely patchwork quilt on it, and the rickety dressing table piled high with junk jewellery, satin roses and diamanté clips in a cracked china dish. Not to mention the pop posters, which she was really too old for. The atmosphere would be all wrong, far too personal. And finally, there was her bossy mother, her nervous father, all the kitsch holy pictures from the mission stall, and the carpet that was threadbare at the top of the stairs.
    His house? No. She would worry about his parents coming into the room. Wealthy people made her uneasy. They might start talking about golf, exotic holidays or the stock market. Shirley didn’t know the first thing about money. And if she had to drink tea out of expensive china cups, she’d be sure to drop hers and break it and disgrace herself.
    They could go to the most lavish suite of the most expensive hotel in the city. The room would be booked already, and waiting for them, stocked up with fancy coffee and fresh flowers. Maybe that would be too intimidating? Okay, then, just an ordinary hotel; but with a friendly feeling about it? No. Still too impersonal .
    A garden? Yes, a beautiful garden with a tall hedge all around it, full of rhododendron trees in full bloom. Shirley liked rhododendrons. The rich scent of them, and the sheer size of the flowers, made them seem somehow magical.
    It would begin to rain. Suddenly. Heavily. Shirley loved rain. Rain made people scurry indoors and she had the streets all to herself. When it was raining, no young boys bothered to snigger at her