"So are you both going to come to the dance on Saturday night?" Cynthia asked her kindly, as the young midwives sat around the kitchen table at Nonnatus House, late on Thursday night, waiting for Jenny and Sister Evangelina to return from delivering a baby.
"Of course they are," Trixie replied before Bernadette could quite get her mouth open, then turned to tell her, "You've got to, you've simply got to, you don't know what you're missing."
Ever since they had found out about the dance, on Monday, it had been a subject of excitement for the other girls and a source of mild anxiety for Bernadette.
"Bernadette, Dr. Turner, are you coming to the dance this Saturday?" Trixie had come bustling into the clinic kitchen, where they had been checking notes together, and posed the question with her usual excited determination that made such questions so very difficult to ignore.
She had opened her mouth to reply, not sure what on earth she was going to say, when he saved her.
"I hardly think now is the moment to discuss it," he had told Trixie, not unkindly, but in a level and firm tone, so that she shrugged in reply and did then get on with her work.
Once she had gone, with slight uncertainty he gave Bernadette the smallest of smiles, as if to say, "I don't mind going if you want to go" and then moved off back into the clinic too.
She caught his eye in the moment before he turned away and smiled back gratefully. But still she was undecided.
"I'm not sure," she told Trixie in reply, taking a sip of her Horlicks, "I've never been to a dance before."
"You don't say," Trixie replied pretending to be surprised, a gently sarcastic smile on her lips, "I thought you hardly missed a dance while you were a nun."
Bernadette could not help laughing a little at that, and both Chummy and Cynthia at the other side of the table guffawed appreciatively.
"If you've never been to one before, that's all the more reason you should go," Trixie concluded with certainty, looking at her with mock sternness, "You've got to make up for all the time you've been missing; and that's final."
"You don't have to go unless you would like to," Cynthia assured her kindly, "But I think you'd like it when you get there. I know Chummy did when we took her there that time with Peter."
"It never ceases to amaze me that he even thought about marrying me after that exhibition," Chummy informed her, while clearly beaming at the memory.
"Of course you'd like it," Trixie told her, "I saw the look on your face when we used to go out."
"What do you mean?" Bernadette asked, taken aback.
"You used to wonder what you were missing," Trixie told her, and Bernadette could tell now that however much she had been joking before, she was serious now, "When we were getting ready to go out, and we played records and all went piling out of the door-..."
"All dressed up to the nines, or in my case the ten and a halfs," Chummy supplied merrily.
There was quiet for a moment.
"Did you ever wonder what it would be like?" Cynthia asked her gently.
A single memory rose in her mind: in the newly-fallen quiet of the recently emptied Nonnatus House; walking the path from the front door to her bedroom; looking curiously into her mirror; taking her veil off and then her glasses, moving her hair over to the other shoulder. She could not lie.
"There were times," she replied softly, "When I would wonder."
"Well," Trixie decided for her, "Now's your chance to find out."
"Dr. Turner won't mind, will he?" Cynthia asked.
"Oh bother if he minds or not!" Trixie told her, "If you want to go, tell him!"
"Still, I should say that that kind of thing's not half the fun without one's own chap," Chummy conjectured, "And still less if you drag him there against his will."
Bernadette smiled; she had no doubt there was wisdom in what Chummy said.
"I think he thinks the company may be a little more youthful than what he's used to," she replied, "But I don't think he'll mind. I'm sure he won't."
"He has you to keep him young now," Trixie told her, "And that doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest."
…...
"So you told them we'd go?" he asked her, the following evening, in the sitting room at Nonnatus House, when she told him about the conversation and asked him if he was still free on Saturday evening.
"You don't mind, do you?" she asked him by way of reply.
"Why would I mind if it makes you happy?" he enquired, "But I must make sure Timothy doesn't go getting any ideas," he joked, "He's far too young to be going out to dances, and I don't want him thinking that just because his father does it means that he has to."
She smiled a little at that remark.
"Why do you look so nervous?" he asked her.
"Do I?"
"Yes," he replied, "What's wrong? Don't you want to go?"
"No, I want to," she replied, "I do. They did talk me into it a bit, but I realise now, they were right. When I couldn't go, I always wanted to, I always wondered what it would be like. So now that I can find out it would be foolish not to."
"So what's the matter, then?" he pressed.
There was a moment's pause.
"I can't dance," she confessed.
"Not at all?" he asked in reply, a little surprised.
"Well, they taught us to waltz at school," she told him, "But somehow that's not quite how I picture this event on Saturday."
"No," he agreed, "I see what you mean."
There was a moment's pause.
"Imagine Trixie doing a waltz," he told her, a smile on his face, "Or Chummy."
"They'd be bored, and frightened out of their wits," she replied, laughing a little, "From what I've heard Chummy's quite a sight to be seen when she dances anyway."
He smiled at her.
"Then you have nothing to worry about," he told her, "Even if you're a sight too. We'll be four sights; you, me, Peter and Chummy."
She smiled in return, but still it did not seem to convince him that she was altogether at ease.
"Would you like to put on a record and have a practice now?" he asked her, apparently reading her mind, "Would it make you feel better?"
"Yes, please," she nodded enthusiastically.
Smiling at her encouragingly, he moved quickly to the corner of the room to where the wireless stood. He fiddled with the dial until he fond some music that they could dance to.
"Now, just follow me," he told her, taking her hand, "I'll keep you upright."
"Where did you learn to dance?" she asked him, as they moved, when they had got used to it enough to be quite comfortable.
"I didn't really," he told her, "I always just make it up."
"Then how can you teach me?" she asked him.
"But you're doing it, aren't you?" he asked her.
And so she was. She was dancing quite happily along as a vibrant and quite quick song played, and not having too much difficultly. She smiled at him incredulously.
"It's all about confidence," he told her, taking hold of both her hands again, "Thinking you can do it. Like learning to walk. And not minding if you look a fool."
She laughed.
"No, I don't really mind that," she conceded happily
"Good," he told her taking her hands and spinning her round, "Just as well."
The song ended, and a much slower one started to play. They slowed too, stepping closer together, moving slowly as one unit in small circles. She felt her breath, which had been a little ragged from dancing so energetically calm again, and she let out a gentle sigh as she rested her head against his shoulder. She felt the gentle pressure of his chin resting in her hair, the soothing sound of his breath near her ear, and her eyes fell shut as they turned.
"We're going to be alright," he told her, and she sensed he did not just mean at the dance.
"Yes," she agreed, feeling herself smile.
So wrapped up in each other, neither of them noticed when Sister Julienne hovered for a moment in the doorway, intending to come into the sitting room. Catching sight of the young couple, she stopped abruptly, taken aback. But then, her face relaxed into a smile, her hand rested gently on the door frame, watching the young couple dance for a moment. Then she smiled once more, and moved off.
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