Music Hall 

Sheila walked into the old music hall. The smell of gathered dust made her sneeze uncontrollably, her eyes watering. Her tapered fingers reached into her pocket for her silk hanky. It was only after she had blown her nose that she noticed the little piece of chewed gum in one of the corners of the hanky. She’d have to have a word with Sam when she got back. He was way too cute and adorable to keep a straight face with, but she’d have to pretend to look as stern as possible while telling him off.

Little Sam. Her little Sam. Her little man of the house.

Now better composed, she picked up her walking stick and re-entered the music hall. Clutched in her hand was a black and white photo. A sea full of hopeful, excited faces smiled back. Class of ‘69. Young and carefree.

In the far right of the picture was him. Her dad. His chiselled features threatening to dominate the photo. And sitting on his lap was her mum. An undiscovered Marilyn Monroe look-alike if she ever did see one. They looked happy together. Nothing like the bitter twisted individuals they’d later make each other become. If she hadn’t discovered the picture in the attic, she wouldn’t have known that there was actually a time when they could stand each other. When they could bear to be in each other’s space. When they actually loved each other.

Love. A word she’d never heard them exchange apart from when her mum said she’d love to see him jump off a bridge.

Love. A word a father never said to his daughter even when she swung her little chubby arms around him and blew on his cheeks and told him: I love you, Daddy.

There was too much of her mum in Sheila, her hair, her features, her gait - and as Sheila grew, her dad grew even more distant from her. She didn’t know exactly why until she found that picture and saw her reflection staring back at her.

Mum and dad loved to dance back then. It was their lifeblood. The Class of ‘69 had won the National Senior High Dancing Championships for two years in a row. In this very hall.

It was in this hall that they had fallen in love. That’s what Aunt Sally had told her when she’d shown her the picture.

Sheila walked across the hall and opened the windows to let the air and light in. She imagined them - teenagers in love - spinning round and round and round - and laughing.

The other day at the family barbeque, mum and dad accidentally brushed hands. Something was different. Softer.

And so first thing in the morning, Sheila went to the old music hall. It wasn’t too late. She knew that somewhere deep inside, they still loved each other. They were just too old, proud and set in their ways to admit it.

She’d drag them to the hall if she had to.