THE DANCE WITH THE DRESS
“Miss, is everything all right?”
An elderly gentleman stood beside Emily. He looked as though he’d stepped straight out of the classic novels she loved so much. She’d seen him here before, often strolling through the park in his long black coat, hat, and carrying an elegant cane. He reminded her of that earl from the book she’d recently read—the one who only wore black and delivered justice with cold precision.
“I’m fine,” she murmured.
She sniffled, and the man immediately offered her a handkerchief. After a brief hesitation, she took it and blew her nose loudly. He chuckled, and Emily looked up at him again.
“I’ll wash it and return it.”
He smiled. “No need, I’ve plenty to spare. How about some ice cream?”
She hesitated, then whispered, “Thank you, but I haven’t any money. Maybe another time.”
“William Hartley.” He tipped his hat.
“Emily.” She had nothing to tip, so she stood instead. William offered his arm.
“When a gentleman is with a lady—be she a girl or a woman—her paying for ice cream is quite out of the question.”
Emily listened, mesmerised. His words belonged to another era, so unlike the world she knew.
Today had been unbearable. Her classmate, Charlotte, had humiliated her yet again—this time during lunch. While the others went to the canteen, Emily stayed behind with her book, skipping meals as usual.
“Smith!”
She looked up. Charlotte stood before her, flanked by James, the boy Emily had fancied herself in love with since primary school.
“What?”
“Left you half a sausage in the canteen. If you hurry, you might catch it.”
Laughter bubbled around her.
“No, thank you,” Emily said, jumping down from the windowsill—only for her threadbare jeans, years past their prime, to split at the knee. The room erupted. She didn’t stay for class.
The park was her refuge—when school was unbearable, or when her parents hosted their rowdy gatherings. Books kept her company, and that was how William Hartley had first noticed her. A girl reading these days was a rarity. Then he noticed how thin she was, how poorly dressed.
They sat at an outdoor café.
“Emily, I’ve neglected lunch today. Would you humour an old man with your company?”
She smiled. He spoke as though they were still in the past.
Of course, she agreed. She’d had nothing but weak tea that morning.
He ordered, then studied her. “Now, tell me what troubles such a lovely young lady.”
“Just school nonsense.”
“Which year are you in?”
“Eleventh. Two more months, and I’m free.”
“University?”
“I don’t know yet… Wherever I get a scholarship. I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. But that’s just a dream.”
“Why?”
“Medical school takes too long. I’ll need to work. So, nursing, most likely.”
William frowned. “Strange logic—wanting to be a doctor, settling for nursing. Are studies the problem?”
“No, I do well enough. It’s just…” She hesitated. “My parents need help.”
He understood—family was a sore subject.
When the food arrived, he watched her eat unnoticed. She tried to pace herself, but she barely chewed.
Later, they walked and talked of books.
“I have one you’d like,” William said. “I’ll bring it tomorrow, same time. Be here.”
She came. The library had run dry of new novels long ago—she’d reread what little they had.
Their friendship grew. They debated literary characters, and without her realising, he kept her fed. She knew he lived alone in a fine house—no children, a wife long gone.
Once, reading too late, she only noticed the dark when the words blurred. If she didn’t hurry home, her mother would scream about supper—though “supper” was just pasta fried in vegetable oil.
The flat reeked of booze and cigarettes. Her mother swayed, eyes glazed.
“Where’ve you been?”
Emily tried to slip past, but a slap sent her reeling, her eye throbbing.
“Half an hour. If I come back and there’s no food—”
She boiled the wretched pasta, crying silently.
The next morning, the bruise stood out. Charlotte would notice, mock her—nothing new. But today was an exam, and James was back from sick leave. She couldn’t skip.
At break, Charlotte cornered her.
“Smith, got your prom dress yet? Oh, wait—let me guess. You’ll borrow one from a tramp?”
Laughter.
Charlotte leaned in. “Nice shiner. Boyfriend give you that?”
Emily shoved past and ran—through the hall, the park—not even seeing William wave. He found her by the pond, staring at the water.
“Running from me?”
She turned. “Mr Hartley, I’m sorry—I didn’t see you.”
“What’s happened?”
And she told him—everything.
——
Prom night.
Charlotte smirked, adjusting her designer gown. “Ready to dance with the queen of the ball?”
James shrugged. “That confident?”
She scoffed. “Who’s competing?”
He was right. Charlotte’s dress—all sequins and slits—outshone the others. If your father owned half the high street, looking flawless was easy.
Just then, a sleek black car pulled up outside. A chauffeur in old-fashioned livery opened the door. A slim, elderly man stepped out—proper black-tie, real bow-tie, the sort concert pianists wore.
“Who’s that?” James muttered.
Then the man offered his hand.
The girl who emerged was breathtaking—straight from another century. It took James a moment to recognise Emily beneath the elegance.
Charlotte gaped. “That’s—her.”
When the waltz was announced, William offered his hand.
“May I?”
In her wildest dreams, Emily had never imagined this. They spun, graceful, ageless.
Charlotte stormed out when Emily was crowned prom queen. James approached afterwards.
“You look… amazing.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Thanks.”
“Dance?”
She looked at him and laughed.
“James—are you planning to dance with me, or the dress?”
“What?”
“When I didn’t have any of this, you wouldn’t even talk to me. Tell you what—I’ll send it to you later. You can dance with it instead.”
William chuckled—his granddaughter was fire itself. And he’d make sure that fire never went out.
For all he had left was her.
