**DANCE WITH THE DRESS**
A girl, is something the matter?
An elderly gentleman stood beside Emily. He looked as if he had stepped out of the old novels she adored. She had seen him before, strolling through the park in his long black coat, a hat, and a fine cane. He reminded her of the Earl from that book she’d recently read—the one who wore only black and exacted justice with cold precision.
No, I’m alright.
She sniffled, and the man immediately offered her a handkerchief. Emily hesitated, then took it and blew her nose loudly. He smiled, and she studied him again.
I’ll wash it and return it.
He chuckled.
No need—I have plenty. Fancy an ice cream?
She barely knew how to respond, but finally managed a whisper.
Thank you, but I’ve no money. Maybe another time.
Alistair Worthington.
He tipped his hat.
Emily.
She had no hat to tip, so she stood. Alistair offered his arm.
When a gentleman is with a lady—be she a girl, a young woman, or otherwise—paying for ice cream is out of the question.
Emily listened, spellbound. His words belonged to another era. She was used to something far less gallant.
That day, her classmate Charlotte had made her the laughingstock once more. It started at lunch. While the others had gone to the canteen, Emily settled by the window with her book, as usual. She never ate in the canteen—there was no money for that.
Jennings!
Emily looked up. Charlotte stood before her, next to Daniel, the boy she’d fancied since Year 5.
What?
I left half my burger. You can go grab it if you want.
The others were already gathering around.
Thanks, but I’m fine.
What’s the matter—don’t you know what a burger is?
Laughter erupted. Emily jumped from the windowsill—badly. The knees of her worn-out jeans, five years old at least, split open.
The laughter shook the walls. She didn’t stay for class. She grabbed her bag and fled, straight to the park. This had always been her refuge—when school became unbearable, or when her parents filled their flat with raucous guests. She often sat here with a book. That was how Alistair had noticed her. First, he was surprised—seeing a young girl with a book these days was rare. Then he saw how poorly dressed she was, how thin, almost translucent.
They sat at an outdoor table.
Emily, I forgot to eat today. Would you mind keeping me company?
She smiled. The way he spoke—it was as if they were in another century.
Of course. She had had nothing but weak tea that morning. He placed their order, then studied her.
Now, tell me—what could trouble such a lovely young lady?
Nothing serious. Just school nonsense.
What year are you in?
Year 13. In two months, I’ll be free.
And where will you study?
I don’t know yet. Wherever I can get a place. But I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. Though it’ll stay a dream.
Why?
It takes years, and I need to work. So I’ll probably train as a nurse.
Strange logic. You want to be a doctor, but you’ll settle for nursing. Are your marks poor?
No, I do well. It’s just…
She hesitated.
My parents—they need my help.
Alistair understood she didn’t want to elaborate. Their food arrived, and the moment passed. He watched discreetly as she ate—trying not to rush, but barely chewing.
Later, they walked and talked about books.
Emily, I have a book you’d love. Tomorrow, same time—I’ll bring it.
She came. The local library had run out of books she hadn’t read, and she had revisited her favourites more than once.
Their friendship grew. They debated literary characters, and without her noticing, the old man kept her fed. She knew he lived in a grand house—expensive flats, all alone. No children, and his wife long gone.
One evening, she lost track of time reading in the park. It was dark before she realised, and she ran home. Her mother would screech about dinner, though there was nothing to cook—just pasta fried in margarine.
The flat stank of stale beer and cigarettes. Her mother’s drunken glare met her at the door.
Where the hell have you been?
Emily tried to slip past, but a sharp slap made her eye throb.
You’ve got half an hour. If dinner’s not ready, you’ll regret it.
She boiled the damned pasta in silence, tears streaming.
The next morning, a bruise bloomed under her eye. Small, but noticeable. Charlotte, the school’s reigning beauty, would seize it. But skipping wasn’t an option—important mock exams, and Daniel was back from sick leave. She couldn’t miss him.
At break, Charlotte cornered her. Emily stood to leave, but the girl blocked her path.
Jennings, got your prom dress yet? Oh wait—let me guess, you begged it off a tramp.
Laughter. Emily stayed silent. Charlotte leaned in.
Ooh, nice gift. Who gave it to you? Your boyfriend? Bet he’s taking you to prom. He’ll return some bottles for a tux…
Emily shoved her aside and ran. Through the park, sobbing, she barely saw Alistair waving. He found her by the pond.
Why run from me?
She turned.
Alistair, I’m sorry—I didn’t see you.
Emily, what’s happened?
And it all poured out.
At prom, Charlotte stood before Daniel.
Ready to dance with the prom queen?
Daniel smirked.
You sure that’ll be you?
Charlotte scoffed, scanning the room.
Who else?
Well, don’t take it to heart, but…
He was right. Charlotte’s dress—expensive, covered in sequins, slit to perfection—stood out. Hair straight from a magazine. Hard not to when your father owned half the high street. The other girls looked plain beside her.
Hey, where’s our little tramp?
Why do you care? Maybe she’s not coming.
Then who will I laugh at?
Just then, a sleek black car pulled up. A driver in old-fashioned livery opened the door. Out stepped a slender elderly man—a real tailcoat, a proper bow tie, the sort musicians wore at grand concerts.
Who’s that?
Daniel shrugged. Fancy starting prom outdoors—but then the man offered his hand to someone inside.
The girl who emerged wasn’t just beautiful. She was a vision. It took Daniel a moment to recognise Emily beneath the glamour.
That’s…
Charlotte gaped.
The tramp…
All eyes followed Emily and her escort. When the final waltz was announced, Alistair offered his hand.
May I?
Emily had dreamed of dancing at prom, but never like this. They moved gracefully—no one would guess his age.
When the prom queen was crowned, Charlotte stormed out. Emily accepted the tiara with pride. She caught Daniel staring—then glanced at Alistair. Without him…
When he’d offered help, she’d refused. Said it would seem odd. He’d smiled.
You can’t be my daughter. But my granddaughter? That could work.
Daniel approached as she descended the stage.
Hey, you look amazing.
Heat flooded her cheeks.
Thanks…
Dance?
Emily looked at him and burst out laughing.
Daniel, who exactly are you asking—me or the dress?
What?
When I wasn’t wearing all this, you didn’t want to dance. Or even talk. Tell you what—I’ll send it over later. You two can have your moment.
A dance with the dress—how romantic.
Alistair smiled. His granddaughter was fire. And he’d make sure that fire never dimmed. Sometimes, all it took was making one person a little happier. After all, she was all he had left.
