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“Alright Georgie, are you clear on your bit again?”
“Yeah, I hijack the music and lights while you distract him.”
“This is an absolutely dreadful idea.” Antigone cut in, in a tone somehow more weary than usual.
“Don’t worry, I’m great at going unnoticed. And you could stand to have a bit of fun once in a while, Antigone. Don’t you want to see Chapman fail at something?” Georgie grinned over at the other woman, cocking an eyebrow
“Well, yes,” Antigone conceded, “but am I really the only one who’s noticed that every time we try to sabotage his plans, he just comes out of it better than ever?”
“Nonsense. If we do it enough, he’s bound to suffer eventually,” replied Rudyard, who had presumably never heard Einstein’s definition of insanity. I privately rather agreed with Antigone, but I thought this would make a fascinating inclusion to the latest volume of Memoirs of a Funeral House Mouse (available from all major rodent retailers!), so I squeaked my agreement from Rudyard’s shoulder.
“See, Madeleine thinks I’m right. Anyway, no use in delaying. Ready?”
Georgie and Antigone nodded, the former notably more enthusiastically, and we ventured into the belly of the beast: the Village Hall.
At this point, valued reader, it occurs to me that some context may do you good. You see, Rudyard and Georgie (and Antigone, begrudgingly) had been scheming for weeks for a new way to disgrace the Chapman name and win back some business, after Chapman had announced a truly inexcusable plan, an insult to all values held by Funn Funerals: he would be hosting a Village Tea Dance.
Rudyard could not abide Dances. They were filled with old people who refused to give him business and got insulted when he dropped comments about their mortality, the cake was always too dry and had too much icing, and the music was insufferable. Anything hosted by Chapman was only going to make all this worse, and so naturally it was up to him to sabotage it. At this point, it would be uncharacteristic not to.
And so we planned, and Antigone found a dress that smelt slightly less of preservative chemicals, and Georgie even fixed a small bow to my tail (she is great at crafting accessories for rodents, after all), and we found ourselves stood outside as soft music spilled from the open doors to the Hall.
Upon entering, a few things became clear. First of all, this had been infuriatingly well organised. Couples were scattered across the floor swaying to the music and laughing amongst themselves. The food table looked appropriately stocked with cakes and those tiny sandwiches (I asked Rudyard to sneak me one when he got the opportunity). Worst of all, Chapman was smiling warmly, and he had spotted Rudyard. This was, admittedly, a part of the plan, as Chapman needed to be suitably distracted in order for proper sabotage to occur, but I knew that having to hold a conversation with him that wasn’t openly hostile could be more than Rudyard was capable of. I gave him a quick pep talk, and he scooped me into his breast pocket as he turned to face Chapman. I peeked out to signal Georgie while Antigone uncomfortably fielded questions and distracted attendees as she confirmed that no, she wasn’t dead actually. The plan was in motion.
“Rudyard! Didn’t expect to see you here, how are you? Enjoying it?”
“The Funns are notoriously fans of dances, Chapman. Although this one is rather too extravagant,” he scorned, gesturing to the few ribbons and banners draped rather artistically across the wall.
“You enjoy a dance? I’ve got to say I didn’t expect that, actually, what with… well, it’s a nice surprise, anyway.” Chapman did seem taken aback at this, looking at Rudyard curiously. Naturally, Rudyard was completely oblivious to this, but to my trained eyes it rather looked like there was something Chapman was nervous to say.
“Now look here,” Rudyard bluffed, “who’s to say I couldn’t enjoy this sort of thing? I find your assumptions about me rather hurtful actually, Chapman. I’m not just a brilliant funeral director you know.” I wriggled around in his pocket to tell him he was overdoing it a bit, but miraculously Chapman seemed not to notice his furtive glancing around the room.
“You’re right, of course you’re right. Actually, ah, if you like 'this sort of thing', I was wondering if sometime, that is to say, when you’re free, would you want to go-” Chapman cut himself as a slow, rather raunchy beat came across the sound system, rather different to the waltz that had been playing before. Georgie had found the music, then.
“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t remember putting this on the playlist,” Chapman puzzled, turning to see confused villagers glancing at each other.
“Oh, has something gone wrong? Planning this sort of event requires a lot of precision you know, Chapman, it’s no wonder you messed up. The dance is a ruin.” Rudyard’s voice was already smug, and a smile flicked across his face before he could try and school his expression into concern.
“Well, I don’t know about a ruin,” Chapman considered. Across the room, feet were tapping. Couples on the floor began to shift to the slower, gentle beat, and even I had to admit that my paws were swaying where I was secluded. What can I say, the song was catchy. I even caught a glimpse of the mayor pulling the Reverend up to dance, saying something about ‘their song’. It was too soon to be sure, but it seemed the event was yet to be properly spoiled.
“Actually,” Chapman continued, a flush growing across his cheeks, “would you want to dance?” He held a hand out to Rudyard, who was turning a spectacular shade of pink rapidly.
“Now look here Chapman, I don’t- that is to say I- this is ridiculous,” he finished lamely, hands twitching by his sides.
“Well, why? We’re at a dance, after all. I can lead, if you’re not confident.” His hand faltered slightly, but remained outstretched to Rudyard. I privately thought that this was, however unintentionally, a stroke of genius on his part: if there was anything that could Rudyard to do something it was a challenge.
“Not confident? Now look here, I am a perfectly good dancer, Chapman. I’ll show you.” He decisively took Chapman’s hand and pulled him into a hallway, his blush growing as it fuelled by indignation (and something rather potent, I suspected).
“What are you doing?” Chapman questioned, as Rudyard shut the door and glanced along the hall.
“Well, I’m certainly not going to dance with you where people will see us. Honestly, Chapman,” he shook his head, as if this was a perfectly natural thought process. “Now,” he began, feet tapping to the beat still audible through the thin doors, “You’ll lead. I presume you know how to rumba?”
This didn’t seem common knowledge to me, but Chapman nodded, to my surprise. “Yeah, I’m pretty good. I might be a bit rusty though, it was- a long time ago…” he broke off for a second, before coming back to himself. “Are you sure you don’t want to be leading?”
“Of course not, you fool. You’re too tall, I couldn’t spin you, could I?” He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe Chapman’s foolishness. “Now look here,” Rudyard took Chapman’s hands in his own, and started counting quietly to a beat, “1, 2, 3, 4.”
And the two of then began to dance.
I had never seen Rudyard’s legs move quite so fluidly, or so precisely. He had mentioned to me that he and Antigone had been taught dance when they were younger, that it was considered proper knowledge befitting of a Funn, but, I was ashamed to admit to myself, I had never considered the idea that he had been any good. He was smooth, and confident as in so few other areas of his life, and I think he must have been a sight to behold. Chapman, for his part, was keeping up admirably, although he seemed understandably thrown by the revelation that Rudyard had hips, and knew how to use them. The two of them swayed in motion, mirroring one another’s steps, as they leant in close to one another. I had to shrink inward slightly to avoid being pressed against Chapman’s chest as well. The song swelled behind the doors as saxophones rang out, and the two of them rocked together. Chapman lifted his arm to guide Rudyard into a spin, his other hand brushing against his chest before resting on his back again. They seemed lost in each other; I didn’t move for fear of disturbing them.
How long they rocked back and forth like that, I don’t think either of them could tell you. Their eyes were locked onto the other’s face, breathing coming heavy as the tension in the air between them grew thick. This was providing excellent material for my latest novel, but it felt private, in a way so many details of Rudyard’s life did not. I think he may have forgotten me entirely as he swayed there, and it was hard to begrudge him that, pressed close to Eric Chapman as he was.
I heard the song come to an end, and the two of them idly acknowledged this, slowing their movements until they stood still, still pressed close to one another. Rudyard’s gaze was locked on Chapman’s lips as time stood still for the two of them. It was hard to tell which of them had moved forward first, but they were inches from each other. It would have taken nothing at all for the distance to be closed, except for the courage to close it.
Footsteps sounded close to the door, and the two of them seemed to realise where they were again. They snapped apart awkwardly, Rudyard ducking his head and blushing furiously and Chapman shuffled slightly awkwardly.
“Yes, ah, very good. I showed you I’m a competent dancer, so there. Hah. Hm.” Rudyard blustered, fidgeting slightly. “I should be going, Antigone will be floundering out there trying to explain why she’s alive.” He turned to leave, but was stopped by Chapman’s hand still in his, pulling slightly.
“Rudyard,” he began hesitantly, “this was nice, I think?”
“Yes, I, ah. I suppose it was a success for you, by any rate.”
“Well, if you think so, I might hold one again.”
“Good for you, Chapman, now if you could please-“
“Would you like that? To do this again?”
Rudyard seemed to finally sense the vulnerability in Chapman’s voice, the question hidden beneath. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” Chapman released his hand, and Rudyard flexed his fingers slightly as he placed the other palm on the doors. “I look forward to it.”
I wriggled my head out of his pocket finally, twisting to see Chapman’s gaze following Rudyard’s hips as he walked away, pulling a grateful Antigone away from a crowd of pensioners with a weak excuse. They pushed their way outside into the cool air, meeting Georgie where she was perched on a metal railing having what looked to be a spirited debate with the village hoodlums. The four of us strolled back home mostly in silence, Rudyard allowing me to climb up and perch on his head. I mimed gripping his hair to pilot him like in that film Georgie had shown us the previous week, which caused Antigone to giggle, which then set Georgie off until the three of us were having a wonderful time. Rudyard still seemed somewhat distant, lifting a hand to flex his fingers or touch his lips once or twice, and though I wanted to snap him out of it, I graciously did not bring this up around the other two.
Once Georgie had seen the two of them home safely (although what was really likely to happen in Piffling Vale), she grabbed her helmet and prepared to drive home. We waved her off as Antigone yawned and Rudyard was still distacted, before heading into the kitchen for a cup of hot water before bed.
Antigone nudged her brother and scowled, although there was no real bad nature in it, as she teased him. “As much as I absolutely love to say I told you so, I won’t,” she commented, blowing on her cup before sipping hesitantly, “but once again we tried to sabotage Chapman’s plans, and he came out of it better than ever, and this was an absolutely dreadful idea.”
“I don’t know,” Rudyard replied tapping his foot slowly to a slow, silent beat, as he replayed the memory of strong hands on his back and a phantom pair of lips against his own, smile hidden as he brought his cup to his lips. “It wasn’t all that bad.”