Love Letters Read Online Free PDF

It’s supposed to be a bit laid-back. You don’t have to look like Sandy in Grease .’
    Laura stopped trying to smooth her hair. ‘Grant, I don’t mind dressing the part but I’m not actually going to do Lindy Hopping. You do know that, don’t you?’
    Grant smiled at her. ‘Come along. It’s going to be a great night.’
    Together they walked down the road to the minicab office. Grant was going to sleep on Laura’s sofa that night so he could drink.
    ‘I hope it’s not the sort of place where you have to get legless just to get through the evening,’ said Laura.
    ‘Have you ever been legless?’ Grant demanded.
    ‘Not often, no,’ said Laura meekly. ‘I really am boring!’
    The club was already full and buzzing when they arrived. They made their way down the steps to the basement and Grant paid. A band was playing wonderful old numbers that made Laura’s foot tap even though she’d sworn she wouldn’t dance.
    Grant bought her a glass of wine and put it into her hand. ‘Let’s see if we can find somewhere to sit, before the girls come on.’
    ‘The girls’, he had reminded her on the way, were the band called the Sisters of Swing he’d been bending her ear about for the last couple of weeks. They sang traditional swing numbers and Grant was very keen to see them live.
    Laura followed Grant as he headed for a cluster of tables and chairs, taking in what was going on around her. All sorts of people, wearing quite a variety of clothes, were dancing hugely energetically. Slipping easily into her favourite role as observer, she found the crowd fascinating. There were young men dancing with much older women and young women dancing with older men, not (she felt sure) because anything was going on between them, but because they could both dance well. Age was no barrier; dancing was all.
    Grant found a couple of seats and they sat down, Laura unable to stop watching the play that was going on around them. Every so often someone from the stage issued instructions to ‘freeze’ and then say if it was the men or the women who should choose new partners. Laura was fascinated.
    ‘Look at the shoes!’ said Grant, indicating a pair of brown and white corespondent shoes.
    Once they’d spotted the first pair, they realised women were wearing similar shoes, only with heels and T-bars. There were what even Laura knew as jazz shoes, ballet slippers (they looked a bit vulnerable), character shoes, and ordinary street shoes.
    ‘This is fun!’ said Laura, surprising herself.
    ‘Glad you can recognise “fun”!’ said Grant and then his complacency fell away. ‘Oh God, we may actually have to do this.’
    Laura turned to where he was looking and saw a determined girl coming towards Grant. Highly amused at the thought of her gay friend being swept off by a young Amazon, she didn’t spot the man heading towards her. Before she knew what was happening she found herself pulled to her feet. Her potential partner was about her age, with curly hair and eyelashes to match. He was wearing baggy trousers and a striped cotton shirt, braces and a pork-pie hat on the back of his head.
    ‘Hi!’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Laura! But I’m only here for the band!’
    ‘So, dance?’
    She shook her head, from habit as much as anything. ‘Oh no, I said, I’m only here for the band.’
    ‘Nonsense. Come on!’
    Laura found herself getting to her feet at the insistence of her partner. At first she could only stand, bemused, but then some dance lessons, given by a friend of her mother’s, years ago, came back to her. She began to enjoy the feeling of flippancy and fun the music and the dancing gave her. Her partner didn’t seem to care that she was more or less making it up as she went along. She found herself whirled around, held, pushed away, brought back again, all in minutes. When she was allowed to sit down again she was exhausted. ‘Thank you so much! That was such fun.’
    ‘You should come more often,’