They’re coming now. Boarding the night train to Wigan from Crewe. They leave behind their bald, gummy ghosts, clutching clapped-out hearts and cans of Special Brew. From dreary council flats and drab maisonettes, they’re coming now. On the platform, tinselled with snow, they’re laughing and dancing. Mullet-haired in svelte tank-tops and high-waisted flares, they spin, kung-fu kick and back-drop. They no longer feel the cold. Their pain is gone now.
They sprint through the Grand Arcade, strip lights flickering, past the plastic palms, static waterfalls, the shop selling mobility scooters and walking frames. On the upper floor, behind the closed down TK Max, a mirage of double doors. In a scrum they push through onto the heaving sprung-wooden dancefloor and in an ecstasy of sweat, talc and Brut, a thousand pairs of sparkling eyes lift upwards on a soul-clap.
Near the stage and DJ, a throng of circle-skirted girls worship at the shrine of the Casino kings. The best dancers — Johnno, Pinky, Kev. Forever young, their hazy crowns gleam.
Jane Salmons lives in Shropshire. She has two poetry collections, The Quiet Spy (Pindrop Press, 2022) and The Bridge (Offa’s Press, 2024). Jane’s microfiction has been shortlisted for the BFFA and nominated for Best Microfiction, Best Small Fictions and Best of the Net. She won the Pokrass Prize in 2022.
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