Impasse, or Divorce, Tango-style

She was on a cross and the only way out was downwards, so she wrenched herself free from the nails and fell into the depths of volcanic dust, and woke up choking, and the mountain with the cross had disappeared and the children were crying in the next room.

But then was then and now is now and now they balance on the balls of their feet, in a temporary weight-shifting stalemate, and wait until the equilibrium evaporates and then she senses his body moving backwards and inviting her into the vacated space. She accepts the invitation.

And what am I going to do next? Are my job skills still up-to-date or am I wasting my time and even if they are, can I afford to work or will the nursery be too expensive?

And she closes her eyes better to feel his intentions and she feels her unaccustomed heels digging into the sprung floor.

What should I wear to the hearing? Formal or casual?

And the wiry semaphore of his shoulder movements manipulates her into seemingly random areas of the room, as they travel together, closely held in a formal intimacy, with the feel of his hand on the small of her back and the feel of his head looking over her shoulder, guiding the way into the next three seconds of immediate future.

And will I even get custody of the kids because he's got the photographs of me and he'll try to prove that I'm an unfit person to be a parent and that I have been ever since the accident.

And the sweat and the aftershave of him rinses over her then gets flicked away into the room as he accelerates into a series of double-timed strides and she matches him, half-step to half-step.

I can't give up the classes – they're what keep me sane.

And she feels his hand increasing and relaxing the pressure on her back as they spark across the room like human shrapnel.

And will I keep the house, that's the worry - will I keep the house?

And a body swivel puts him on the outside, and their heads are diagonalled, and they are staring towards and through each other, and they pursue their own separate tracks, parallel but not the same, so that each of his steps forward is into virgin territory.

And a wrench to his left side and a part-rotation of his body and a following suit on her part puts her left foot in front of her right.

And now she is stuck. Now she is in a cross and the only way out is backwards. Now the position of her own body has locked her off from all other directions. He attempts to muscle forwards and get her moving in reverse, but she resists, her will as strong as his, and her biceps more powerful. An unresolved tension shocks through their bodies and earths out on the sprung floor. Their eyes meet again. Couples glide around them. They stare each other out. They do not move. If they were to move, it would all be over.