‘I know, but–’
‘She deserves her job back.’
‘There’s no way Van’s letting her set foot on the yard. You can’t blame her.’
‘No, but then this mess is partly her fault.’ Patrick folded his arms. Why wasn’t Robbie even trying to help? ‘Come on, Rob. You’ve never been able to resist playing the hero. Do you think you can be Libby’s hero without getting divorced?’
‘Naomi,’ Robbie bellowed, his scowl growing, ‘you need to get on him. Today preferably. I can’t do it to Van. It’d crucify her.’
Bollocks. ‘If you can’t give her a job, there is something else.’
‘What?’
‘Did you see this?’ Patrick took a folded up page from his pocket. ‘It’s from the Guardian the other week. It’s the Broken Ballerina story.’
‘Yeah, I saw… Jesus, that’s not Libby is it?’
Patrick nodded.
‘I knew she used to be a ballet dancer, but…’ Robbie frowned at him. ‘Has she told you about it?’
‘Yes.’ Patrick turned his attention to the bay horse the clueless Naomi was struggling to clamber onto.
‘When?’
‘When it was in the paper. Look, what I know is irrelevant. What you need to do is persuade Clara to get Libby to her mum’s dance studio.’
‘Why me? You ring Clara.’
‘Because Clara will assume something that isn’t happening. Besides, she does anything you ask.’ Patrick frowned as Sambuca shifted under Naomi’s weight – the girl couldn’t weigh more than eight stone. ‘I think Libby might be right. It’s his back. We should scan it.’
* * *
Libby pushed open the doors to the community hall, fighting the urge to go home and hide under her duvet. No. Failing to attend Pilates was unacceptable. It only ran at term-times on a Thursday. She couldn’t miss it just because a few people might point and whisper. Besides, Pilates was as good for the soul as it was the body. Okay, it wasn’t yoga or grounding, but it worked for her. The gentle stretches were more calming than running, or even dancing. And being realistic, it was the only good thing in her life. That and Hyssop.
She smiled at the yummy mummies and waved to Gladys, the trendy granny, happy that none of them seemed to be snickering behind her back, but her smile vanished when she saw the glossy black bob of Vanessa Golding. Oh God, no.
Sheena the instructor opened the doors, inviting them in, but Libby couldn’t move. Robbie had told her the Haverton Community Centre had a Pilates class. How would he have known, except for his wife being a regular? Libby had lost her job and her friendship with Robbie, surely Vanessa couldn’t take this from her too.
She needed to leave, to go to Paolo who rang every other day, or to see her parents, who hadn’t rung for months. Libby staggered away, tears already falling. Paolo, parents... it didn’t matter. She just had to pick a destination.
‘Oh crikey, don’t. You’ll have me set off.’ Vanessa grabbed her arm and before Libby could protest, led her away to the little café. ‘The hot drinks are bloody awful, but they do a fantastic can of Diet Coke.’
Libby stared at her.
‘You don’t like Diet Coke?’
‘Actually, I quite like the tea they do here.’ Libby wiped her eyes. ‘Your accent. You’re Welsh.’
‘Yes...’
‘He told me so much about you, but he never said you were Welsh.’
‘Oh.’ Vanessa’s foot jiggled under the table. ‘So he said you came here, but now I’ve been coming for years–’
‘It’s a big hall and I don’t have anything else. Can’t we share, just this?’ Tears rolled down Libby’s face and she craved a cigarette, but she lacked the energy to run away.
‘I’m not here to… I wanted to say sorry.’
Libby looked up. ‘What?’
‘And thank you.’ Vanessa paused, sipping her drink. ‘He told me everything, how you always said I would come back. Thanks for doing that. I think if you hadn’t... maybe he’d never have had the guts to ask me to come home.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Libby wiped her eyes. ‘Don’t do it again.’
‘I won’t.’ Vanessa sat on her hands, jiggling her feet. ‘Do you love him?’
Libby shook her head. ‘But I do miss him. He was a good friend.’
‘I think he misses you too.’ Vanessa took a deep breath. ‘He’s asked me if you can come back to work. I said no. It’s too much to ask, right now.’
Libby’s heart surged with hope. ‘Right now? You mean–’
‘Maybe. I don’t know. Just maybe. But I will try, like socially. Just... stay away from Rob.’
Tears pricked at Libby’s eyes again as she nodded. ‘You really are the nicest person in the world. Everyone said so. I didn’t think anyone was this nice.’
‘I’m not a saint, Libby.’ Vanessa tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘And if I ever think that–’
‘You won’t. I promise.’
‘And I’ve a favour to ask.’
‘Anything.’
‘Rob wants to make sure you’re okay. He worries.’ Vanessa took a deep breath. ‘And I hear you’re at a bit of a loss, now that you can’t dance. I need you to do something about that.’
‘Why?’ Libby frowned, dubious.
‘Because if you don’t, Rob won’t be able to stop himself from rescuing you and that’ll kill my marriage.’
‘I...’
‘Rob was concocting some charade with Clara, but I think honesty is better.’ Vanessa handed her a business card. ‘You’re supposed to be there at four on Monday.’
Libby stared at the card. The Keeley Dance Studio. Oh God. ‘I’m sorry, I–’
‘If you’re about to tell me that you can’t, look me in the eye and do it.’
Libby couldn’t. Instead she stroked the ballerina on the business card. ‘I just don’t know if–’
‘Being here is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, so you’ll damn well look me in the eye and tell me you can’t do it.’
Libby raised her head, her jaw clenched. ‘I’ll be there.’
* * *
‘Jane rang. Libby hasn’t turned up,’ Robbie said, sighing down the phone.
Patrick sipped his coffee, taking his time. He knew Libby hadn’t turned up. She was sitting on the churchyard wall, staring at the dance studio opposite. He knew she’d balk. He just hadn’t been sure what he’d do about it. ‘And?’
‘And aren’t you at the Haverton surgery today? Can you see if she’s outside, or something?’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake, I’ll see if I can find her.’ Patrick hung up and gestured to the waitress. ‘Two more espressos. I’ll be back in a minute.’
The ground floor of the Keeley Dance Studio housed a dancewear shop and a small café where a group of young girls in pale pink leotards were drinking Coke. Libby was staring at them, oblivious to his presence.
‘If you sit there for much longer you’ll get arrested for perving at underage girls.’ He sat next to her, elbowing her ribs. Despite the black streaks, make-up and chunky work boots, she looked cute huddled in her turquoise coat, her nose pinker than her hair from the cold. ‘What are you doing?’
After she’d explained, he took her arm and led her to the coffee shop. He sat her outside and ducked in to get the two espressos, as if he’d not had them premade, as if he’d not sat watching her for the last ten minutes.
‘You are going in there,’ he said.
‘What if…’
‘What if what? What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll get upset that you can’t dance professionally and cry? So cry, do some dancing and get over it.’
‘Wow, you’re so kind and compassionate. Why is it you don’t have a girlfriend?’ She sank half her coffee.
‘What are your options?’ he asked, trying to sound a little more understanding.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be castrating cows or something?’
‘Monday afternoons I have to work at our pra
ctice here.’ He pointed to the surgery down the road. ‘I hate it. It’s all small animal crap. I’d just dealt with another mangy mongrel when I saw you about to get arrested for weird behaviour. I’m glad of the chance to escape. So what are your options? How can you get ballet back into your life?’
‘Mangy mongrel? Do you actually like being a vet?’
‘You’re still avoiding my question.’ He downed his espresso in one.
‘Do you think Fee found out about Jonathan and Maggie, bumped her off then crippled with guilt, did herself in? Shame we’ll never know. Unless she told Jonathan. Zoë still won’t speak to him, but I bet she could torture him to find out if Fee confessed.’
‘And how would Fee kill Maggie? Push her down the stairs? Fee could barely walk most days. If it wasn’t her back, it was Xanax.’ He shook his head. ‘You are the queen of question avoidance.’
‘I shouldn’t be here. You know it’s the fell race on Saturday? I should be training.’
‘Stop changing the subject. Ballet. What can you do?’
Her brow furrowed in a tight knot as she sat on her hands, glancing longingly at the lad at the next table who’d lit a cigarette.
‘You’re not smoking.’
‘I’ve given up. Two whole weeks now.’
‘Well done. Ballet?’
‘I...’
‘Come on, Libs.’
‘I could dance for fun, just take the odd class, or I could teach, but I don’t know…’
‘Well, start simple. Go in there and say hello to Jane. Her and my mum are friends.’ He wanted to push the fringe out of the way and wipe off half the black make-up. ‘The kids call her Mrs Knightmare, but she’s very nice, not too fond of me though.’
‘Why?’
‘Bit of a fling with her daughter, Juliet, last year.’
‘Clara and Juliet? You really are appalling.’ She sank the last of her coffee.
He smiled. ‘You ready?’
He took her hand and dragged her across the road into the studio. When she pulled back, trying to flee, he tightened his grip. The girl behind the counter directed them upstairs where Jane Knight was in the office, doing paperwork.
‘Hi Jane, this is Libby.’ He gently pushed Libby in front of him, his hands resting on her shaking shoulders.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she whispered.
‘It’s okay. Clara explained.’ Jane stood up, eyeing him with suspicion. ‘Hello Patrick.’
And this was why he hadn’t intervened until Robbie rang. Jane, like Clara, would put two and two together and make up the rest.
‘What would you like to do, Libby?’ Jane asked, but Libby was already staring into the studio, mesmerised.
‘Can I go in?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, but walked into the studio, gazing around as if she’d found Kansas again. Patrick watched through the round window in the door, smiling as she started peeling off layers to reveal she was already dressed in the Flashdance black leotard.
‘Is she what’s keeping you on the straight and narrow?’ Jane asked.
‘She’s nothing to do with me, just a friend.’ His phone rang. Grateful for the excuse, he walked away.
By the time he was off the phone, rescued from an afternoon with small animals by a lame bull, Libby was dancing. Jesus Christ, she really was a ballet dancer. Even though he’d seen the photos he’d not really believed it, not to this extent. For a good ten minutes, he stood mesmerised as she leapt and twirled on the tips of her toes, as graceful as a fairy.
‘She’s very good. Out of practice and her feet will hurt tomorrow, but very good. I have friends at the English National Ballet and I made some enquiries. She had great potential, would have made principal. She’s a turner.’ Jane smiled at his confused expression. ‘Her speciality is turning, doing pirouettes, manéges, fouettés, just like that.’
Libby’s skin glistened with sweat, her muscles taut as she span through twenty or so turns. Then suddenly, she stopped dead and burst into tears.
No, no, no. Don’t cry. This was supposed to fix you.
‘You don’t look as though she’s nothing to do with you,’ Jane said. ‘And about time too. Your mother worries about you.’
‘I have to go,’ Patrick said, still loitering. ‘Don’t tell her I watched.’
Jane smiled, clearly amused, but went into the studio.
‘Miss it?’ she asked Libby.
Libby nodded. ‘I need to start dancing again. I know I’m crying, but I’m actually happy. I can’t believe I’ve avoided it for this long.’
‘You needed some time. I stopped for five years after Juliet was born.’
‘Please, can I come to class?’
‘Of course.’ Jane studied her. ‘What else? Do you want to teach?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We’re putting on the Nutcracker next month. I could do with some help marshalling the girls around. Would you like to help?’ When Libby nodded, Jane smiled. ‘Good. Now, I’ll let you off for today, but if you want to dance here, you will look like a ballerina. The eye make-up has to go and a fringe that long will need to be pinned back. You were a professional dancer so I expect you to set a good example to the girls. Barre?’
Libby nodded, wiping her eyes, and Patrick left her to it, his good deed done.
* * *
Libby knocked on Patrick’s door, her smile still in place from the forty minutes of punishment Jane had subjected her to. Between Jane and Xander, she’d end up fitter than ever.
Patrick answered, his expression blank, as if he had no idea why she might be standing on his doorstep. Libby’s smile fell. He’d gone out of his way to help her, but now he shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly not inviting her in.
‘I just wanted to say thank you, for today.’
He didn’t react.
‘I’m... I’m going to start class again and help out with the ballet they’re putting on at Christmas.’ She blushed, she shouldn’t have come. ‘Anyway, sorry to… just, thanks.’
Her cheeks burned as she walked away, but she held her head high. What was wrong with him? Clearly he didn’t like her, so why did he keep being nice?
* * *
‘But all she does is run.’
The frustrated voice, the high-pitch of the last word did little to alleviate Michael Wray’s worries.
‘You don’t have anything?’
‘No.’
‘Her and McBride?’
‘He really doesn’t like her.’
‘Pity. They’d be big money. Readers love her. Readers love him. Get the scoop on them and it’ll be double what it was for the Goldings.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Fifteen miles.
Libby lay in a field behind the Miller’s Arms in Gosthwaite Mills, the panorama surrounding her line of vision took in almost the entire route – the climbs, the descents, the streams, the walls.
Fifteen miles. Twenty-five kilometres. Seven check points. Five peaks.
And two thousand metres of climbing.
It all added up to approximately three hours and forty-five minutes of sheer hell. Less if she wanted to beat Grace’s record. Xander’s record was three hours twenty, but he wasn’t looking to beat that this year. His goal was to help Libby round in a new women’s record time – he wanted to punish Grace for the newspaper quote as much as Libby did.
Positives. The weather was perfect. Cool, but not freezing. Barely any wind. Overcast skies, so no need for sunglasses. She was fitter than she’d been in years, if not ever. Her ankle and core muscles had never felt so strong. She glanced down at her stomach, where she’d pinned her number. Twenty-four. Her age. Perfect.
Ninety-three entrants, fifteen women, but only one mattered – Grace. She stood chatting to some of the other members of the Haverton Harriers, all easily identifiable in their royal blue running tops.
‘How’s life now you’re dancing again?’
Libby opened her eyes to see Patrick standin
g a few feet away holding an ancient collie on a lead. Not Patrick, not now. She didn’t get him. Hot, cold, hot, cold. How could he go out of the way to drag her into the dance studio then not speak to her later the same day?
‘It’s good.’ She held out her hand to the collie, who limped towards her, licking her hand.
‘This is Baxter.’
‘Hello, Baxter. You have a dog?’
‘Sort of. How were you the next day? Jane said your feet would hurt. I’m not surprised. Standing on your tip toes like that can’t be right.’
‘It’s called en pointe and my feet were agony, but bizarrely, I miss the pain.’ She frowned at him. ‘You watched?’
‘Only for a bit. I got called away,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve never seen a ballet dancer in real life, impressive.’
‘Well, thanks for making me go in.’ She didn’t get him, didn’t get him at all.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Now, why couldn’t you have said that when I came round? Two words? Anything would’ve done. You’re so bloody rude sometimes.’
‘I had company. It wasn’t a good time for a doorstep chat.’
Was that his best apology? Company? Some girl no doubt. ‘Whatever. I need to focus.’
‘You look worried.’ Patrick crouched down, stroking Baxter. ‘It’s only a race, Libs.’
‘It’s fifteen miles of uphill struggle.’
‘You know you don’t have to finish. Or win. No one will think any less of you.’
‘If you think it’s the taking part that matters, you clearly didn’t listen to the ballet story.’
He smiled. ‘You’ve never done this before. Grace has.’
‘You don’t think I can do it.’ Libby sat up, appalled. ‘God, not since my dad thought I’d never... Screw you. I will do this.’ Or die bloody trying.
At the start, Libby’s desire to throw up intensified. Grace stood six feet away, looking calm, focussed and every bit the professional fell runner. Like Libby, she had her hair in a single plait, her fringe pinned off her face. Grace was probably carrying a stone more than Libby, but all of it as muscle. How the hell had she got so fit so quickly?
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