Becca had been close to tears herself.
But this was nothing compared to the parents. One outraged mother removed her child mid-class, stating in a loud voice that Becca was an ‘utter disgrace’. Three parents announced at the end of the class they wouldn’t be returning, and one woman questioned whether Becca’s ‘unconventional’ appearance was entirely ‘appropriate’ for the role of a dance teacher.
Part of her had wanted to question why they allowed their children to behave in such a rowdy manner, but she’d held her tongue. She suspected teaching was like the world of show business, where everyone knew everyone. If word got out that she had a bad attitude, then it would be game over.
But it’d been tough. She’d never struggled to be civil before. But then she’d never been faced with a horde of competitive parents, who did nothing but criticise her appearance, her lack of control, or her ability to teach.
The distressing thing was, they were right. She was a useless teacher.
The only chink of light had come at the end of the class when one of the mothers had thanked her for helping her kids understand the meaning of ‘turnout’, something they’d struggled with under Mrs Morris. She’d introduced herself as Rosie and promised to return next week. She’d even left smiling, seemingly oblivious to just how disastrous the class had been.
Despite all this, Carolyn had still offered Becca the job. She wasn’t naive enough to believe this was because she’d impressed Carolyn. Far from it. Carolyn hadn’t even witnessed the debacle – she’d still been asleep in the office – which meant the offer was based purely on Carolyn’s desperation to find a replacement teacher, and not on Becca’s ability. It wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement. And now Becca had to do it all again. This time with the adult tappers.
While she waited for the class to arrive, she took the opportunity to stretch out her hamstrings. Flexibility was the key to any style of dance. Stiff joints and tight tendons didn’t allow for freedom of movement.
She went over to the barre and began her routine, using the time to have a proper look around. She’d been so busy on Saturday trying to control the kids that she hadn’t paid much attention to the state of the dance studio. On first glance, it looked fine. It was a decent-sized space, with a wooden sprung floor, a mirrored wall, and a ballet barre running the length of the room. But on closer inspection, she could see damp patches on the walls, cracks in the plasterboard and chunks missing from the floorboards. It looked tired and scruffy, like the rest of the building.
She was mid-stretch when the doors behind opened. A couple entered, both very tall and model-thin skinny. They wore matching woollen coats and hats, despite the mild weather. They ignored Becca and shuffled over to the furthest seats, as if trying to hide.
She went over. ‘Hi, I’m Becca. I’ve taken over from Mrs Morris.’
They acknowledged her with shy nods, but didn’t hold eye contact.
Becca tried for a welcoming smile. ‘And you are?’
They looked at each other, as if silently questioning who was going to answer.
Eventually, the guy spoke. ‘I’m Nick. This is my wife, Cassie.’
‘Lovely to meet you both. Have you been coming to the class long?’
They shook their heads. ‘First time,’ the man replied.
Thank God for that. She figured it would be easier if people had nothing to compare her with. ‘Welcome to the class. Do you have tap shoes?’
More head shaking. The couple were synchronised, if nothing else.
‘Not to worry. But if you enjoy the class and want to keep coming you’ll need the correct shoes. I can give you a list of stockists if you need them.’
The doors opened again and two women came in. Unlike Nick and Cassie, these two didn’t appear to suffer from shyness. One was short and round with a mass of curly grey hair, and the other was medium height with fabulous red hair and an equally fabulous cleavage. They immediately came over. ‘You must be our new teacher,’ curly-haired woman said. ‘I’m Miriam, lovely to meet you.’ She held out her hand.
The woman had a firm grip. ‘Good to meet you. I’m Becca.’
‘Cute hair,’ the woman with the big boobs said. ‘I’m Wanda. Wanda from the US.’
‘Nice to meet you, Wanda from the US.’
Wanda laughed, a big throaty sound. ‘Well, aren’t you a breath of fresh air. Quite the opposite to Nearly-Dead-Morris.’
Miriam smacked Wanda’s arm. ‘She was the same age as me, thank you very much.’
Wanda shrugged. ‘I say it as I see it.’
‘Well, I wish you wouldn’t.’ Miriam walked off and sat down.
Wanda followed. ‘Someone’s got their knickers in a twist.’ She let out another throaty laugh. ‘Don’t you just love that word? Knickers? We don’t have that in the US.’
Becca suspected she was in for an interesting evening. Clearing her throat, she faked a confidence she didn’t feel and addressed the group. ‘Shall we get started? For those of you who have tap shoes please put them on, and then find a space on the floor.’
Five minutes of faffing followed as Wanda and Miriam struggled to locate their shoes, put them on and tie the laces. Miriam was dressed in a brightly patterned smock dress, whereas Wanda wore the full dance regalia: Lycra catsuit, leg-warmers and top-of-the-range tap shoes. Nick and Cassie, who looked like they’d just come from work, were dressed in head-to-toe grey. Collectively, it was a sight to behold.
Becca was just thinking it couldn’t get any more bizarre, when the doors opened and another woman joined them. ‘Sorry, I’m late,’ she said, hurrying in. She dropped her bag, tripped over it and then dropped it again when she tried to pick it up.
‘That’s Mi-Sun,’ Wanda said, in a loud whisper. ‘She’s from Korea.’
And Becca thought dealing with the kids was hard.
Still, at least this lot weren’t running around the room screaming. Not yet, anyway. ‘As we have two new people in the class and I’m new myself, let’s start with a few basic steps to get us warmed up. Okay?’
Four expectant faces stared at her.
Mi-Sun ran to join them, tripping up as she did so.
As a fellow klutz, Becca could empathise. ‘Okay, could you all spread out so you’re not on top of each other?’ They shuffled about. Wanda and Miriam both wanted to be at the front. Nick and Cassie hid at the back. Mi-Sun was left in the middle on her own. ‘Right. The first step we’re going to learn is called the shuffle.’
‘Oh, I know this.’ Miriam launched into a demonstration, followed by Wanda, who wasn’t about to be outdone. What with Miriam’s curves and Wanda’s cleavage, there was quite a lot of bouncing going on. The floorboards got a good workout.
‘That’s great, ladies. But let’s break it down for the rest of the class.’ She waited until the floor stopped vibrating. ‘The shuffle is a combination of two basic moves, the brush and the strike. Let’s start with the brush.’ She was met with three concerned expressions and two bored ones. Miriam and Wanda failed to hide their frustration at being made to start from the beginning.
Oh, well. Nothing she could do about that. Even with no teacher training she knew she could only go as fast as the slowest person in the group.
Becca turned to face the mirrors. ‘Stand on one leg and lift your other foot. Now swing the foot forward, brushing the ball of your foot against the floor.’
Nick lost his balance.
Cassie lifted the wrong leg.
And Mi-Sun fell over.
Becca rushed over to pick her up. ‘Are you okay?’
The woman nodded.
‘Let’s try again, shall we?’ Becca stood next to Mi-Sun, one eye on Nick and Cassie behind her. ‘Lift your foot, swing it forwards, brush it on the floor.’
Nick accidently kicked Cassie.
Cassie lifted the wrong leg.
And Mi-Sun almost fell over.
Did that count as progress? Becca wasn’t sure.
‘Try again,�
� she said, as they attempted to copy her. ‘That’s it. Don’t let your heel touch the floor, Nick. And again.’
After ten minutes of practice, and aware that Miriam and Wanda were bored, Becca resumed her position at the front. ‘Now you’ve all mastered the brush,’ she managed to say, without any hint of irony, ‘let’s move on to the strike. This is simply the same movement in reverse. You swing your foot backwards, instead of forwards. Then we build up speed so that it looks like this.’ She did a quick demonstration, pleased to note that her knee didn’t object too much. ‘Can you see what I’m doing? Brush, strike, brush, strike.’
Several attempts were being made to replicate the move, but none of them looked anything like a shuffle.
Nick lost his balance.
Cassie got her feet entangled.
And Mi-Sun fell over.
Becca sighed.
It was going to be a long evening.
*
By the time she got home, she was mentally exhausted. Her plan to cover how to do a step-ball change and a buffalo step had gone completely out of the window. They’d spent the entire hour trying to master the shuffle…and failing. Despite her constant coaxing and reassurances that they were making progress, her pupils remained unconvinced. And with good cause. She’d never realised teaching involved so much lying.
What had become evident during the hour-long session was that whereas Miriam and Wanda didn’t suffer from a lack of confidence – or opinions, for that matter – their enthusiasm far outweighed their skill levels. Nick and Cassie were acutely self-conscious, body-conscious and painfully shy, and poor Mi-Sun had absolutely no coordination. She was like a drunk Bambi…on ice.
Collectively, the group had the core strength of gravy and the flexibility of iron piping. Becca had been completely out of her depth. She was just grateful that once again Carolyn hadn’t been there to witness the car crash; she’d gone to bed early with a mysterious ‘virus’.
Becca let herself into the guest house, surprised when it looked like no one else was home. She found her mother and cousin upstairs in Jodi’s bedroom trying to fix a leak in the en suite.
Her mum was gripping a pair of pliers, trying to turn off the tap, which didn’t appear to be budging. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was sticking up all over the place.
Becca leant against the doorframe. ‘Problem?’
‘What gave you that impression?’ The pliers slipped off the tap and banged against the splashback. Her mum whacked the sink in annoyance.
Jodi’s expression indicated all was not well.
Becca reached over and patted her mum’s back. Hardly the most useful of responses, but she felt something was needed. ‘Can I help?’
Her mum moved out of the way. ‘Be my guest.’ She stretched out her back, grimacing as she did so. Becca supposed it was times like this that her mum missed her dad. He’d been such a competent handyman.
She picked up the pliers. Having lived in a shared house with a landlord who’d never carried out any repairs, she was used to getting her hands dirty.
Jodi edged away, not trusting her cousin to be any less lethal than her aunt. ‘How did the tap class go?’
Becca pulled a face. ‘About as well as the ballet class.’
‘That good?’
‘Like herding cats.’
There was a knock on the door. ‘There’s quite a bit of noise coming from up here,’ Mrs Busby called from the hallway. ‘The doctor and I are trying to watch Frost.’
Her mum slumped onto the toilet seat.
‘David Jason is such a good actor, don’t you think?’ The old woman shuffled into the bedroom. ‘Pardon my intrusion, but it would be a shame to miss it.’
Her mum forced a smile. ‘Apologies, Mrs Busby, but we have a leak. I’ll get it fixed as soon as possible.’
‘Oh, dear. That won’t do.’ Mrs Busby looked down at the wet floor. ‘The doctor was very disappointed there was no suet pudding for supper tonight. It is Wednesday, after all.’
Becca jumped in before her mother said something she’d regret. ‘Sorry about that, Mrs B. As you can see, we’re a little busy. Why don’t you go back and finish watching the telly, and we’ll try not to make so much noise?’ She shut the en suite door, hoping the old lady would take the hint.
She did, not before commenting, ‘Why you don’t telephone a plumber, I don’t know.’
Becca watched her mother grip hold of the edge of the loo seat. ‘Does she have any idea how much a plumber would charge to come out at this time of night?’
Not for the first time, Becca wondered if her mum was having money problems. She didn’t like to keep asking, but she couldn’t help if her mum refused to tell her what was up.
‘So what went wrong at the tap class?’ Jodi asked, tactfully changing topic.
Becca twisted the tap, but it wouldn’t budge. ‘It would be easier to tell you what went right. I couldn’t even get them to pick up the basic steps. And there were only five of them. How on earth am I going to cope with a class full? It seems wrong to take Carolyn’s money. It’s like I’m defrauding her.’ She gripped the pliers around the tap and twisted.
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Quit.’ The pliers slipped off the tap. ‘Shit.’
‘Oh, that’s mature. Is that how you dealt with adversity when you were a dancer?’
Becca twisted the tap again. This time it shifted a fraction. ‘It’s different.’
‘How so? You wouldn’t expect to perform in a show without rehearsing, so why would you expect to teach a class without training?’
The tap slowly began to move. ‘Exactly. I have no training.’
‘So you’ve got a bit of catching up to do. Suck it up.’
The tap shifted. The dripping stopped.
‘Oh, well done, love.’ Her mum patted her on the shoulder.
‘Yeah, well done,’ Jodi said in a sarcastic tone. ‘Just as well you didn’t quit.’
Becca poked her tongue out at her cousin. ‘So what do you suggest? It’s not like I can fast-track through years of teacher training ahead of next week’s class, is it?’
‘No, but you can do other things.’ Jodi followed her into the bedroom, leaving her mum wringing out her wet sleeve. ‘There’s heaps off stuff on the internet. You’re bound to find videos on teaching and people-management. You just need to dig deep and persevere.’
Becca flopped onto the bed. ‘You make it sound so easy.’
Jodi glared at her. ‘Did you seriously just say that to me?’
Becca propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Sorry, you’re right. I’m a crap cousin.’
‘You are, but you’re forgiven.’ Jodi sat down next to her. ‘Nothing will be as bad as the first lesson.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You think?’
Jodi’s expression turned ponderous. ‘It’s a bit like sex. You can read about it, watch other people doing it, study the mechanics of it, but nothing prepares you for the real thing. The first time is always a bit of a disaster.’
Becca laughed. ‘I can’t believe you’re comparing teaching to fu—’
‘Oi! I can hear you,’ her mum called from the en suite.
‘Sorry!’ Becca pulled a face at her cousin.
Jodi grinned. ‘As I was saying, you need to muddle through as best you can. Next time will be better. You just need to practise, like you do with—’
‘I’m still here!’
‘—learning to play the piano,’ Jodi said, making Becca laugh. ‘Keep at it. And then once you’re feeling more confident, we can look at ways to increase attendance. Maybe design an advertising strategy.’
‘Very corporate.’
Jodi swiped her with a pillow. ‘Don’t take the piss.’
Becca squealed when Jodi poked her in the ribs. ‘I’m not.’
‘You are. I worked bloody hard for my degree.’
Becca grabbed a second pillow. ‘I know you did. You were a model student. I bow down t
o your superiority… Ow, stop it!’
‘Then stop being sarcastic. As the new business manager at the playhouse, I want none of this quitting nonsense, okay?’ Another blow dislodged one of Becca’s bunches. ‘You need to listen to someone with the necessary skillset in business management.’
Becca retaliated, swiping at her cousin with the pillow. ‘Know-it-all-knickers.’
Jodi threw the pillow, but Becca ducked and it connected with her mum as she walked out of the en suite. ‘Oops! Sorry, Aunty Ruby.’
They were subjected to ‘the stare’. It was a look they’d experienced many times during their teens. It was usually followed by a grounding.
Becca hid behind her cousin. ‘You’ve done it now. Mummykins isn’t happy.’
Jodi nicked Becca’s pillow and resumed hitting her. ‘Arse-lick.’
Becca fell back onto the bed laughing, relieved when she saw her mum laughing too.
Chapter Seven
Tuesday 19th September
Tom buttoned up his three-piece suit and straightened his wig and gown ready for the first hearing of the day. Wearing a double-breasted jacket was a requirement of all barristers when appearing in the Crown Court. If you turned up wearing a single-breasted, or heaven forbid, you weren’t wearing a waistcoat, then you’d be strung up by the judge and sent packing from the courtroom. He’d learnt that the hard way.
His client today was a twenty-five-year-old man charged with affray. Together with seven of his mates, his client had got completely pissed whilst out on a stag do and managed to get into a massive fight with another group of lads also celebrating their forthcoming nuptials. Their fiancées must be so proud. Unfortunately the fight was caught on CCTV, so there was little Tom could do in terms of mounting a defence.
Cases involving alcohol never sat well with him. It was too close to home. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been contacted by the police to inform him that his mother had been found wandering down the road inebriated and was currently sleeping it off in a cell. He’d jump in his car, race down to Brighton and assure the desk sergeant that it wouldn’t happen again. But of course, it would. His mother’s reaction to waking up in a police cell varied from mortification and tearful apologies, to angry insults and accusations. ‘I have it under control,’ or ‘You never want me to enjoy myself,’ were common. ‘It’s your fault I’m this way,’ stung the most.
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