Flirty Dancing

by Jenny McLachlan

  ‘Come on,’ said Ollie. ‘This is it!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s us: Jive Monkey. Lulu wanted Jive Bunny, but I told her no way. As if. I said we’d keep the “Jive” but we needed to be a cooler animal.’

  ‘Jive Monkey?’

  ‘Don’t look like that. You chose it. You said it was your favourite.’

  ‘Come on, you two,’ snaps Gem impatiently, and we get moving.

  ‘Good luck, babe!’ calls Pearl.

  I guess she’s talking to Ollie.

  We stand backstage while House Party, a girl group, performs. We can hear their music and the audience’s crazy reaction to them, but we can’t see anything. I know Ollie’s family are watching and now I wish I had one person out there who would be yelling just for me . . . even if that one person was sixty-five and wearing a tight satin playsuit.

  The audience goes wild as House Party’s track fades out.

  I take a deep breath and look at Ollie. We attempt a smile and fail. Instead we hold hands. It’s just how we go onstage. ‘Bea?’ he whispers.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What’s the thing you say?’

  ‘What thing?’

  ‘About being brave.’

  The applause is petering out and Shad talks into the microphone.

  ‘It’s Shakespeare,’ I say. ‘Something Nan taught me.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘“Though she be but little, she is fierce.”’

  Gem pops out of the shadows and whispers, ‘On in five.’ Listening to her earpiece, pulling it close so she can hear over the applause, she holds up her hands and starts to take away her fingers, counting us down. ‘Four, three, two,’ she mouths – House Party sweeps past us – ‘one!’

  Together we leave the gloom of backstage and emerge into dazzling lights, swinging into a perfect close hold in the centre of the stage. Blackness and stars surround us. The audience is silent, waiting. Our eyes lock, something we’ve rehearsed, and Ollie says, quietly, but perfectly clearly, ‘Be fierce, Bea.’

  I nod, our track kicks in, and we hit our first move with perfect timing. I don’t think or worry, I just dance, and I know from our first steps that we’re fast and sharp, better than ever. We are filled with energy and something is different. Perhaps it’s the heat of the lights, or the cries of the audience, or maybe it’s the baseline of our track, which is so loud I can feel the vibrations in my body.

  Ollie spins me, dips me, slows it down, speeds it up. And we keep the eye contact, which Lulu has been trying to get us to do for days, and smile at the same time and laugh at the same time. Our feet move faster, our hands fall together firmly and, before I know it, we’re dancing our final steps. Ollie swings me away and, backwards, I drop back into his hands so he can push me into a lift. It’s not a full aerial, but it still looks good.

  The studio erupts with applause before my feet have returned to the ground. We stand there catching our breath and laughing. Shad runs up to join us and stands between us, arms round our heaving shoulders. ‘How about that? How much do we love Jive Monkey?’ Obediently, the audience yell back, giving him what he wants. ‘So, Ollie, do you think you’ve got what it takes to win Starwars?’

  ‘Well, we’ve got a few surprises for the final,’ he says, without missing a beat, ‘so we hope we get to show you just what we’re capable of.’

  Shad turns to me. ‘Bea, what brought you two together to form Jive Monkey?’

  I say the first thing that comes into my head, ‘My nan made me.’ There’s a moment’s silence and then the audience laughs and I wish Nan was sitting in the audience, nudging the people next to her to let them know who she is.

  ‘So, you two, jive? Bit of a grannies’ dance, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not if you do it fast enough,’ says Ollie.

  ‘Well, I just hope the judges want to see your next dance as much as we do. Let’s hear it again for Jive Monkey!’

  As we exit, The Pink Ladies rush past us.

  Ollie’s shoulder brushes Pearl’s arm, but she’s so focused she doesn’t even notice.

  When we’ve all performed, we line up onstage while the judges’ decision is announced. There are several cameras panning up and down the row, filming our anxious faces. We stand in silence while Shad prepares the audience. Intense white lights shine in our eyes and I can’t see beyond Shad. Ollie doesn’t hold my hand. He stares at the ground.

  ‘Only five of these amazing dance acts can go through to the Starwars final,’ Shad says, before pausing for several painful seconds. ‘In a few moments, there are going to be some broken dreams on this stage because I have in my hand the judges’ decision.’ He holds a stiff gold envelope towards a camera and then turns to us. ‘When I open this, you will know if you are on your way to the finals or going home for good.’

  He turns back to face the audience and a drum roll begins, growing with intensity until my heart shakes with each crash. ‘If I call your name, you are through.’ Abruptly, the drums stop and he pulls open the envelope.

  ‘The judges loved the sophisticated, contemporary shine of this all-girl act. Congratulations to . . . The Pink Ladies! You are through to the finals!’

  I am shocked and disappointed. I am a horrible person. I’d almost forgotten they were competing with us. It’s unusual enough having two groups from the same school in the semis – no way will we both get through to the finals. Cheering rings through the studio and there’s a flurry of movement and screaming as the girls rush forward to the front of the stage.

  Now I hang my head like Ollie. I can’t believe we’ve come this far only for it to end right now, this minute. No more jive . . . no more close holds . . . no more –

  Interrupting my thoughts, Shad reads the names of two more groups: Recall and Tribe. Mild hysteria ensues as the Recall boys start backflipping and the Tribe girls start crying. Meanwhile, I ache with disappointment.

  Filming pauses for a moment as the semi-finalists are reined back in. A girl with a slate steps in front of Shad and snaps it shut.

  ‘You’re a hot Latin act who got the judges’ pulses racing . . .’ Ollie and I visibly sag. ‘Bo Salsa! Boom! You could be starring in the West End!’ I barely notice their reaction. I am never going to dance with Ollie again. I’m not losing a competition – I’m losing me.

  ‘It’s us . . .’ Ollie’s shaking me. ‘He said Jive Monkey! We did it!’ and he pulls me forward, down the steps to the front of the stage. Shad gives me a big hug and I grin and grin.

  ‘So, Bea, I take it you’re surprised and happy?’

  All I can do is smile and nod and the audience laughs. Shad has a more coherent conversation with Ollie while I grin towards the lights, wishing Mum and Nan were here watching me.

  This time, as we travel home on the train, I get to discuss every second of the show with Ollie and Lulu. We grab a tray of Krispy Kreme doughnuts at the station and spend the journey eating all twelve and analysing every move we made.

  ‘I knew you had a chance when you ran on,’ says Lulu. ‘You were relaxed – amazing really – but more relaxed than I’ve ever seen you. Especially you, Bea.’

  ‘I was terrified,’ I say.

  ‘No. You were fierce,’ says Ollie.

  ‘Wait until you see yourself on TV,’ says Lulu.

  I ring Mum for the tenth time and leave a message on her phone. Why can’t she pick up? No one’s answering at home either and Nan’s mobile is switched off. I guess Mum’s doing something disgusting involving blood and stitches, and Nan’s got the TV turned up high.

  The journey flies by and we’re still laughing as we walk along the platform. At first, I don’t notice Mum standing there behind the barrier.

  ‘Bea,’ she calls, giving me a wave.

  ‘Mum!’ I run up to her and we hug. I feel so bad that I stopped her from coming up to London. ‘We got through! Can you believe it?’

  ‘That’s fantastic!’ she says, but her voice sounds all wrong and then I notice
her red eyes and how hard her mouth is trying to smile.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Bea. It’s Nan,’ she says. Her voice scares me.

  ‘What’s happened? Tell me.’

  ‘She’s really ill, Bea. She’s in hospital.’ The station seems to disappear and my happiness drains from my body into the cold, chewing-gum-stained concrete floor. I feel sick. ‘They’re doing everything they can to help her. She collapsed at home.’

  ‘Where’s Emma?’

  ‘At the Pilkingtons’.’

  ‘Is she alright?’

  ‘I think she found it exciting,’ says Mum, ‘the ambulance and everything.’

  ‘But what’s wrong?’

  ‘She’s had a stroke, Bea. And it’s not looking good.’ I stare at Mum. She’s holding my hands and trying not to cry, but I can’t understand what she’s saying. Thoughts about Nan fly through my head: her yellow hair, her tummy, her lasagne, the time I threw cards at her during a stressful game of gin rummy, how I wouldn’t let her come and watch me today, even though I knew how desperately she wanted to . . . and how it’s not looking good, and then I see what Mum is trying to tell me, what ‘not looking good’ really means.

  ‘It happened so quickly,’ she says, and then she starts crying, so I do too and all my beautiful make-up that I’d left on to show Nan becomes a big smudgy mess on my face.

  I have to tell Nan that I’m sorry about the playing cards and not letting her come to London. ‘Can I see her?’ I ask.

  ‘No. She’s too ill, and at the moment she’s having an operation. I’ve got to get back so that I’m there when she wakes up. Bea, I need to drop you at home so you can go and get Emma from next door. She’ll be trying to ride Ralph. She’s still convinced he’s a horse.’ This makes us smile. ‘Can you look after her until I get back? It might be very late.’

  Mum and Lulu have a chat, and I look at Ollie, who’s standing off to one side. I almost laugh because he looks so worried and I look so grim, but then the almost-laugh threatens to become a big sob so I clamp my mouth shut and screw up my toes.

  ‘Sorry, Bea,’ he says.

  I nod, then follow Mum out of the station.

  12

  Emma is very distracting.

  We eat spaghetti hoops and cheese on toast, even though it’s hours past her bedtime, and then watch all five episodes of her favourite Postman Pat DVD . . . twice. I hear the theme tune twenty times. I try not to cry – because of Emma – but it’s hard. I have a constant ache inside me. When Emma thinks I’m sad, she gives me another toy until there’s hardly room for us on the sofa.

  The phone rings all evening and I have to keep telling aunties, uncles and cousins what Mum has told me, which isn’t much. Dad rings from deepest Mexico to tell me that there are no flights for forty-eight hours and that Mum should call him as soon as she comes back from the hospital. I tell him about Starwars and he puts a lot of effort into being excited for me. ‘Make sure you record every single second you’re on TV,’ he says before he gets cut off with a huge crackle of static.

  Eventually, Emma falls asleep on my lap. She has tomato sauce over her face and looks like a baby vampire. The phone rings again and I pick it straight up so it won’t wake her.

  ‘Hello,’ I whisper.

  ‘Hi, it’s Ollie,’ says a voice that still manages to make me feel happy despite what is happening. ‘Why are you so quiet?’

  ‘My sister’s asleep on me.’

  ‘So . . . what’re you doing?’

  ‘Watching Postman Pat.’

  ‘But Emma’s asleep.’

  ‘It’s my favourite episode: Postman Pat and the Hole in the Road . . . it’s a really big hole.’

  ‘My mum made me a Postman Pat birthday cake once, and put a photo of my face on it so I was sitting in the van between Pat and Jess.’

  ‘I can beat that. My nan once made me a birthday cake decorated with frozen peas.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I asked for a Princess and the Pea cake, but without the princess. And because frozen peas taste good.’

  ‘Your nan’s cool.’

  ‘I know.’ I hesitate, then decide to tell him something that’s bothering me, even though it isn’t as funny as frozen peas. ‘I don’t think I realised that until today. Do you know, I wouldn’t let her come up to London because I was embarrassed about her.’

  ‘You’re embarrassed about everything, Bea: jive, Barbie, your red shoes . . .’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m very wise.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m not embarrassed about my red shoes any more.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Wear them to school.’

  ‘OK . . . and I’ll dye my hair to match.’

  ‘Why not complete the look with a red nose.’

  I think for a moment. ‘I do not have clown hair!’

  But now I’m laughing and my bouncing legs wake up Emma, who growls at me.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I say.

  ‘OK, see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks for ringing . . .’

  ‘That’s alright, bye . . .’

  ‘See you . . .’

  ‘Bye . . .’

  ‘Yeah, bye . . .’

  ‘OK, bye . . .’

  ‘LOVE YOU!’ screams Emma. I gasp and hang up. Emma looks furious. ‘I wanted to speak to Daddy.’

  ‘That wasn’t Daddy, Emma.’

  I tuck her into bed and help her pretend to be a guinea pig – an essential part of her bedtime routine. She begins to doze off immediately. ‘Emma,’ I whisper.

  ‘Uh?’ she mutters.

  ‘If you’re talking to a boy on the phone and he doesn’t want to hang up, does that mean he likes you?’

  ‘Yes . . . no . . . ugh,’ she says.

  ‘Thanks, Emma.’

  ‘Not Emma . . . guinea pig.’

  ‘Weee,’ I say, and turn off the light.

  ‘Weee.’

  13

  ‘Mmmm, nice shoes,’ says Pearl, the second I set foot in our tutor room.

  Suddenly, I feel really tired. After all, I only slept for a few hours last night. Mum crept into my room at around four in the morning to tell me the oper­ation had gone well and that Nan had ‘a chance’. She said they would know more after Nan had a brain scan. It wasn’t much, but I could sleep after that. I look down at my feet and see my red toes. I think about Nan on her own at the hospital. Then I feel angry.

  I face Pearl. ‘Where did you get them? I want a pair,’ she continues, but with less enthusiasm than before. I don’t say anything, but I don’t look away either. ‘What are you staring at, freak?’ she demands, pushing back her chair.

  ‘I’m staring at you, Pearl,’ I say, and she walks towards me, her face confused and furious.

  At that moment, Mr Simms comes in, slurping at his cup of coffee. ‘Sit down, girls,’ he says, totally failing to notice the tension in the room, and we turn and walk away.

  Betty raises her eyebrows at me and mouths, ‘Wow!’

  I shrug at her. I just don’t care what happens today. My fear for myself is tiny compared to my fear for Nan.

  After school, we rehearse as usual and I insist that I feel fine: I know that dancing is the best distraction for me.

  ‘I’ve choreographed a whole new routine for you.’ Lulu speaks firmly. She is taking this seriously. ‘You’ve got just over two weeks and I want to make them count. First, we’ll demonstrate and then I’ll lead you through it. I’ve included several aerials and some Lindy Hop.’

  ‘Lindy what?’ asks Ollie.

  ‘Hop. It’s a jazz dance from the 1920s, very cool. It will surprise everyone. It has synchronised solo dancing and it looks amazingly laid back.’ Ollie and I must look baffled, because Lulu says, ‘Just watch and learn. Now, you’re going to see a lot of aerials. We won’t start rehearsing them yet, but I know that you are really close to being able to do the
m. Trust me.’

  The music starts and they swing out of the close hold and almost straight into an aerial move. ‘That’s the chuck!’ yells Lulu as she flies, upside down, over Ray’s shoulder, before landing with a delicate bounce and swinging back into the close hold.

  ‘We are so dead,’ says Ollie under his breath.

  ‘You’re not dead,’ I say as, once again, Lulu is turned upside down, but this time Ray swings her behind his back. ‘I am.’

  ‘Judo flip,’ Lulu calls out as Ray throws her up again.

  ‘Yep. You’re dead,’ agrees Ollie. The dance is incredible: fast, funny and, because of the crazy aerial moves, impressive. ‘And you expect us to do that?’ asks Ollie the moment the music stops.

  ‘You can, and you will,’ says Lulu. ‘But for today we’ll just block out the dance.’

  It’s a long lesson, but we learn quickly and soon we’re able to move through most of the dance, pausing every now and then where an aerial will go. Before long, we’re exhausted.

  ‘Guess what I wore to school today,’ I say to Ollie as we sit on the floor, having a break. I look pointedly at my feet.

  ‘I’m disappointed about your hair.’

  ‘One step at a time,’ I say as the music starts, and Ollie stands, pulling me to my feet.

  It’s late when Mum picks me up and takes me to the hospital.

  Nan’s in her own room in a part of the hospital for patients recovering from strokes. As we walk down the long, echoing corridor towards her room, Mum says, ‘She looks very ill. I want you to be prepared.’

  Well, obviously, I think. Outside her ward we squirt alcohol gel on our hands. I’ve been biting my nails and it stings.

  She’s lying back in a high bed staring at a corner of the room. She doesn’t have her teeth in or any make-up on, and her hair is limp and greasy. Her body and face look deflated. It’s hard to see anything of Nan in the old lady lying on the bed. There’s a horrible smell in the room, sort of sweet and warm. I fix my face to hide my shock.

  ‘Hi, Nan,’ I say, giving her a kiss on her cheek then standing back. Really, I want to climb up next to her on the bed and rest my head on her lovely big bosom, like I did when I was a little girl. I want to tell her how last night was the worst night of my life, and how it’s changed something in me. But I can’t do this because she’s covered in needles and tubes and she’s just staring at me without smiling. After a couple of minutes, she seems to recognise me.