Always Something There to Remind Me

by Lilian Kendrick

  ‘Thank you,’ I gasped, turning to Des who was beaming at me. ‘I’m through to the next round!’

  Outside the room we stopped and Des hugged me. ‘I knew you could do it.’

  ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  It was meant to be just a quick kiss to express my gratitude, but somehow it didn’t quite work out that way, and when Trudi came looking for us five minutes later we were still lip-locked. She coughed to attract our attention and we sprang apart, somewhat flustered.

  ‘Trudi! I got through …’

  ‘I was just congratulating her …’

  ‘Thank God for that! I thought she’d passed out and you were administering mouth-to mouth resuscitation! Well done, Lydia. Now are we going out to celebrate, or is three a crowd?’ She was smiling, but there was an unmistakable note of sarcasm in her voice. I slipped my arm through hers and smiled.

  ‘What could be nicer than celebrating all together? I want to buy drinks for my two favourite people.’

  We found a cosy little pub a few streets away with a jazz trio entertaining the lunchtime patrons. I bought the drinks and we settled in a corner and made small talk. When Des went to the gents, Trudi seized the opportunity to speak her mind.

  ‘What is going on with you two?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ The bubbles in my Diet Coke were fascinating and I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

  ‘You’re not still claiming that you’re just good friends, are you? You’ve always told me everything; what’s the big secret this time?’

  ‘There’s no big secret and nothing to tell you that you don’t already know. We’re friends.’

  ‘And the clinch? What was that all about? It was certainly friendly.’

  ‘He was congratulating me and I was thanking him.’

  ‘Well, I must say, you certainly seemed very grateful from where I was standing.’

  At that moment Des returned. He placed his hands on my shoulders and squeezed past me to get to his seat. ‘Sorry, love. It’s a tight fit,’ he said. I glanced at Trudi who was raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Almost too close for comfort,’ she said.

  * * * * *

  Dear Diary,

  What a day it’s been! I can hardly wait to find out what the next stage of the auditions involves. I’m sure I’ll be out after that, but it’s great to have got this far. It’s more than I expected when I started out on this hare-brained plan. I can’t believe how fast it’s all been happening.

  Trudi didn’t want to hang out with us this afternoon. I think she has a real problem with Des. She said she had work to do at home and left the pub after one drink. We stayed for a while longer, then Des drove me home. He came in for a while and we checked the stats on the fanzine website. It’s taking off quite well. We have thirty members! Still no reply about an interview with Josh, but I can’t expect to have all my dreams come true, can I?

  Des left at 5 p.m. He’s going to a stag ‘do’ tonight. I walked him to the door and we kissed goodbye. It’s odd, really. I don’t know why we actually decided all this kissing was such a good idea. I mean, it’s not as if we’re a couple or anything; we’re just friends. Not that it worries me. He’s a good kisser and there’s never any pressure to take things further. I’m pretty sure neither of us wants to complicate our lives that way! No, kissing Des is sweet and safe and totally uncomplicated, so it’s OK, isn’t it?

  Chapter 14: Storytelling

  ‘It’ll be fun. I might even have a go myself.’

  We were on our way home from the writing group and Des was trying to talk me into joining a group night out to a storytelling event the following week.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I fancy the idea at all. I mean storytelling’s for kids, isn’t it?’

  ‘This won’t be. I’ve been to a few of these things before and really enjoyed them. They have professional storytellers and a few open mike slots for people who want to get up and try their hand at it.’

  In the end, I agreed to go. There was nothing much happening on the list front as my second audition was scheduled for early January and I still had no word about a ‘date’ with Josh Greenwood. As for the flying – well, I’d all but given up on that one for the time being. I tried to persuade Trudi to join us, but she was having none of it.

  ‘Sorry darling,’ she said. ‘Not my idea of a good time at all. I’m sure you and Des will have fun with your literary buddies, but I’d rather stay home and watch paint dry.’

  ‘Ouch! I’m sure it won’t be as bad as all that, but please yourself.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so snarky, but it’s not my thing. We’ll have a girls’ night soon, OK?’

  The Storytelling Circle was a regular monthly event at the local arts centre. I was surprised that I’d never heard about it before. Des said it had been running for a couple of years. Six of the members of our group, including Tess, showed up and we went into the small auditorium and found seats near the front. Des and two of the others put their names down to tell stories if the opportunity arose.

  ‘You’re so brave! I couldn’t do that.’ The very thought terrified me. Des just laughed.

  ‘It’s exactly the same as karaoke – but without the music.’ I supposed he was right, but he’d be speaking his own words in public. I’d feel far too exposed to do that.

  The host for the evening took the stage. He introduced himself as Jonathan. He was a handsome fellow in his mid-thirties, dressed in an old-fashioned frock coat, with a top hat for dramatic effect. When he spoke, his voice reminded me of dark chocolate. I settled comfortably into my seat and was soon spellbound.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I bid you welcome to the storytelling circle. Stories are our life’s blood. They have existed for ever. Long before most people could read and before the invention of such modern wonders as TV, cinema and video games, communities would share their stories by word of mouth and that’s what we are here to do. We hope to delight you with stories old and new to remind you of those bygone days when oral storytelling was the only form of entertainment, education and information. Many stories have been told and retold over the years and across different cultures, each time gaining a little from the retelling. Were you aware, for example, that the tale most of us know as Cinderella exists in over two hundred versions worldwide?’

  I certainly didn’t know this and I listened entranced as he launched into a version of the classic story that I’d never heard before. There was no fairy godmother but an angel who came in answer to the prayer of a poor, mistreated girl and led her to the palace of the prince only after she had performed three tasks to prove her worthiness. The story ended and I found myself applauding enthusiastically. Three more ‘regulars’ told stories and I was on the edge of my seat by the time the interval was announced.

  ‘I don’t need to ask if you’re enjoying it,’ Des said as we made our way to the bar with the others. ‘It’s written all over your face.’

  ‘It’s fantastic. That last story brought tears to my eyes. I had no idea it would be this good.’

  Tess was bubbling with enthusiasm too. She bought drinks for all of us and raved about the performances we’d witnessed so far.

  ‘And that Jonathan!’ she said, giving me a nudge. ‘Apart from his obvious skill as a storyteller, don’t you think he’s H.O.T?’ She fanned herself with a beer mat. I laughed, but she was insistent. ‘Come on, Lydia! You can’t tell me you didn’t think he was tasty.’

  ‘Well, maybe just a little …’ I replied.

  The second half of the evening was given over to the open mike performers. These were the amateur storytellers and the first two were very nervous. Their hesitation spoiled the continuity of their stories and the spell was almost broken. At last Jonathan called for Des to get up and tell a story. I wished him luck and silently prayed that it would go well for him. I was struck at once by his confidence as he stepped up and smiled at the audience.

  ‘I’m going to share o
ne of my own stories with you tonight. I hope you like it. It’s called The Storyteller’s Handmaid.’ He paused for a moment and then continued:

  ‘Every month when the Storytellers’ Circle met in the back room at the Old Crown, Lee was the star of the show. He would stand in the centre of the room and spin his tales to the group who willingly lost themselves in his words. Others stood up and took their turns and all were greeted with polite applause, but Lee would take the audience on a journey to distant lands and play with their emotions in a way no other performer could. You could almost say that he was worshipped in this tight-knit group of story addicts.

  ‘One night, as Lee was telling his most enthralling story, he noticed that a woman had crept forward and was sitting at his feet, gazing up at him in awe. He smiled at her and continued with his tale. When he had finished and the sound of the applause was thundering around him, he stooped to pick up his glass of beer from the floor. The woman took his hand.

  ‘“Teach me.”

  ‘“What?”

  ‘“I want to be a storyteller. Will you teach me?” Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears as Lee started to turn away. “I’ll give you whatever you want in return.”

  ‘“Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous offer to make. You don’t know what I’ll ask for.”

  ‘“I mean it. Teach me to tell stories and I will give you anything that you desire, but only when I can stand here and tell a story as well as you do. Until then I am your handmaid.”

  ‘So Lee agreed and Ella became his handmaid. For three months, he schooled her in his art. They met at his home and at the beach and sometimes in the big city park as he taught her how to observe life and nature and people and include them all in the stories she told. At the Circle meetings, she continued to sit at his feet and learn.

  ‘At last it was time for graduation.

  ‘“Tonight’s the night. I think you’re ready.” Lee was clearly proud of their achievements.

  ‘The Circle was in session. Lee stood up and told his tale, receiving the usual rapturous response. He raised his hands and the group fell silent.

  ‘“Friends, tonight I am pleased to introduce a newcomer, about to tell her first story. Please welcome my … er … apprentice, Ella.”

  ‘There was a stillness in the room as Ella took up her position. She told the most wonderful story. Lee was stunned that he had not heard this tale before. In all the hours they had spent together, she had clearly saved the best until now. He watched and listened, captivated as she moved him first to laughter and then to tears with the truth and tenderness of her performance. When, at last, the story ended he was drained as he looked at the radiant face of his former student smiling across at him as the audience shouted and screamed for more.

  ‘Lee leapt to his feet, but no one noticed. He stood on his chair and raised his hands. Eventually, the applause stopped and Lee returned his attention to Ella.

  ‘“It’s time to settle your account. Remind me, my dear, what was the fee for your lessons?”

  ‘“I believe I offered anything your heart desires, and you have indeed earned your fee, so name your desire.”

  ‘The room fell silent as everyone watched the master storyteller cross the room.

  ‘“My heart’s desire is that you should never tell another story.”’

  Des stepped back from the microphone and the room erupted with applause. He resumed his seat and the show continued, but the rest of it was lost on me. I squeezed his hand by way of congratulation, but found I was reluctant to release it. As he made no attempt to pull away, we sat through the next half-hour holding hands while I pretended I was still paying attention to the performance. How had I never realised how talented this warm and witty man was? I was so glad that he had chosen me as a friend. Life without him would be dull indeed.

  Chapter 15: Girls’ Night

  ‘You have to tell me where we’re going,’ I moaned, ‘otherwise I won’t have a clue what to wear.’ It was Saturday afternoon.

  ‘I’m not telling you; it’s a surprise and you never have a clue what to wear anyway,’ Trudi teased. ‘Wear your audition dress and be ready for nine o’clock. I’ll come over to your house and we’ll call a taxi.’

  ‘There’s no need for a taxi. I’ll drive.’

  ‘No you won’t! This is our first big night out in ages and Christmas is only two weeks away, so you’re going to have a drink or two and let your hair down.’

  ‘I’m really not sure about this.’

  ‘Look, we promised ourselves a night out, so there’s no getting out of it. I’ll be there at nine. Oh, and put some make-up on.’ She hung up and I hauled myself off the sofa to start the long process of making myself presentable.

  The taxi dropped us off in a side street near the city centre and Trudi led the way into an unpretentious-looking pub. I followed her to a staircase in the corner of the main room and then all became clear as I saw the posters advertising the ‘Salsa Party Night’.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding! I can’t dance,’ I said.

  ‘Then it’s time you learned. Where’s your spirit of adventure?’

  ‘Oh well, why not?’

  We paid the cover charge of £10 each to a young woman at the door to the upstairs room and she stamped the backs of our hands, by way of a receipt. I found it amusing.

  ‘They’ve been doing this in clubs for years; you really should get out more,’ Trudi said.

  The room was large and softly lit, with a bar at one end and standard pub-style tables and stools surrounding a modest dance floor. Opposite the bar was a small dais which housed the DJ’s sound system and mixing-desk. The speakers were enormous and the heady beat of the Latin music assaulted my eardrums. There were only a few couples dancing and we sat and watched as they moved expertly to the music. It was fascinating to see how they performed the sensuous twists and turns in such perfect unison. I knew I could never do that, but I thought I would be quite happy to watch and admire them. I was also pleasantly surprised that the other ‘partygoers’ ranged from twenty-something to at least sixty years old, so we fitted comfortably into the middle. We bought a bottle of wine and made ourselves comfortable.

  The set ended and the DJ announced that there would be a short break followed by a dance class.

  ‘Yes, folks. Our very own Emilio will be teaching you a few moves after the break. By the end of tonight we want to see you all on the floor.’

  ‘Have you been here before?’ I asked Trudi.

  ‘Yes, a couple of times with the girls from work. Wait until you see Emilio! If anyone can make you dance – he’s the one.’

  I wasn’t convinced, but the break ended and the DJ was back at his desk. Emilio walked to the centre of the dance floor and introduced himself. There was a brief pause as almost every woman in the room sighed. The man was an absolute vision: tall, dark and handsome with deep brown eyes to die for. His voice was like velvet and his Hispanic accent would have melted an iceberg.

  ‘Don’t you think he’s gorgeous?’ Trudi whispered.

  ‘He’s only a kid,’ I replied. ‘He can’t be more than thirty.’

  ‘Age is just a number, Lyd. I wouldn’t let that bother me.’

  Emilio demonstrated the basic salsa moves, clapping his hands to show the rhythm and counting aloud. ‘Tap, one, two, three …’ He tapped his right foot and then took three short steps to the right, and tapped his left foot and took three steps to the left. It seemed simple enough. He invited everyone to join him and, despite my protestations, Trudi pulled me to my feet and we joined the other learners. For the next half-hour, Emilio instructed us in the basics of salsa and merengue. I found that it got easier the more I drank. By the time the ‘class’ was finished and the normal dancing resumed I felt like a salsa expert. But I had yet to try it with a partner.

  We sat down to catch our breath and almost immediately a guy came over and asked Trudi to dance. Emilio was ‘doing the rounds’, going from table to table, chatting t
o people and occasionally dancing briefly with some of the women who gazed rapturously at him. Trudi returned to the table, having extricated herself from the partner who had apparently been a little too enthusiastic.

  As the evening progressed I had a couple of dance partners too. I even got to do the merengue with Emilio who was quite disappointing close up; however, I was drunk enough to tell him that Trudi would love to dance with him and he was gentleman enough to oblige by leading me back to the table and taking her onto the floor instead. That worked out for the best as they’d exchanged phone numbers before the night was over.

  ‘I can’t believe you passed on Emilio!’ she said when we got back to my place. ‘But I’m glad you did.’

  ‘He’s not really my type,’ I said. ‘You’re welcome to him. I hope he calls you.’

  ‘So do I, but I doubt he will. I bet he got at least a dozen numbers tonight. Who is your type these days anyway?’

  ‘Maybe I don’t have a type.’ I kicked off my shoes. I was going to have a hangover in the morning for sure, but it had been fun.

  ‘You’ve got a message on the landline,’ Trudi said. ‘Can I stop here tonight? I don’t feel like moving.’ She was stretched out on the sofa.

  ‘Of course. I’ll get you a duvet in a bit.’ I picked up the phone to check the message.

  ‘Bad news?’ Trudi asked when I sat down. ‘You look a little deflated.’

  ‘It was Des. He’s had to go away for a few days. His sister’s had a heart attack.’

  ‘Oh dear. Is she going to be OK? Where does she live?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t even know he had a sister until now. He’s going to call me tomorrow if he gets a chance.’

  I had sobered up rapidly and just felt really tired. I gave Trudi the spare duvet and went to bed, but I lay awake for a while thinking about Des and his sister.

  Dear God, I can’t stand the thought of anything hurting Des. Please take care of him and his sister.

  I felt childish praying like that, but it helped.

  Chapter 16: Access All Areas