A Step In Time

by Kerry Barrett

  It was a lovely day. My bare front room had double doors at one end, leading out to a paved yard. The sun was streaming in and it was stuffy in the room so I threw the doors open and then threw myself on the sofa and stared at the blank walls.

  How dare Patrick say I wasn’t trying? How dare he say it was all my fault when he was acting so weird? I’d show him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After a while I got bored lying there feeling sorry for myself, so I went in search of food. I poured myself a glass of wine, then I dug around in the fridge and I found some olives and cheese. I couldn’t find any crackers in the cupboard but I did find half a bag of crisps. That would do. I drained my glass then poured myself another one and wandered back into the lounge.

  ‘Right,’ I said. Still holding my wine, I pushed the sofa back against the wall with my bum and rolled up the rug, so the wooden floor was bare. Then I scrolled through Spotify until I found the Bruno Mars track that we were dancing our cha-cha to.

  ‘I’m going to show you, Patrick,’ I said out loud. ‘I’m going to be the best damn cha-cha dancer Strictly Stars Dancing has ever seen.’

  I drained my glass again and topped it up. Then I pressed play on the laptop and started trying to cha-cha.

  Bruno started singing about her eyes. I swayed slightly and stepped on the wrong foot.

  ‘Bollocks,’ I said. I took another gulp of wine and started again.

  Bruno was singing about her hair now, but I was still on the wrong foot.

  ‘This is a nightmare,’ I said. ‘It’s a complete bloody nightmare.’

  I should never have signed up for Strictly Stars Dancing. I should have said no when Babs phoned. I should have gone to America, or Australia. Actually, Australia wasn’t a bad idea – maybe Babs could get me an audition for one of their soaps? Sun, sea, sand – and the added bonus of knowing that my knickers hadn’t been seen by just about everyone I walked past in the street.

  Then I thought about Patrick’s annoying face and thought about how shocked he’d be if I went in tomorrow knowing how to cha-cha. Maybe I’d stick it out for now.

  I took another swig of my wine, dumped the glass on the side and restarted the song.

  Bruno was back to her eyes again. I stepped on the wrong foot. Again.

  ‘Other leg,’ said a voice.

  I span round in surprise and there, standing in the double doors that led outside, was an old woman. A really old woman. Possibly the oldest woman I’d ever seen in my whole life. She was wearing long white linen trousers, a pink wrap-around top, and sparkly ballet pumps, and her pure white hair was swept up in a bun.

  ‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ I squealed. I grabbed my phone and held it out like a weapon, which was slightly overdramatic given that my would-be assailant was a tiny old lady, but it had been a tough few weeks.

  ‘I am two seconds away from calling the police. What are you doing in my house?’

  ‘You’re in my house, my darling,’ she said in a throaty voice that sounded like late nights and smoky jazz clubs. ‘And you’re starting on the wrong leg.’

  I looked down at my legs and then back at the old woman, realisation beginning to dawn.

  ‘Are you Mrs Devonshire?’ I said. ‘You’re Natasha’s grandma?’

  ‘Call me Cora,’ she said. She came into the room properly, walking in a very upright way, like a ballerina, despite her advanced years. She was really elegant and I could see where Natasha got her looks from.

  Cora looked me up and down and I shifted uncomfortably under her stare, aware that I had mascara halfway down my face, my hair piled on top of my head like a pineapple and a hole in my leggings.

  ‘You must be Amy Lavender,’ she said.

  I nodded, not sure what to say.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I muttered.

  ‘Start again,’ Cora said. ‘Left leg.’

  I looked at her in confusion.

  ‘Shut your mouth, darling,’ she said. ‘Start again. Go on.’

  Not wanting to argue, I restarted the song and began my cha-cha – on the left leg this time.

  ‘That’s right,’ Cora said encouragingly. ‘Carry on.’

  She lowered herself onto the sofa and tilted her head.

  ‘Carry on.’

  I stopped.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I can’t do it.’

  I burst into tears.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ I said. I looked at Mrs Devonshire – Cora – sitting on the sofa, a concerned look on her face and something inside me burst.

  ‘It’s all gone wrong,’ I wailed. I could hardly get my words out because I was crying so hard. ‘Matty doesn’t want to know, and Patrick hates me, and I can’t dance, and those girls took my dreeeeessss,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t work out which leg I should start on, and I lost my job. I’ve been killed off.’

  Cora blinked at me.

  ‘Killed off?’ she said.

  ‘Killed off,’ I said. ‘I’m in a soap. I was in a soap. But I punched a reality TV star and I lost my job and I can never go back. Ever.’

  I dug a tissue out from the waistband of my leggings and blew my nose.

  ‘And Matty was cheating on me the whole time, and I sent him a picture of myself and he didn’t recognise meeeeee.’

  It was like all the trauma of the last few weeks had been unleashed and all I could do was cry.

  I sobbed and hiccupped and snorted for a few minutes, but eventually I managed to control my tears. I wiped my eyes with my very soggy tissue and was overwhelmed with a huge wave of embarrassment instead. I looked at Cora, who was still sitting on the sofa regarding me with a mixture of confusion, amusement and – to my relief – sympathy.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I said. ‘Oh, I am so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.’

  Cora stood up, slightly shakily but still with more elegance than I could ever hope to have.

  ‘I came down to see if you could help me open a window,’ she said, a small smile on her lips. ‘But I think it’s you who could do with a hand.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ I said. I was drawn to this woman with her sparkly shoes and her chic hair and I was suddenly desperate for her to like me.

  ‘I’m so sorry that this is how I introduced myself. Can we start again?’

  Cora stuck her hand out and I shook it.

  ‘Cora Devonshire,’ she said. ‘Old but not infirm and definitely not incapable, despite what my fusspot of a granddaughter may have told you.’

  I grinned. Cora was funny.

  ‘Amy Lavender,’ I said. ‘Washed-up soap star, newly unemployed, newly single, newly homeless and …’ – I hiccupped – ‘… a bit tipsy.’

  We smiled at one another and I felt like I had an ally. Someone who was stable and secure in among the chaos that my life had become. Which was ridiculous, given that I’d only just met her and I was the one who was supposed to be looking after her. Maybe I was like those baby ducklings who just attached themselves to the first thing they saw and decided that was their mother …

  Cora clapped her hands and startled me out of my musings about ducks.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Shall we get on?’

  I looked at her, baffled.

  ‘On?’

  ‘You come and help me open that window,’ she said. ‘I will make us both a very large gin and tonic, and you can tell me why you were dancing the cha-cha.’ She glanced down at my feet. ‘Badly.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cora led me out of my back door, up the stone steps to the side of my little yard, which was sunk lower than the rest of the outdoor area, and into a bigger garden. It had a neat lawn and honeysuckle climbed all over the back of the house. There was a wooden table and four chairs with spotty cushions on the grass. It wasn’t a huge garden – we were still in London, after all – but it was obviously well loved. It was still really warm, even though it had to be after seven, and I could smell the sweet scent of the honeysuckle. I breathed in deeply, and foll
owed Cora through her kitchen, which was cool with a slate floor and tiles on the wall, and into the large lounge.

  There was a piano at one end, against the wall, with piles of sheet music on top. There were lots of books, two enormous squishy faded sofas, and a thick oriental rug on the wooden floor. It was very nice and even I, philistine that I was, could see it was classy.

  ‘It’s the sash at the front,’ Cora said. ‘I just can’t get a grip on it to push it up.’

  She showed me her hands, which were lumpy and misshapen with arthritis, and I winced.

  ‘I’ll sort it,’ I said. I gave the window a shove and it slid upwards.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cora said. ‘I’ll ask Natasha to get an extra handle put on it. Now, I think I mentioned G&T?’

  ‘Your hands look painful,’ I said, following Cora back into the kitchen and watching as she busied herself filling two tall glasses with ice.

  ‘Sometimes,’ she said, handing me a lemon and a knife to slice it with. ‘But I’ve got painkillers. I do get frustrated when it stops me doing things, and do you know what the worst thing is?’

  I looked at her questioningly.

  ‘They look so bloody ugly,’ she said, with a chuckle. ‘I know it’s dreadful, an old woman like me being concerned about her looks, but I was always rather proud of my elegant hands.’

  I smiled.

  ‘I’m too concerned with my looks,’ I said, thinking about what Patrick had said. ‘Apparently.’

  Cora raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Who says?’

  I sliced the lemon carefully.

  ‘Oh, my dance partner,’ I said. ‘I’m doing this competition, but I’m not very good and he doesn’t like me very much. Shall I carry the drinks?’

  I put the G&Ts and a bowl of pistachios that Cora had produced onto a tray and carried it out to the garden.

  I helped Cora pull her chair out and sat down.

  ‘This is such a lovely garden,’ I said.

  Cora smiled.

  ‘I don’t do it,’ she said. ‘But I like to look at it. I like things to be beautiful.’

  ‘Oh, me too,’ I said. I looked at Cora, sitting straight-backed in her chair, tilting her head up to the sun, in her lovely garden, sipping her G&T. I hoped I’d be like her when I was older.

  ‘So tell me,’ Cora said. ‘What’s all this about a dancing competition?’

  I threw my head back dramatically.

  ‘Urgh,’ I said. ‘It’s not pretty. Do you really want to know?’

  Cora leaned forward.

  ‘Darling Miss Lavender,’ she said, giving a very knowing chuckle. ‘I am excellent at getting people out of trouble.’

  ‘You are?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I got into rather a lot of trouble when I was young. But somehow I managed to wriggle out of it.’

  ‘I can see that,’ I said, amused at the thought.

  ‘And my daughter, Ginny – Natasha’s mother. Oh, she’s dreadful. If there’s trouble within a hundred miles, she’ll find it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Let’s just say that this isn’t the first time she’s packed up and moved country to be with a man,’ Cora said, tightening her lips but with a glint in her eye that made me think she was actually quite proud of her flighty daughter.

  I giggled.

  ‘What about Natasha?’

  ‘Oh, that girl,’ Cora sighed. ‘She’s never given me a moment’s worry. I did wonder if she was adopted for a while. She’s so sensible.’

  I laughed again.

  ‘She looks just like you,’ I pointed out, taking a swig of my gin. ‘She can’t possibly be adopted.’

  Cora gave me a wink.

  ‘Tell me what’s happened,’ she said. ‘Because I think I can help you.’

  ‘You can?’ I said, not believing for one minute that she could. ‘Okaaaaaay.’

  Slowly I told her about my time on Turpin Road.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t watch a lot of television,’ she said. ‘But I did think I recognised you. Are you very well known?’

  I shrugged modestly.

  ‘Kind of,’ I said. ‘I’ve been in lots of magazines and stuff. But then it all went wrong.’

  ‘A man?’ Cora said.

  I nodded.

  ‘Matty,’ I said. Keeping my eyes on my bare feet so I didn’t have to see her expression – I found I very badly wanted her to realise I wasn’t a horrible person – I filled her in on what had happened at the club with Kayleigh, the police caution, losing my job, losing my clothes and meeting Natasha.’

  Cora sat in silence as I talked. I raised my head to meet her glance and was relieved to see sympathy on her face.

  ‘And the dancing?’ she said.

  ‘According to my agent, it’s a way to get my career back on track. I wanted to disappear for a while, but she says this is a way to get the public back on my side’

  Cora nodded.

  ‘It makes sense,’ she said. ‘Is she good, your agent?’

  ‘She’s stuck by me since I left school,’ I admitted. ‘I tend to do whatever she tells me to do. So she’s got me on this TV show – we get taught to dance by professionals and the public vote for their favourites.’

  Cora’s face lit up.

  ‘Strictly Stars Dancing?’ she said. ‘I love that. How thrilling. I didn’t realise it had started.’

  ‘It hasn’t,’ I said. ‘Not properly. But we’ve started training.’

  ‘But you’re not enjoying it?’

  I grimaced.

  ‘Not at all,’ I admitted. ‘I’m a terrible dancer. I did warn Babs – she’s my agent – that I would be awful.’

  ‘And you don’t get on with your partner?’

  I closed my eyes briefly.

  ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘We did get on. Too well, in fact.’

  Cora gave me a look that suggested she knew exactly what I meant, but I spelled it out anyway.

  ‘We slept together,’ I said. ‘Before we knew we were partners. And then I was horrible to him the next day. And he was horrible to me. And now we’re really not …’ – I threw my hands out in frustration – ‘… not clicking.’

  ‘It’s important to trust your partner,’ Cora said, nodding.

  ‘Do you know about dancing?’ I asked – she seemed to be very wise about it all.

  Cora gave me that grin again.

  ‘Did you go to drama school?’ she said.

  I nodded.

  ‘In Croydon,’ I said, reaching for a pistachio. ‘The Rising Stars school. I only started there when I was fourteen, to do my GCSEs, but it was brilliant.’

  ‘So have you heard of the London Academy of Theatre and Dancing?’

  ‘Of course.’ It was one of the best and most respected theatre schools in the country.

  ‘I used to teach there,’ Cora said simply.

  I widened my eyes in surprise.

  ‘OMG,’ I said. ‘So you’re an actress?’

  ‘Actually, no,’ Cora said.

  ‘So …’ I said.

  ‘I’m a dancer,’ Cora said. ‘A dancer and a dance teacher.’

  It was already sunny in the garden, but I swear everything seemed a bit shinier and just downright better at that moment.

  ‘You’re a dance teacher,’ I breathed.

  ‘I am,’ Cora said, smiling. ‘I’ll teach you if you like.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cora

  1945

  I took another deep breath and tapped my feet on the ground, marking out an invisible rhythm. Donnie was late. I was waiting for him near the bandstand in Hyde Park and he was late. Really late, in fact. I checked my watch again. Almost half an hour late.

  Maybe he’s not coming, a voice inside my head said. A voice that sounded rather like Audrey. He’s not coming because it’s all got too serious. He doesn’t want to marry you and you’d be a fool to tell him you’re pregnant.

  I sighed. Maybe Audrey was right. Maybe Donnie was
only interested in my looks and my love of life. Maybe he would run a mile as soon as I said the words I’d been practising over and over for weeks.

  But no. I didn’t believe that. Donnie loved me. I knew that as surely as I knew I loved him. He wouldn’t let me down. Except he wasn’t here.

  I stood up and looked down the path left and right. It was a warm day for the beginning of March and the park was busy. Soldiers home on leave strolled arm in arm with pretty women, and office workers stretched their legs out on the grass. On a bench opposite the one I sat on, a young mother cuddled a baby close, murmuring into her ear and reading a book with one hand. I wondered where the baby’s father was and how he’d reacted when he’d found out he was going to be a dad. The mother sensed me watching her and looked up. I gave her a quick smile and moved away, not wanting to seem odd.

  I’ll walk once more round the bandstand, I thought to myself. Then, if Donnie’s not here, I’ll go.

  Slowly, I wandered across the grass, deep in thought about how to break the news to Donnie.

  I’d gone through various ways of telling him. There was matter-of-fact: ‘I’m expecting.’ Dramatic: ‘I’m afraid I’ve some bad news …’ Playing it down: ‘… We’re getting married anyway …’ And even jokey: ‘We’ve done our bit for the war effort, darling …’ None of them seemed right.

  ‘Excuse me?’ A voice made me jump. It was a young soldier. He was holding his hat in his hands and his dark hair stuck up like a schoolboy’s.

  ‘You’re her, ain’t you?’ he said. ‘Cora Cassidy?’

  Despite how worried I was about Donnie and the future, I felt the thrill of being recognised. I loved performing, but I couldn’t deny that I also loved that the troops we played to loved it, too. Their admiration – almost adoration – gave me the shivers.