‘Really?’ I said. ‘But we’ve only done the first bit of the dance.’
‘I’m going for lunch and then to play bridge with some friends,’ Cora said, giving me a wink. ‘We don’t play much bridge, I must be honest. In fact, I’ve never quite grasped the rules. But we have a good chat and a few drinks.’
‘Sounds like Phil’s book club,’ I said, gathering up my phone and speakers. ‘I once had to go and rescue him from some very odd club in Soho where he’d somehow ended up after a heated discussion about The Hunger Games.’
I turned to Cora and spontaneously kissed her on her soft, lined cheek.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
She waved me off as though it was nothing.
‘Let’s catch up again over the weekend,’ she said.
I felt slightly out of sorts as I went back to my flat through Cora’s garden and my little yard. Like I’d been reset or recharged. My mind seemed clear for the first time since I’d gone down the steps into that club and seen Matty kissing Kayleigh. It was like a fog had lifted.
It was still really warm and I was sweating after all that dancing. I was fit – I went to the gym a lot and I ran whenever I got a chance – but dancing was using muscles I wasn’t used to using.
I downed a glass of water, then poured another and stood in the open-plan kitchen looking round the flat. It didn’t really look like home.
‘I need to sort this out,’ I said to myself. I wiped my sweaty brow. ‘After a shower.’
I showered and pulled on some denim shorts, a bright-pink strappy top and some Havaianas; then, clad in my sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat, I picked up my bag and headed out to explore Clapham.
Which was very nice, actually. There were all sorts of interesting little shops, nice delis, cool bars, and a health food cafe where I stopped for an amazing lunch of the nicest Greek salad I’d tasted, outside of Greece. It was really the first time I’d eaten properly since everything happened. I always completely lost my appetite when I was stressed. But I’d found I was suddenly starving hungry. I even bought some food to make dinner. I’d not even turned on the cooker in my flat so far, surviving on mostly bananas with black coffee and the occasional cup of tea.
In a brilliant bric-a-brac shop, under a railway arch, I found a framed drawing of a flamenco dancer. Her head was turned away and she had a flower in her dark hair. Her skirt was full of ruffles and it was flying up as she moved to show her feet, which were just a blur. On a whim, I decided to buy it.
‘She looks a bit like you,’ the man behind the counter said, as he wrapped it up in brown paper for me. ‘Can you dance like that?’
I laughed.
‘I wish,’ I said, handing over my cash. ‘Maybe one day.’
Back home, I spent the afternoon happily arranging my flat. I unpacked all my shopping, arranged my (meagre) possessions in my bedroom and the living room, and propped my flamenco picture on the mantelpiece because obviously I didn’t have a hammer, or a drill, or any of the other things you needed to put up a picture. I grilled some chicken for dinner and ate it with salad and houmous – it was so hot I couldn’t bear to eat anything else, really – while I was watching old clips of Strictly Stars Dancing on YouTube and – would you believe – taking notes.
Later in the evening, I heard Cora moving about upstairs, so I grabbed a cold bottle of rose wine from the fridge and went to see her. She was in her kitchen, bustling about, and she smiled widely when she saw me knocking on her open back door.
‘Amy,’ she said in delight. ‘Come in.’
‘I brought you this,’ I said. ‘To say thank you for my dance lesson today.’
‘There is no need for thanks,’ Cora said. ‘Teaching dancing is my great joy. But I will accept this wine on condition you stay and drink it with me.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘Aren’t you tired after your bridge session?’
‘It was fairly restrained today,’ Cora said. ‘My friend Hazel has her son and his family staying so she had to leave early, and then we were a player short.’
‘In that case, I’d love to,’ I said. ‘Shall we sit outside? It’s still so warm.’
We sat at the table in the garden. The air was muggy and the sky was beginning to darken as though a storm was brewing, but for now it was still warm enough to enjoy the evening.
I told Cora about the picture I’d found, and how I’d spent the day.
‘It’s so strange,’ I said. ‘I feel like spending the morning with you has recharged my batteries.’ I took a swig of wine and narrowed my eyes at her. ‘Are you a witch?’
Cora laughed.
‘It’s not me who’s made you feel better,’ she said. ‘It’s dancing.’
I was sceptical.
‘You think?’
‘I know,’ Cora said. ‘My friend Audrey and I always said we could dance away our misery. It never fails.’
‘That makes no sense,’ I said.
‘Oh, it does.’ Cora looked serious. ‘I’ve done quite a lot of reading about it and I taught some dance therapy classes for a while. It’s a bit like meditation, or what I believe they call mindfulness nowadays.’
I raised my eyebrows, still unconvinced, but Cora went on.
‘When you dance you have to concentrate completely on what you’re doing,’ she said. ‘You learned that today. So it takes you out of yourself. Gives you a rest from your misery and lets you heal.’
I nodded slowly. This was beginning to make sense.
‘Does it work for other things apart from misery?’ I said, refilling our glasses. ‘Like failure and humiliation.’
‘Trust me,’ Cora said. ‘It works for everything.’
She gave me a sly glance.
‘You youngsters thing you’ve got the monopoly on heartbreak,’ she said. ‘But you didn’t invent it. Believe me, I know a few things about humiliation and broken hearts.’
She looked distant for a moment and I reached over the table and took her hand.
‘What happened to you?’ I asked. ‘Did you lose someone?’
Cora smiled weakly.
‘It was a very long time ago,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you all the sorry details one day.’
‘Was it in the war?’ I asked, trying to work out how old Cora would have been back then.
‘Another time,’ Cora said. ‘So tell me, have you heard from that ex-boyfriend of yours?’
I gave up. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it.
‘I’ve not heard anything,’ I said. ‘But I’m okay about that.’
‘You don’t want him back?’
I shook my head.
‘No, I really don’t think I do,’ I said. ‘ He was cheating on me for months and everyone knew about it. And he knew I was on my way to meet him that night so why did he choose that moment to start snogging a starlet? I can’t help wondering if he set the whole thing up just for publicity, which is horrible but the sort of thing he would do. To be honest, I’m exhausted by this whole celebrity thing …’
I paused.
‘Patrick thinks I’m shallow and superficial,’ I said.
Cora shrugged.
‘Just because you like to look nice it doesn’t mean you’re shallow,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have to stop wearing make-up to ensure people take you seriously.’
I grinned.
‘That’s exactly what I think,’ I said. ‘Still smarts a bit that he thinks that of me, though.’
Cora eyed me thoughtfully.
‘It’s very important to get along with your dance partner,’ she said. ‘We need to work on that, too.’
‘Good luck with that,’ I said. ‘He hates me.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain battering against my bedroom window and my phone buzzing frantically on the bedside table.
I felt for it in the half-light and groaned when I saw Babs on the screen.
‘Morning,’ I growled. ‘What time
is it?’
‘It’s nine o’clock,’ Babs trilled. ‘And I want to know what you’re playing at? No press attention, my arse.
I sat up, suddenly wide-awake and filled with dread.
‘What?’ I said. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Get your iPad, look at the PostOnline and call me back,’ Babs said.
‘Babs …’ I began, but she’d hung up.
Feeling sick – and regretting the last glass of wine I’d had with Cora before I finally headed to bed at midnight – I slid out of bed and padded into the lounge to find my iPad. The PostOnline was bookmarked but the homepage was a story about benefit cheats. I sat on the sofa, balanced my iPad on my knee and phoned Babs.
‘What?’ I demanded when she answered.
‘Top story, TV and showbiz,’ she said.
I hit the tab at the top with my forefinger and waited for the page to load.
‘Got it?’ said Babs.
‘Got it,’ I said, looking as my face filled the screen. It was a photo of me coming out of the junk shop in Clapham the day before. I was clutching my brown-paper-wrapped parcel under one arm, grinning like a loon, and squinting slightly in the sun. My sunglasses – my trusty disguise – were propped on top of my head, and my hat – trusty disguise number two – was in my hand. It had been dark inside the shop and I’d had to take them off to see properly. More fool me for not putting them back on before I went back out onto the street.
But, I thought, looking at the picture critically. I didn’t look bad. My legs were long, smooth and brown in my denim shorts. My arms were toned. My hair was a bit messy but hardly a disaster. And I was smiling.
‘Moving on,’ the article read. ‘Shamed soap star Amy Lavender showed she was moving on with her life after being dumped by her boyfriend, reality TV star Matty Hall. Fresh-faced Amy, who’s currently rehearsing for the new series of Strictly Stars Dancing, was spotted showing off her lean pins in tiny Daisy Duke shorts as she shopped for furniture in an antiques store in South London …’
I was a bit annoyed that I hadn’t seen anyone taking a photo – and that the press were still interested in me – but I had to admit, as showbiz gossip went, it wasn’t all bad. I said as much to Babs.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘You look amazing. Gorgeous. Happy. Healthy. We should make the most of this.’
‘We should?’
‘I’m wondering if this might make Matty want you back,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘If he sees you looking fabulous, not missing him at all, it might make him see what he’s lost.’
‘Babs,’ I said, in a warning tone, which she completely ignored.
‘It was clever of you to be photographed like this. Like you’re over him already.’
‘I’m not over him,’ I said, sulkily. ‘At least, I’m not over the humiliation of it all. I just wanted to go shopping.’
‘ Well, whatever you wanted, it could be the thing that gets Matty back,’ Babs said.
‘I don’t know if I want him back.’
‘I think you’re better together,’ Babs said. ‘You’re a brand. Like the Beckhams.’
‘What if I don’t want to be a brand?’ I said. ‘What if I just want to be an actress?’
But Babs was on a roll now.
‘There’s a film premiere tonight,’ she said. ‘. Lots of celebs and I’m told Matty and his crew are all going.’
‘So?’ I said.
‘So you’re going, too. I want us to capitalise on this attention.’
‘Oh, Babs,’ I whined. ‘It’s raining. And I don’t want the attention. And I really don’t want to see Matty.
‘You need to get out and about if you want casting directors to remember you,’ she said. ‘This dancing thing won’t last for ever, and you’ll be auditioning again soon. I need people to see you, Amy.’
I absolutely, positively didn’t want to see Matty, I didn’t want him to want me back, and I really wasn’t excited about going to a film premiere. But Babs was the only part of my old life that hadn’t given up on me, and I couldn’t bring myself to argue with her. I may have been milking it a bit when I told Phil that everyone left me, but I did genuinely fear being abandoned. My mum moving to Spain had made me feel lost and alone, even though Phil’s family had stepped in. Then Matty – the first man I’d really committed to – had left me in the most humiliating way. Babs had been part of my life for almost a decade and I wasn’t about to risk losing her, too.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Where is it?’
‘Leicester Square. I’ll get you a car,’ she said. ‘Text me your address. And bring your dance partner. He’s hot, right?’
‘He’s really hot,’ I admitted. ‘But he hates me.’
‘Probably wants to get in your knickers,’ Babs said. I sensed it wasn’t the time to admit he already had.
‘Can you persuade him?’
‘To get in my knickers?’
‘To go to the premiere,’ Babs said with a sigh. ‘You’ll get a lot of attention if he’s with you.’
‘Dunno,’ I said. ‘What’s the film?’
‘Some surfing thing, I think,’ Babs said. ‘Can’t remember the name.’
I grinned.
‘He’ll come,’ I said. ‘But seriously, I’m not sure about Matty. I just think I’m better off without him.’
Babs tutted.
‘Just trust me on this one,’ she said. ‘I’ve been in this game a long time.’
Reluctantly I agreed. She promised to email me the details of the premiere, and we said our goodbyes. I sat for a little while, watching the rain soak into the parched earth beneath Cora’s lawn, thinking about Patrick. Cora had said it was important to get along with my dance partner. Maybe I should make an effort to get to know Patrick? We could go along to the film, have a laugh, and maybe get to be friends. We’d definitely clicked at the theatre that night, so we obviously had things in common. I felt like I had to apologise for being such a cow. Plus I kind of wanted to show him what Cora had taught me yesterday, too.
I took a deep breath, then I scrolled through my phone and found his number. He answered straightaway but he sounded pretty grumpy.
‘Patrick,’ I said, trying to be bright and breezy. ‘I wondered if we could get together?’
‘I thought we were having the weekend off,’ he said.
‘We are,’ I said. ‘We were. But I’ve got tickets to this surfing film tonight and I wondered if you’d like to come.’
There was a pause.
‘The new one?’ Patrick said.
‘Yep.’
He paused again.
‘Are you trying to decide whether how much you want to see the film outweighs how annoying you find me?’ I said.
Patrick let out a bark of laughter.
‘Pretty much,’ he admitted. ‘I’d love to come. Shall I meet you there?’
‘Could you come here first?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got something to show you. About three-ish?’
‘Really?’ said Patrick, reluctantly.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘Don’t make me beg.’
Patrick agreed.
I spent the morning cleaning the flat (I know, actually cleaning – that was new), had a nap (cleaning was hard work) and dug out a long flowery maxi dress to wear to the premiere. I didn’t have time to get someone to do my make-up and hair, so instead I just dried my hair into loose waves, stuck on a floral headband, and went for hippy chic instead. It fitted with the surfer vibe, I told myself.
As I was trying to resist painting a flower on my cheekbone with eyeliner, there was a knock on the door. Patrick.
I suddenly felt nervous. I was so desperate to make things right between us that it seemed really important that I did everything properly.
‘Hi,’ I said, opening the door.
‘Wow,’ Patrick said. ‘You look great.’
I giggled.
‘Do I look like I’m in fancy dress?’ I asked.
He gave me a grin that showed off his white
teeth, sparkling in his tanned face.
‘A bit,’ he said. ‘But it’s kind of nice.’
I showed him into the lounge and made him sit down, even though he wanted to have a nose round.
‘Could you just sit for five seconds,’ I begged.
Patrick eyed me suspiciously.
‘Okaaay,’ he said.
‘You have to just let me talk without interrupting,’ I said, standing nervously by the fireplace. ‘There are some things I need to say.’
Patrick looked bewildered and ever-so-slightly annoyed.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But could you sit down? You’re reminding me of my dad the way you’re standing up there preparing to give me a lecture.’
I perched on the edge of the sofa.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Here’s the thing. I don’t know how much you know about me …’
‘Not much,’ Patrick admitted. ‘I mean, I googled you when we got put together but there was just so much, and lots of it was about that soap, and I gave up.’
I sighed.
‘So, I was in a soap,’ I said. ‘And everything was going really great. My boyfriend Matty was a DJ and he and his friends are in a reality TV show. It kind of follows them round – it’s a bit strange because it’s half scripted, half not.’
Patrick nodded.
‘I know the thing,’ he said.
‘And we got a lot of attention,’ I went on. ‘Magazine covers, photo shoots, endorsements, you name it. We were big business. We made a staggering amount of money just for getting engaged. Our wedding was going to be huge. But Matty cheated on me, I found out and punched the girl he was kissing; he threw me out, I lost my job and here I am.’
‘Ouch,’ said Patrick.
‘My agent, Babs, wants me to stay in the public eye because she says it’s good for my career. She pulled strings to get me on Strictly Stars Dancing at the last minute, to raise my profile and get the public to see the ‘real Amy’. I wasn’t keen – after everything that happened I wanted to disappear for a while and get away from the paps and the crazy stories.’
‘Don’t blame you,’ Patrick said.
‘So when I woke up in your flat I was furious with myself,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘If anyone had seen me leaving your flat after we, well, you know, I’d have been back to square one. It would have been all over the PostOnline and I just couldn’t face it’
A Step In Time Page 10