Patrick was waiting in the studio when I arrived, even though it was only eight o’clock. The kids were at school now, of course, well into the new term, but Cora had pulled some strings and made sure we still had a space to practise in. Patrick was dancing when I arrived and I stood by the door, watching him. He was going through our tango and it was amazing to watch him. He looked strong and powerful, and a bit vulnerable, too. I found I couldn’t take my eyes off him, which was a worry.
When the music finished, he turned to me and I realised he’d known I was there all along.
‘Pretty good,’ I said as I handed him the coffee I’d bought en route. ‘I think we’ll make a dancer of you yet.’
He grinned at me.
‘You’re early,’ he said. We both sat down on a bench at one end of the studio and I shrugged my bag off my back.
‘Wanted to see you,’ I said, sipping at my own latte. ‘Sorry about Matty yesterday.’
Patrick looked down at his feet.
‘I don’t think Matty and I will ever be friends,’ he said.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘He’s a bit selfish.’
Patrick raised his eyebrows.
‘A bit?’ he said.
He ran his thumb over the top of his coffee cup.
‘Are you happy, Amy?’ he said. ‘With him?’
I leaned back against the wall and looked at him.
‘I think so,’ I said. ‘We’re good together. We want the same things.’
‘Money? Fame? Adoration?’ said Patrick, his lip curling in disgust.
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Don’t make it all sound so shitty.’
Patrick shrugged.
‘You’re better than that, Amy,’ he said. ‘What about your auditions?’
‘Babs said once I was back on top I’d have the pick of auditions,’ I said. ‘Being with Matty is part of her plan.’
‘But what about you?’ Patrick said. He frowned at me. ‘You’re not some pawn in Babs and Matty’s game. You need to do what’s right for you – you don’t have to play at being Amy Lavender if you don’t want to be.’
I smiled at him.
‘You’re adorable,’ I said. ‘Worrying about me like that. But this is right for me. It’s who I am, Patrick. It’s what I do.’
Something that looked like disappointment flashed across Patrick’s face. I changed the subject.
‘What are we going to do about Donnie?’
He bit his lip.
‘Is Cora coming in today?’ he said.
I shook my head.
‘She’s got something on,’ I said. ‘She’s going to come tomorrow.’
‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ Patrick said. ‘I’m not sure I could face her knowing what we know.’
‘We have to tell her,’ I said. ‘We do. We can’t let her think that Donnie abandoned her and her baby when he didn’t.’
Patrick nodded.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘But it just seems so harsh.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘She basically changed the way she saw the world because Donnie jilted her. And we’re going to tell her he didn’t. It’s like her whole life view is going to have to be rewritten.’
‘I had an idea,’ Patrick said. ‘But tell me if you think it’s dumb.’
‘Go on,’ I said, intrigued.
‘I thought I might try to find Donnie’s family,’ he said. ‘Maybe he had siblings? Perhaps he’s got nieces and nephews? It might help her, you know?’
I looked at him.
‘Do you think it’s stupid?’ he said.
‘I think it’s lovely,’ I said. ‘It’s more than lovely. I think it’s really thoughtful and caring and just generally wonderful.’
Patrick beamed at me and I smiled back.
‘And I think you’re wonderful,’ I said.
We stared at each other for a second, then Patrick broke the eye contact.
‘So let’s tango,’ he said.
It was easy to imagine myself as a woman in a relationship that was full of break-ups and make-ups – the back story for my dance that Cora had given me – because that was basically my life with Matty. But it was an odd sensation.
Like I’d told Patrick, I often felt like I was playing the role of Amy Lavender when I was being the celebrity version of myself. So now I was putting that into my dance, but dancing with Patrick, who I could be totally at ease with. It was a bit strange and it had quite an effect on me.
As we danced, I felt like all my nerve endings were tingling. It was a close dance, the tango – we were in contact all the time – and I had never been so aware of Patrick’s sheer presence as I was that morning.
There was a tricky part in the dance that I’d been struggling with. A backwards bend that involved Patrick holding my waist and me curling backwards – almost folding in half. I had been nervous about doing it and hadn’t managed to get it right yet. But today, the dance flowed beautifully and as Patrick gripped my waist I knew I trusted him completely. I bent back, my hair almost trailing on the floor, then snapped back up. Perfect.
‘Yes!’ Patrick said, abandoning the dance and lifting me up off my feet. ‘I knew you could do it.’
‘Nailed it,’ I said. I wrapped my arms round his neck and then, without really knowing what I was doing, I kissed him. Just a small, gentle peck at first. I pulled away and Patrick put me back down on the floor, then he kissed me back more deeply.
I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs and I wondered if Patrick could feel it, too, as we stood in the middle of the dance floor, arms entwined, bodies pressed close together.
And then my phone rang, buzzing violently in my pocket, which was jammed up against Patrick’s hip. So that broke the mood completely.
‘Sorry,’ I said, giggling and pulling it out so I could end the call. It was Matty. With a jolt of realisation I suddenly came to my senses. I’d got back with Matty for a reason – lots of reasons – and here I was kissing my dance partner. Who, as far as I knew, was still romancing twee Sarah-Lou. I was no better than horrible Kayleigh, who I’d punched for kissing my boyfriend. And Babs would be furious. Matty would be heartbroken. Probably. What was I thinking?
‘Shit,’ I said to Patrick. ‘I have to go.’
‘No,’ he said, grabbing my hand. ‘NO. Amy, if you go now, you’re making a choice and you’re choosing to be Amy Lavender – the fake Amy Lavender. Is that how you want to live your life?’
I pulled my hand away.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s who I am.’
Chapter Forty-Three
The ironic thing was, I didn’t even ring Matty back and I certainly didn’t go to him. Instead I went to Phil. He was just shutting the shop up – he closed early on Friday afternoons – but he took one look at my face and bustled me inside, locking the door behind me.
‘What’s happened?’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’
He eyed me suspiciously.
‘Is it Matty?’
With a lurch, I realised I’d not even bothered to tell him I’d got back with Matty. I’d not spoken to him for ages, actually. Some friend I was. Of course, he’d have seen our rekindled romance in the PostOnline, which was Phil’s guilty pleasure, if nowhere else.
I threw myself onto the sofa.
‘It’s Matty,’ I wailed. ‘And it’s Patrick.’
Phil sat down next to me.
‘Ooh it’s always the hot dance partner,’ he said. ‘Spill.’
As I poured out the whole sorry tale I started to realise how silly it all was. Matty had broken my heart and made me look like a fool. I’d even got a police caution because of him. It was crazy to go back to him. Even if I hadn’t fallen for Patrick who was kind, loving and – Phil was right – totally hot.
‘So why did you get back with Matty?’ Phil said. ‘I saw the thing he did in Hot magazine. It was a bit creepy.’
‘You think?’ I said, surprised. ‘I thought it was romantic.’
Phil rolled his e
yes.
‘You would,’ he said. ‘Gestures like that aren’t romantic. They’re just for show. Real romance is tiny things. Everyday things. Like Bertie making me a cup of tea every morning before he leaves for work.’
‘And Patrick looking for Donnie,’ I muttered.
‘Cora told me to follow my head and not my heart,’ I said, louder. ‘It makes complete sense for me and Matty to be together. We’re good together. We’re a brand. We make each other better. Babs even said it would improve my chances of getting on a drama.’
‘Sounds like a business decision,’ Phil pointed out. ‘That’s not very romantic.’
‘Cora said romance just leads to trouble,’ I said. ‘It’s not worth the heartache.’
I paused.
‘But Cora was wrong,’ I said slowly, realising that all her advice had been based on Donnie jilting her. And Donnie hadn’t jilted her after all. ‘Cora was wrong.’
Phil looked at me, bewildered. I buried my face in my hands.
‘What should I do, Phil?’ I said. ‘I’ve made so many wrong decisions and now I’ve made a huge mess of everything.’
Phil put his arm round me.
‘I know exactly what you should do,’ he said. I looked up at him hopefully.
‘Get drunk,’ he said.
Which was indeed a brilliant idea at four o’clock on a Friday evening when I was confused and heartsick and just wanted to get through the day. But seemed much less brilliant when I was on my way to the studio early the next morning for a dress rehearsal before the live show that evening.
I sat mutely in the car, hidden behind sunglasses. I didn’t speak to the costume girls, really, as they flitted around me pinning me into the black dress I was wearing for the tango. I nodded when the hairdresser showed me her ideas to pull my hair back off my face and give me bright red lips, even though I knew red lipstick didn’t suit me.
I was hungover, without a doubt, but I was mostly feeling really awful about running out on Patrick. I was horribly aware we’d not rehearsed our dance as much as we should have, and I had a nagging voice in my head telling me this was bound to be our last week on the show. We’d gone as far as we could, I thought. On Sunday I’d be back to business as usual. The very thought made me want to cry, so I pinched my lips together and said nothing at all.
When Patrick eventually showed up, five minutes before our dress rehearsal slot, he barely acknowledged me. He was busy messaging on his phone – Sarah-Lou, I thought. He gave me an abrupt nod and said ‘ready?’ and that was it.
But I wasn’t ready. Not even a bit. As the band struck up the opening notes of ‘Back to Black’, my mind went blank. And not in a good way. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I followed Patrick’s lead, but I was a bit behind the whole time, and I didn’t do the backwards bend properly at all.
The dress rehearsal wasn’t great. But Patrick didn’t hang about afterwards to give me notes like he’d done in the past. He disappeared off somewhere and only came back as the live show was starting. So by the time we took to the stage, I was almost throwing up because I was so nervous. I was glad that Cora hadn’t made it tonight, and that Matty was doing some club night in Manchester. I didn’t want anyone to witness my failure.
And, as if I’d willed it to happen, the dance was a disaster from start to finish. I trod on my dress. I went left instead of right. I stepped on Patrick’s foot. And, worst of all, I tensed up when I went to bend backwards, meaning Patrick fumbled and almost dropped me on my head. It was embarrassing. The audience gave us good-natured applause but, by the time we went to hear what the judges had to say, I was almost in tears.
‘It was a disaster, darling,’ said one. Another told us, quite sternly, that we’d disappointed him. Then the twinkly-eyed head judge, Frank, took off his glasses and looked at us.
‘Something’s happened with you two,’ he said in his rough cockney tones. ‘I don’t know what it is, but I suggest you sort it out quick bloody smart.’
‘Tensions do run high at this stage in the competition,’ said Melissa, the presenter. I glared at her. What did she know?
‘It’s all good,’ Patrick said, taking my hand. I clung on to it. ‘We’re good. This was a tricky dance.’
Frank looked disbelieving.
‘I just hope the audience see enough in you to keep you here for another week,’ he said. ‘You deserve to be in the semi-final in my opinion, but it’s not up to me.’
As we went through the double doors, out of sight of the cameras, Patrick dropped my hand and headed off down the corridor.
‘Patrick,’ I called.
He turned back and looked at me.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
But he didn’t respond.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Of course we were in the bottom two – alongside the Olympic swimmer who was dressed as Tarzan and dancing a jive. We had to dance again to stay in the competition and I was terrified.
I tried my best to dance the tango better this time and it was marginally improved. But we were under-rehearsed, awkward and unhappy and it showed.
‘I never want to dance that tango ever again,’ I told Melissa as she led us out to wait for the judges’ verdict.
She laughed, but I hadn’t been joking.
In the end, I think, it was purely due to the Tarzan costume that we stayed in. Frank was no fan of ‘silly outfits’ as he called them and, as he held the deciding vote, his decision to keep us in for another week won through. But it was close. Really close. And Patrick was furious.
‘Let’s take Monday off, too,’ he said, marching out of the studio with me almost running to keep up with him. ‘See if two days off can’t improve our dancing a bit.’
‘Do you think we should clear the air?’ I said, breathlessly. ‘Maybe we should talk about what happened?’
He stopped walking.
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he said. ‘I misread the signals, Amy. Just like I misread them when I nearly kissed you after our Charleston. I thought perhaps we had something, but I was wrong.’
‘We do have something,’ I said quietly, my head reeling in surprise that he thought he’d instigated our almost-kiss after our dance that time. I was under the impression it had all been me. ‘Maybe in another time or place we could have been something special.’
Patrick gave me a furious look.
‘Oh, that’s bull,’ he said. ‘You’re ruining your life by chasing Matty and going after celebrity and if you can’t see that, I can’t help you.’
‘Don’t be so superior,’ I said. ‘You just hate that I’m ambitious for something other than bloody dancing.’
Patrick shook his head.
‘I hate that you’re not ambitious enough,’ he said. ‘You’re amazing, Amy. You deserve so much more than this.’
He turned away from me and walked towards the door.
‘See you on Tuesday,’ he said.
Chapter Forty-Four
I barely slept that night. I kept going over our dance in my head, working out where it had gone wrong, and what had happened. And always coming to the same conclusion: it was my fault. If I’d not run out on Patrick, we’d have practised more, things wouldn’t have been so awkward and perhaps we wouldn’t have said those horrible things to one another. I cringed thinking about how he’d said I was shallow and how I’d proved him right. In fact, that was the most awful thing about it, that he was right.
But, said a little voice in my head at about four in the morning, he didn’t have to be so smug and sanctimonious about it. He didn’t have to be so downright nasty.
Suddenly angry I sat up in my tangled duvet and threw my pillow across the room.
‘He’s the douchebag,’ I said to the empty room. ‘Not Matty.’
Although, thinking about it, I’d not even heard from Matty. I’d messaged him on my way home from the studio asking him to call but he hadn’t.
I threw my other pillow.
‘They’re all
douchebags.’
Giving up on sleep, I got out of bed, wrapped a cardigan round myself and jammed my feet into slippers, and went into the living room where I watched Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers films until the sun came up. And that’s when exhaustion finally caught up with me and I slept. I woke up much later to the sound of Cora knocking on the patio doors.
Bleary-eyed, I let her in and staggered back to the sofa, making sure I turned the DVD off before she realised I was watching Ginger.
Cora handed me a plate loaded with slices of lemon drizzle cake and went off to the kitchen area to make tea.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ she said as the kettle boiled.
‘No.’
‘Fine.’ She poured water into mugs and searched for a teaspoon.
‘I’m very angry,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Cora smiled. ‘That will put some fire in your belly. What’s your next dance?’
‘Foxtrot,’ I said sulkily. ‘And rumba.’
Cora whistled.
‘Tricky,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘Not talking to Patrick at all?’ She handed me a mug and I shook my head.
‘We kissed,’ I admitted. ‘Then I ran away and he was annoyed. He said I’m throwing my life away chasing fame.’
Cora looked thoughtful.
‘Are you?’
I shrugged.
‘Probably,’ I said. ‘I’m following my head and not my heart, like you said.’
‘I said that?’
‘Yes, you did.’
Cora sat down next to me and wrapped her fingers round her mug. I knew the warmth eased the pain of her arthritis and I wondered if she was doing okay. I generally forgot how old she was day to day, but every now and then I got a reminder.
‘Talking about Donnie with you has stirred up emotions I thought I’d buried long ago,’ she said. ‘I’ve been remembering things, revisiting choices I made years ago. Thinking about old faces from the past.’
With a start I remembered that she didn’t yet know Donnie had died.
A Step In Time Page 20