MEN DANCING

by Cherry Radford

  ‘Tutus. No, we’ll go to something dramatic. It can be quite erotic, you know.’

  ‘I can see that,’ he said, kissing my neck and putting his hand between my legs as I did a water-borne arabesque.

  ‘Stop it! You’ll get us thrown out. Debarred. De-pooled. Go on, you do your twenty minutes or whatever, and then I’ll see you in the Jacuzzi.’

  ***

  ‘I can’t believe James wanted you to do a poster for the Oxford Congress and you said no. Couldn’t you see it would give us a chance to be together?’ Ricardo asked.

  ‘I don’t know... he only told me the day before the abstracts had to be in...’ And I was teaching Ali and Jessie for the first time that evening.

  ‘But you’re coming up anyway aren’t you... after your Monday clinic? You could bring your laptop and work in the room on Tuesday, then I’d get out of the dinner and we can have that night together too.’ He was combing my hair with his fingers. I felt sleepy and satisfied, the earth and several other planets had moved. I didn’t want to lie to him.

  ‘I’ll have to check with Jez. It’s not so easy now Seb’s home from school.’

  ‘I thought you told him already.’

  ‘Well, yes... I said I might go up for a night.’

  ‘Might?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘What d’you mean, not sure. Why didn’t you just tell him you had to?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure which night.’

  ‘Well that was up to you to say, wasn’t it? God, Rosie, what d’you want to do, you tell me,’ he said, suddenly getting up and putting the hotel robe on.

  ‘I think I can only manage one night.’

  ‘Yes, okay. So which night? I need to know, because I’ll have to get out of evening events.’

  I would just have to pick a day and maybe change it if it clashed with the day that Ali wanted a lesson. Tuesday seemed unlikely, since surely he’d be getting ready to fly the next day, and without Jessie to help him. ‘Okay, Tuesday then.’

  ‘Good.’ He went over to the window; the grey sky had given way to patchy sunshine. ‘Tea and cake on the balcony then?’

  ‘Ooh – yes please.’

  He picked up the phone to reception and ordered it while I put on my robe and stepped outside. I could hear him laughing with the receptionist on the phone, and then he came outside and put his arms round me. We admired the view, argued about whether we could see the hospital, wished we could always have this fiendishly expensive rooftop studio and regretted that we couldn’t be there all night. Then there was a knock at the door. And a buzz from my phone.

  While Ricardo helped the young man with the tray set out our tea on the balcony table, I read a text from Ali: ‘Tuesday is OK. You can come early, six if you can. We have long lesson. Ali x.’ I quickly put my phone away and joined Ricardo outside, his arms coming round me again.

  ‘Actually, I’ve just thought, Monday would be better.’

  I could immediately feel the tension in his arms. ‘Why?’

  Why indeed? I would arrive later, having to wait for the clinic to finish. ‘Well, I think it’s just an easier evening for me to be away.’ It sounded feeble. ‘They’re used to me not being around on Monday evenings,’ I added.

  I sat down and poured the tea, but he wasn’t joining me.

  ‘That text – who was it from?’ he asked.

  I didn’t think he’d heard it. ‘Text?’

  ‘Yes, a text Rosie, you just got a text. You read it and then changed the night.’

  I began to feel rather shaky. ‘What? It was just Jez asking where Kenny’s swimming goggles were.’

  ‘But you didn’t reply.’

  ‘I don’t know where they are.’

  He stood there staring at me for a moment and then disappeared back into the room.

  I waited. I took a sip of sugared tea. A corner of apple cake. ‘Hey, come and join me,’ I called out to him. I cursed myself for not waiting to tell him. I could have told him in a text the next day, when I would have had time to think of a convincing reason for the change. I got up to go to him, but as I reached the door he came out. With my pink phone in his hand.

  ‘It wasn’t Jez, it was Alix. Why did you lie to me?

  Why Rosie?’ He’d taken hold of my arm.

  ‘I thought you’d be cross.’

  ‘And I am. You always put these people before me. Why? How much is it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How much do they pay you?’

  ‘For the two of them, er... forty-five pounds, but that’s not – ’

  ‘I know money is difficult for you. You don’t say, but I know. I’ll pay you double this okay?’ He let go of me, put my phone down on the table.

  ‘No, you can’t do that... I’m sorry, it’s the last lesson before they go away,’ I said.

  ‘Rosie, it’s okay, I’ll pay you for missed lessons. I’ll give you money every week if you need it.’

  It seemed so obvious that the teaching gave me more than just money; I thought he understood that. And there was something else: this staying in his Oxford hotel room hidden from sight, with his cash.

  ‘Doesn’t that make me a prostitute?’ I said, half joking.

  His eyes widened and he suddenly gripped my arms painfully. ‘How can you say something like that? I’m leaving my wife for you!’ He let go of me so suddenly that I had to steady myself with the table, sending crockery crashing on to the decking. He’d gone inside. I stood clutching my arms, wondering whether he was just going to leave. I waited, staring at the phone. I started to shiver.

  And then he came out. I didn’t look up, but I could tell he was dressed. I thought he’d come to tell me he was off. But he turned me towards him.

  ‘You’re freezing,’ he said, his voice hoarse, drawing me to him and then leading me back into the room. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t hear you talk like that Rosie. But I can’t believe I... please say you’ll forgive me.’ His arms were round me again, his face pressed against mine.

  I nodded, and then watched him fill the enormous Jacuzzi bath, pour in some orange-scented bubbles, fetch my band and ineptly put my hair up, take off my robe. He ordered more tea and brought it into the bathroom. He fed me some cake while I was in the bath. Then he said he’d like to join me, if that was okay, and I said I wished he would.

  28.

  ‘The guy have to lead the girl, I think you not accept this,’ Carlota said with a chuckle, patting my arm and giving me her big Cuban grin.

  I was an Improver Two in salsa now, of course I knew that.

  ‘Mira, I show you.’

  Everyone else was drinking from their water bottles, chatting, finding car keys. Snake-hips Simon – a born dancer but in real life a slightly overweight young sales assistant in the village bathroom shop – was persuaded to stay back for a few minutes and demonstrate.

  ‘Your hand – is too tight. Open your fingers for him, abre así... Relax.’ She was shaking my wrist; I was aware of my upper arm wobbling disgracefully. ‘If you not relaxed, you don’t feel the comunicación from the guy. If your hand is soft, like this, he can… move you to go where he wants…’ I let Simon’s pale but convincing Cuban send me into a turn.

  Something I knew all about. That’s Latin men for you. And I had two of them in my life, a silly soft hand in two different sets of olive-skinned, dark-haired fingers. Ali had texted to say that there’d been a change of plan, his interview was going to be on Tuesday, so he now wanted me there on Monday, as usual, but at half past five, por favor. And Ricardo, after an apologetic forty-eight hours, had started up again about having me come up to Oxford for two nights instead of one, Tuesday and Wednesday, por favor.

  Then on Saturday morning, just as I was trying to get Kenny ready for his dance class, Ricardo called my mobile. He was being punished, he said: the cold he’d caught at the pool had turned into flu, and it was now very unlikely that he’d be going to the Congress at all.

  ‘I’m sorry Rosie, I knew
you didn’t want to hide in my hotel room. I knew you weren’t comfortable with it. But I pushed you and then... as I say, this is my punishment.’

  ‘Look, it’s okay. And anyway, I was going to text you – Emma’s going away next Saturday and wants me to stay in her flat in Camden to look after her cat and plants for a week... Jez says that would be fine because his friend John wants to stay with us while his kitchen’s being done. And isn’t it next week that Ana and Gabriel wanted to go and visit those friends?’

  ***

  His shoulders were going up: not a good sign. And he was talking too loudly about the other children, pointing out the black girl with the wet hands, the two fat girls who knew all the steps, the little blonde who giggles if he talks to her.

  ‘And that’s Charles,’ he said in a stage whisper. Oh dear. The same height as Kenny, which usually means two years older and therefore about four years ahead in social skills. Charles walked past with a gracious nod at Kenny and sat down to change into his dancing shoes.

  ‘I want those,’ Kenny said.

  ‘Please may I have. Of course we’ll buy you some, once we know you’re... happy doing this.’ Once we know you’re not going to get kicked out. Because if we buy a pair and then you’re asked to leave, the shoes will hurt me every time I open your wardrobe, just like the taekwondo outfit, Arties overall and Dolphins swimming cap do.

  The teacher arrived with her register and cash box. She was vast; what was it with ballroom dancing teachers? Do they so miss competing, when they get older, that they eat themselves stupid and become these elegant battleships? But fat and jolly she was not. She took my four pounds without a word and left me wondering whether I was supposed to watch the class, in case Kenny became difficult, or wait in the cramped reception area where pictures of her and her protégées covered the walls.

  I opted for a half-way house, taking a seat by the door. Kenny was talking at the black girl, who smiled briefly and moved away. Then Battleship was demonstrating the steps, her thickly muscular legs improbably supported by dainty high-heeled feet. They were asked to pair up. In my salsa class the out-numbered men are immediately grabbed like musical chairs, but for these pre-teen girls this potential new partner, a real boy for heaven’s sake, seemed to be surrounded by a negative force field. Then my mobile rang, so I took myself off to the reception area.

  ‘Rosie. It is that week they’re going away, so yes! Six nights together – I can’t believe it.’

  ‘That’s great! How are you feeling?’

  ‘I have high temperature, but I’m happy, I think it helps me see things... I need to tell Ana. Now. This weekend.’

  ‘Oh God...’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘But... she might try and ring here, tell Jez. I was going to wait until after the Open Day, I don’t want to spoil it.’

  ‘When’s that again?’

  ‘August the third. Four weeks tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll tell them on the fourth. And when we’re together next week maybe we can look for a flat to rent for September.’

  ‘Yes, I thought about that.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Of course. Now get some sleep. Sono bem. Amo-o.’ A couple of older girls had arrived for the next class and were discussing a competition. There was music now – a passionate Latin number that could have been for a tango. One of the girls had pushed the door open to have a look at the class.

  ‘A new boy – look.’

  The other girl nudged her out of the way. ‘Oh yes.’ She watched for a while. ‘Charles doesn’t look too happy,’ she said.

  So I wondered whether Kenny had latched on to Charles and bored him to bits or whether he’d taken offence at a misread facial expression and stuck his foot out. Either way, distraction of the class star would be a heinous and probably unforgivable crime.

  The girls sat down to share a bag of crisps so I took up their position. But I couldn’t see Kenny; either he was now dancing on the other side of the room or he’d been told to sit down.

  So I went back to my plastic chair and texted a reply to one of the most talented male dancers in the country. And then sat daydreaming about him teaching my oddball son to dance salsa... with one of his sister’s exquisite and sunny-natured daughters. That’s it, his older sister and her children would be over from Cuba and staying with him in his flat, in the spare room. He’d move the sofa over to make space and put on a Cuban CD, show Kenny how to lead her, to put his shoulders down and look like a man... but hang on, didn’t the sister have four children? They couldn’t all sleep in the spare room... she would have to leave a couple behind with mama in Cuba... but come to think of it, weren’t they all boys? I tried to remember...

  ‘Kenny’s Mum?’

  ‘Oh... yes?’

  ‘Could I have a word?’ She turned on her heel before I could answer.

  Shit. I was tempted to say no, we’re leaving, fuck-you. After all, it wasn’t school; I didn’t have to listen to her. But I’d promised myself I’d stop having tantrums in front of Kenny, it wasn’t a good example. All part of the new, considerate behaviour that I was picking up from Jez. I followed her into the studio, where other parents, I now noticed, had been sitting on chairs watching, having come in through another door.

  ‘I just need to catch Charles’ mother,’ she said, sailing over to a Sarah-lookalike by the door.

  ‘Did you have a good time?’ I asked a spinning Kenny.

  ‘A good time? It’s good time, good timing, time to be good...’

  I nodded and looked away; he was on overdrive, and there was clearly no chance of getting anything sensible about it out of him for a while. If at all.

  She’d floated back. I told myself, whatever she says, whatever happens, I’ll tell Jez and he’ll be able to see the funny side, do a cracking take-off of the forced smile and Lancashire accent and make me laugh.

  ‘Have you ever done any of this kind of dancing yourself?’

  ‘No.’ I waited for a lecture about the importance of cooperation between the children in a class like this. ‘I wanted to once, but you needed a partner and my husband wasn’t keen.’

  ‘Well you need to try and persuade him. You’re going to have to learn.’

  Ah. Here we go. Like Taekwondo. I’m going to have to be here at every lesson, a sort of Dance Learning Support Assistant, and if I can’t she won’t have Kenny in the class. It would be difficult when I moved to London, but not impossible.

  ‘You don’t look too sure,’ she added.

  ‘Oh no, I’d love to do it.’

  ‘Or Kenny could come for one-to-one.’

  Aha. Like the swimming teacher. At a monstrous price but that’s what Disability Living Allowance is for. But Kenny would want to dance with a little girl, not a battleship.

  ‘Or maybe both, because it’s early days I know... but I’m looking at Blackpool.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The Junior Dance Festival. Probably with Keisha.’

  And I thought, male dancers: a rarity. Musical chairs. Probably any boy that can be sow’s-eared into it will do. ‘He’s only had two lessons. Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to tell? And... my husband did tell you, about Kenny...?’

  ‘Yes, but if he wants to do it... I mean, look at him.’ Kenny was practising with the black girl, presumably Keisha, while her mother, with a whining toddler in tow, was trying to get her to leave.

  Battleship called him over. ‘Show Mummy your waltz Kenny.’ She patted his shoulders firmly. ‘We’ve got a lot of work to do on these,’ she said to me, and I nodded.

  She pressed the button of the music player and counted him in, and then he took hold of her and waltzed her round the room as if she were Cinderella.

  ***

  ‘Sorry, could you say that again?’ Jez clapped a hand over his ear.

  I stomped through to Seb’s room. ‘Turn it down!’ I bellowed. A drunken grin, upper body rocking, rapper pointing movements with the
arms: what passed for dancing at Brighton Dancia. ‘Now!’ An infinitesimal lowering of volume. I pulled a wire out of his laptop. I pulled another: sudden blissful release from the harsh pounding.

  ‘It’s dance music, Mum – you should love it.’

  ‘Dad’s on the phone, can’t hear a damn word.’

  I slammed the door and went back to the kitchen. Jez was putting the phone down with a perplexed grin on his face. ‘We’ve got to go to this place in Burgess Hill that sells the right shoes. That’s for you too I’m afraid – you’re going to be going at nine on Saturdays.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I said, and laughed as he attempted to waltz me round the kitchen.

  ‘What are you two doing?’ Seb asked. ‘Can you take me to the station, there’s a whole load of us meeting up. And I need ten... fifteen pounds.’

  ‘Okay, but you’ll be washing our cars tomorrow. Now get your phone – we can drop you on our way,’ I said.

  ‘We’re going to the dance shoe shop,’ announced Kenny.

  ‘You’ll hate it, it’s a pink nightmare,’ Seb said.

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ I said to Kenny. ‘Although he does have a point. Shame we haven’t got some blinkers you could wear in there,’ I said, laughing and putting my hands either side of his face.

  ‘Like ponies wear?’

  ‘Yes. And possibly some sunglasses to filter out the sparkle. You’ll just have to do what all those men dancers on Strictly Come Dancing must have done when they were little boys: imagine you’re Dr Who visiting an alien planet, do what you have to do – get the shoes – and then get the hell out of there.’

  Kenny looked pensive for a moment. ‘Are men dancers only on telly?’

  ‘No, they’re real people like everyone else. Perhaps you’ll meet one someday.’

  29.

  ‘Ten minutes late, but I can pardon you when you...’ he kissed me on each cheek and ran his fingers down a bunch of my hair, ‘look so well today. Come, I make you delicious drink. Very good for you.’

  He’d made a rather lumpy smoothie, the ingredients covering every surface of the kitchen – those that weren’t covered in letters and roughly folded washing. He caught me glancing at a pair of black boxers.