by Sue Watson
Tony didn’t need much encouragement to put on a show, swirling around, stomping, and shouting random Spanish sounding words I wasn’t convinced were actually Spanish. But the ‘audience’ seemed genuinely enthusiastic about what we were doing. This time I wasn’t intimidated but inspired by the clapping and the sounds of approval – and I carried on, stamping and clapping to the rhythm. I really loved it, and despite feeling self-conscious, I curtseyed when Tony bowed, and I felt a rush of blood and emotion in my chest and the sting of tears in my eyes. The applause was for us, for me – I’d never realised how bloody wonderful that could feel. I felt I’d finally broken through the barrier to becoming a better dancer... and maybe a braver person.
14
DANCING AT THE DEEP END
Tony was excited about a new venue he had found for us to practise in and was driving along the M6 to a leisure centre near Walsall. I still hadn’t heard from Cameron since his no-show and the fact he hadn’t texted me at all since it was clear he had no plans to take anything further. I had resisted texting him and if I’m honest was still hoping that he’d text with an explanation. But the day before I’d found out the truth and I needed to share it with Tony, who I knew would understand and be totally on my side. There was no way to sugar coat it, so I jumped straight in. ‘Cameron’s married.’
He was overtaking a lorry and I wasn’t sure if he was concentrating or just taking this news in, but after a few seconds he exploded.
‘You are kidding me? Tell me it’s a joke?’
‘Well if it is I don’t think it’s a very funny one,’ I snapped.
‘How did you find out?’
‘Carole told me. She wasn’t sure – but she had her suspicions because she was at school with his sister. So she made a point of standing with her in the queue to be weighed at Slimming World and somehow got the conversation onto Cameron and his family. She should have worked for MI5, anyway within minutes his sister had sung like a canary about his wife and three kids. Carole even found out they are about to celebrate twenty-five fucking years of marriage next week.’
‘Bastard!’ with that Tony slammed his fist hard on the steering wheel.
‘It’s okay, Tony... I just feel stupid. I can’t believe I was taken in.’
‘He took advantage...’
‘No he didn’t. I wish he had. I just got carried away... it’s easy to start seeing more in an online friendship... a “goodnight, gorgeous” becomes a relationship.’ I didn’t add fuel to the fire and remind him that Cameron had lied and told me he was divorced.
‘Babe, that’s an engagement where I come from,’ he sighed. ‘But don’t beat yourself up, Lola, it was the first sniff you’ve had in decades...’
‘Years... not decades, I’m not that old... I don’t sniff at men like a dog either.’
‘Oh come on love it’s been a while. Decades... he was desperate and you were needy... and sniffing around him like a dog,’ He started laughing at his own imagery.
I reached out and slapped him. ‘I’m not needy or desperate... and I don’t need a man.’
‘No you don’t – you’ve been responsible for your own orgasms since 1992...’ he added.
‘Thank you for that.’
‘But you’re okay aren’t you, Lola?’ he said, more seriously now. Joking aside, he knew this had knocked my confidence and was worried I might retreat back into my safe little world.
‘I am fine. I enjoyed talking to Cameron, it was good sharing our memories. I’d always looked back on my teen years as being overshadowed by my mum’s sadness when Dad went. Cameron reminded me that I was young once and had dreams and... I feel like I’m now picking up the threads all these years later... and I don’t need a man to help me do that, in fact they just muddy the waters.’
By the time we arrived at the leisure centre, it was dark and empty, almost spookily quiet. Tony opened a door and led me into a changing room where the stench of sweaty feet and chlorine whacked the back of my throat.
‘Why here?’ I said, covering my mouth with my hand.
‘I’m friends with the manager and he says we can use the space for free.’
‘Yeah but... a swimming pool?’
‘Yes, to tighten that footwork of yours,’ he said, opening another door and leading me out to the impossibly turquoise pool.
‘I’m not dancing underwater,’ I said as we stood on the edge, looking into the pool. There were no lights above, but the pool was lit from inside which gave it a beautiful but eerie quality – all we could hear was a dripping sound.
‘We aren’t going in the water, Lola, you only need to put your trainers on. If we were going in I’d have told you to bring your tiny, fluorescent bikini.’ We both laughed hard at that... Tony laughed a little too hard for my liking, so I whacked him with one of my trainers, then wandered to the edge of the water and peeped in.
‘It’s quite ghostly, like a scene from a TV drama,’ I said, peering down into the aqua depths. I hadn’t watched TV for ages - not even Silent Witness, and Strictly wasn’t back until the Autumn - I made a mental note to tell Sophie how I’d been too busy to watch TV.
‘Yeah, it’s good though, isn’t it? I was down here with Peter the other night and it struck me that it’s the perfect place to dance.’
‘Peter?’
He smiled. ‘The manager, I told you we’re friends.’
I didn’t ask how friendly, but I could guess.
‘Anyway, see this,’ he was pointing at the fairly narrow strip around the pool, the way the blue on white tiles formed a line.
‘We dance between the pool and the line,’ he explained. ‘It’s only a couple of feet wide and it will keep your footwork tight. The flamenco is about using a small area and if your feet go over that line you know you’re dancing too wide. And if your feet go over the other side – then it’s woman overboard,’ he laughed.
‘I’m not a great swimmer,’ I warned him.
‘Even more reason to keep your feet tight,’ he pulled me to him and we danced, me keeping my feet very close together as I was petrified of landing in the water.
As we danced around the flickering turquoise light I began to feel a little more relaxed, allowing the dance to take me somewhere else. The only music was in our heads and we had complete solitude. The radiance from the pool reflected back in turquoise, a cool ripple moving gently across the water, luminous in the dim setting. The light cast ghostly shadows on the tiled wall as we moved in the strange blue glow, like we were dancing in another time and place.
Suddenly there was a gentle clapping from above and someone stepped out of the shadows.
Tony looked up, his hand over his brow to see the shadow, who stepped nearer, still clapping. I could see he was handsome and smiling – Peter I presumed?
‘It’s a ten from me!’ the voice said.
‘Oh no you’ve been watching us?’ Tony was pretending to be embarrassed, but I could tell he was secretly pleased.
As Peter joined us by the pool and introductions were made, Tony congratulated me on my footwork. ‘It works doesn’t it? Much better, Lola... very tight footwork... but you’re still not letting go, love.’
‘Yeah, perhaps tonight wasn’t the best time to try and let go,’ I smiled, ‘but it made me feel so much better.’ It was just what I needed after the news about bloody Cameron, mind you I felt even more sorry for his poor wife who hadn’t a clue what he got up to on Facebook.’
I thanked Peter for allowing us to dance by the pool and they both walked me to the door. Tony said he had a lift back… and I knew what that meant. I was pleased for him. I drove home that night feeling like I’d had a very magical experience dancing by the pool, it reminded me again of my dad’s dream to dance under the Spanish sun and I felt so sad and happy I cried.
The following morning I was having a scintillating conversation with a customer about the virtues of breaded pollock when Carole’s voice emerged from behind the baked bean pyramid; ‘Laura – have you h
eard from Tony this morning?’
‘No,’ I said and leaned forward to continue my ‘conversation’ with the baked beans. ‘Why?’
‘I think something’s happened,’ the voice said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s Tony... he’s been hurt.’
‘But I was only with him last night... oh for god’s sake, Carole, come out from behind the beans,’ I said abruptly.
She shuffled towards me. ‘It’s all right for you; I’m on my third written warning,’ she said crossly.
‘What’s happened? What makes you think he’s hurt?’
‘Well, there was something on the radio this morning about someone being beaten up by thugs. Then I go online just now and the headlines are ‘Leisure centre manager and local dance teacher Tony Hernandez beaten in suspected homophobic attack.’
My legs collapsed from under me. ‘And... what’s... how is... he? Does it say?’
‘No, it says one of them is in the local hospital with serious injuries but it doesn’t say who.’
‘I have to go,’ I said, throwing my green nylon overall at Carole. ‘Cover for me will you?’ I asked, abandoning Mrs Breaded Pollock and her shopping and running through the store. All I could think was poor Tony, poor lovely, kind Tony – how could anyone do something like this?
‘What on earth is going on?’ I heard Julie’s voice, harsh and shrill in front of me, blocking my exit, where the bloody hell had she come from?
‘I’m sorry, Julie – I’ve just heard my friend’s in hospital... he...’
‘I’m sorry but you can’t just leave your checkout.’
‘No. I haven’t, I’ve left it with Carole. Look I have to go.’
‘Hang on a minute, lady,’ she said, coming over all aggressive. ‘Your friend, you say? Is this a family member, friend or a boyfriend?’
‘What difference does it make?’
‘It makes a lot of difference, because if you think you can just run out of the building because some “friend” is in hospital, forget it. You might be allowed to go at my discretion – for family care or bereavement purposes, but not for one of your mates.’
‘But he’s been hurt... I think... he doesn’t have much family, only a sister – I don’t even know if she knows yet.’
‘Not my problem – take him a bunch of flowers when you’ve finished,’ she snapped.
‘No. I’m going,’ I said, adamantly.
I went to push past her and she pushed her face into mine, ‘If you go now, don’t even think about coming back.’
‘Oh, shove it, Julie, you ridiculous woman! How dare you speak to me like that. You strut around here thinking you’re better than everyone else just because you earn an extra 20p an hour. Well I’ve got news for you, love – in that big world outside, this green overall and your sad little supervisor’s badge are nothing... you are nothing. I’ve left someone on my till and I am now going to see my friend who’s in hospital, whether you like it or not.’ I didn’t wait for her response, her open mouth said it all, and I ran straight past her and into the car park, grabbing my keys from my bag and leaping into the car. Driving to the hospital all I could think about was Tony and just kept saying over and over in my head, please be okay, please be okay.
Arriving in reception I explained I’d come to see Tony Hernandez and the lady behind the desk nodded and looked at me with pity, then ushered me into a room. ‘The doctor will be with you shortly. There are a few magazines and a coffee machine just outside,’ she said, trying to be helpful.
‘I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t want coffee and magazines I want to see my friend... how is he?’
‘A doctor is coming to talk to you,’ she smiled sympathetically and left. I wanted to call after her, rugby tackle her to the ground and make her tell me he was okay, but I just sat there in the square room with white walls covered in leaflets about syphilis and breastfeeding.
My heart was in my mouth – why had the woman put me in here? Was this where they gave bad news? I stood up and walked around, sat down, and then stood up again, I couldn’t rest, I was so anxious. Tony was so talented and funny and clever... and so young. All kinds of horrors were whirling through my head – perhaps the worst was ‘if he lives – will he ever dance again?’ A life without dancing wouldn’t be a life for Tony.
After what seemed like an eternity a doctor appeared clutching a sheaf of paperwork, she nodded, quietly closed the door and pulled up a chair. Sitting down gently, she looked into my face. ‘His friend said his name is Tony Hernandez, but we can’t find him on the system.’
‘No... no his name’s Griffiths, Tony Griffiths. Hernandez is his stage name. How is he?’
‘It’s too soon to tell... his address?’ she was writing his details on a form. She looked at me, my mind was blank, all I could think was, is he dead?
I was so upset and frustrated I said, ‘Just please tell me how he is... how is my friend?’
She didn’t flinch, she was obviously used to this frantic, brisk behaviour from worried family and friends.
‘He’s comfortable. He took quite a beating, he was protecting his friend who escaped with cuts and bruises, but I’m afraid Tony has some severe injuries.’
‘How... bad? His brain?’
‘Not as far as we can tell. He’s under heavy sedation at the moment, and it may be a few hours before we can establish his injuries. At the moment we can’t confirm anything more than broken bones.’
‘Bones? Broken? But he’s a dancer...’
‘His left leg has been injured, his left arm is fractured – it seems his arm was stamped on by one of the people who attacked him. There’s a lot of bruising and he needed stitches over his eye.’
‘Did they hurt him... because he was gay?’
She half nodded. ‘We can’t confirm anything at this stage – but the police suggest it would seem to be the case... I have to warn you, he’s in a bad way.’
15
FAT OCTOGENARIANS AND FLAMENCO DREAMS
It was two days before Tony finally came round and was moved out of Intensive Care. I’d been visiting him for two days, sitting by his bed with his sister Rita, we were both distressed by his injuries, not knowing what the outcome would be until he woke up. And when he finally opened his eyes Rita and I were sitting by his bedside. The nurse had been in and done some checks, arranged for the doctor to come and see him and gave him some water. Apart from his physical injuries he seemed to be his old self, he was smiling and when he said ‘Lola what are you doing hanging around here? You should be practising,’ I knew he was fine.
‘You’re the one hanging around. If you didn’t want to be my partner anymore why didn’t you say instead of getting yourself beaten up,’ I joked.
‘Don’t make me laugh it hurts,’ he winced. I felt terrible for him, unable to move, his face and body covered in bruises.
‘They got the men that did this to you, love,’ Rita said, holding his hand. ‘They’re in Police Custody and it’s just as well because me and Laura were going to find them – and we’d have been on a murder charge,’ she laughed.
‘Oh well, Laura watches enough detective dramas to commit the perfect murder and even if she was caught she’d conduct her own defence.’
‘It’s true,’ I laughed. ‘On another note, I brought you these – and I want one,’,’ I said, holding up a box of his favourite cupcakes from the local bakery.
‘Oh, brought those for yourself, did you Lola,’ he smiled, and reached out to squeeze my hand. ‘I was thinking – we’ll need to cancel my classes, we don’t want students turning up on Monday night and no Tony Hernandez.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll put a notice up on the dance centre door and I can call your students too if you have their numbers.’
‘Thanks babe. The doctor’s coming round later to give me some idea of my treatment and when I’ll be able to go home, but the nurse said it could be weeks, and even then I’ll need someone to give me a hand.’
‘I can look after you,’ Rita and I said at the same time.
‘It will mean wiping my arse,’ he smiled angelically.
‘In that case Rita can do it,’ I said.
‘I think Laura would be very good at that,’ Rita laughed.
‘Have you seen Peter?’ I asked, after we had finished laughing.
He nodded.
‘How is he?’
‘Not too bad. He popped in this morning. He just had a few cuts and feels awful about me getting the brunt of it, but he ran for help in the bar and when the big heavies came out the cowards ran off. He saved me...’
His eyes were filled with tears and despite all the joking and the upbeat approach I knew Tony was hurting at the memory. I couldn’t get my head round what had happened, how could anyone physically attack someone for just being who they are?
At nine p.m. Rita and I were told by one of the nurses that we had to go, so we hugged Tony goodbye. He was tired from his injuries and from our visit, but managed to give us a list of his requirements for our next visit: ‘Sushi, pink lemonade, proper coffee... don’t forget the chocolate... 70% cocoa solids. Oh, and I need my brows doing, I can’t sit here with brows like this,’ he said. His brows looked fine to me, what you could see of them with the bruising, but he had them ‘done’ every fortnight by Mandy at ‘Curl Up and Dye’. And it seemed it would take more than a few broken bones to stop him making his regular beauty appointments.
‘Ask Mandy if she does hospital visits,’ he said.
‘Mandy? By your bed with tweezers. Telling a graphic story about her latest conquest? You’re incapacitated, she’ll have all the power – anything could happen.’
He nodded slowly and took my hand, ‘Sometimes one has to think of the greater good and suffer for their brows. And if that means enduring physical agony while listening to a long and detailed description of Mandy’s latest shag then so be it. That girl can take ten years off my face with her HD brow treatment.’