by Lucy Dillon
I make him feel – he must have said all that, thought Katie, picturing the sad ‘poor me’ look on Ross’s face as he moaned about his rotten stay-at-home life. How else would Jo know? The betrayal felt like a punch.
She’s just getting how Greg made her feel out of her system, Katie told herself, don’t take it personally. But she couldn’t stop herself snapping back.
‘And he’s whined about that, has he? Don’t you think you’re just getting one side of the story?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, get some perspective!’ Jo retorted. ‘Greg has screwed up our whole family by acting like a selfish bastard, never thinking about talking to me first. And I’m trying to stop you doing the same bloody thing.’
Katie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Stop!’ she hissed. ‘You have no idea what Ross is like at home!’
‘I know he’s a good man!’
‘And you think I don’t know that?’
‘Obviously not.’
There was a weird atmosphere in the kitchen, as if the room was filling up with misery and panic and change, like poison gas swirling around.
Jo said nothing, but just shook her head, and the passionate, angry words that had tumbled out of her moments before hung in the air between them.
It’s your fault. You pushed him away. You took him for granted.
Someone else would appreciate him, would look after him.
Someone . . . like Jo?
No, thought Katie. No.
‘If I’m being honest with you, Katie,’ Jo said, ‘I’ve never ever seen this drippy, selfish, victim Ross that you’re always moaning about. He’s practical, and positive, and one of the best parents I know. All the mums love him. It is hard being the one stuck at home with the kids, losing your own personality while you do nothing but heat things up and change shitty nappies! It’s like you’re determined to see such negative things in him!’
‘Let’s not talk about me and Ross now, OK?’ said Katie. She was trying hard to not yell at Jo, not right now, but she was definitely going too far now. ‘Let’s focus on you.’
‘Oh . . . God.’ Jo sank back onto her chair, drained of all energy. With a last effort, she said, ‘Look, it’s not for me to get involved. I care about you both, I love the kids. But if you could just take a step back. If you don’t love him any more, then fine. Just don’t try to make out it’s all his fault. It’s not fair.’
Jo just doesn’t understand, thought Katie, and suddenly she felt very, very lonely. And then she felt mean, because everything Jo had just said was probably what she’d wanted to say to Greg, if she hadn’t been in shock.
To block it out, her brain shifted into practical, coping mode. ‘Do you still want to go to Center Parcs?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t feel up to it.’
‘No, it’ll be good for the children,’ said Jo. ‘And me. If Ross is going, I’ll get some time on my own, to think.’ She looked up at Katie, and Katie could see how much of an effort she was making to hold herself together. ‘Should give you a chance to think as well.’
‘I’ll clear Greg’s stuff out while you’re gone if you want.’ Katie wanted to be helpful. She was too weary to be angry at Jo, even if she was missing the point. What good would it do to repeat all the stuff about work pressure? She’d only sound like Greg. ‘He is moving out, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ said Jo. ‘He didn’t say where, some hotel I should think.’ She paused. ‘What about Ross? Does he want to leave?’
There was something about the way Jo said it that made the situation begin to seem sharper-edged to Katie: Ross packing his jeans and T-shirts away, taking his CDs, emptying the bookshelves of his design books, explaining to the children where Daddy was going, and why . . .
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We haven’t got that far yet.’
The phone rang in the hall, making them both freeze.
‘I don’t want to speak to Greg right now,’ said Jo quietly.
‘OK.’
‘You really do have a good marriage, Katie,’ she went on, awkwardly. ‘Don’t mistake a rough patch for the end. I’m not being a bitch for fun. I mean,’ she twisted her mouth up wryly, ‘if I were a real bitch I’d be encouraging you to walk out, so we could all be bloody miserable together.’
She hugged herself, squeezing her own soft arms as if she’d never feel comforted again.
‘I know,’ said Katie, getting up off her stool. ‘Come here.’
She buried her head into Jo’s shoulder and they stayed like that, in Jo’s spotless show kitchen, as the reality of what had happened slowly sank in. In both cases, it was easier to comfort the other than face the darkness of their own next steps.
20
Meanwhile, in the Memorial Hall, the rest of the class were standing around, watching Lauren ring first Katie, then Jo. The class looked very sparse, without the Fieldings and the Parkinsons.
‘No one’s answering at Jo’s house,’ said Lauren, hanging up the call and looking to Angelica for further instruction. ‘Do you want me to try Katie’s mobile again?’
‘Can’t we just start?’ moaned Chloe, rubbing her ample upper arms until her whole body wobbled like a pale jelly inside her silky summer frock. ‘I’m freezing to death here. If I don’t get moving soon I’ll start chilblains.’
‘I have a spare cardigan if you’d like to borrow it,’ offered Peggy, shyly. ‘This hall’s never had much in the way of heating, you know. Especially since the council took the boiler out last year for being unsafe, and never replaced it.’
‘I’ll . . . er, I’ll be fine as soon as we get going, I’m sure,’ said Chloe. ‘Thanks all the same.’
Trina winked. ‘You’ll have to take her for a spin, Baxter,’ she said. ‘That’ll put some colour in her cheeks!’
Chloe gasped, but Baxter winked good-humouredly and jiggled his dark Poirot-ish eyebrows.
‘Well, we’ll just have to carry on without them,’ said Angelica. ‘At least we’ve got even numbers.’ She smiled. ‘And with four fewer people, you’ll all get the benefit of more individual attention!’
Next to Lauren, Chris groaned, and she gave him a shove with her hip.
Lauren wasn’t best pleased with Chris. He’d left her a series of crap excuses about not coming along tonight – first Kian needed someone to stay in and wait for a delivery, then he was working late – and she’d had to resort to the ultimate weapon and call Irene to ‘check Chris wasn’t going to miss his dancing lesson’.
She shot him a sideways look, and he glowered back. It had been all the pair of them could do to stop Irene coming along with him.
He might be here, but Lauren wasn’t one hundred per cent sure she hadn’t stored up some trouble for herself later.
‘Now, the reason I wanted to wait for Jo and Greg, and Katie and Ross, was that I’ve a couple of announcements to make,’ said Angelica, clasping her hands together. ‘The first is that I’ve decided you’re going to do a little demonstration at the Christmas social dance! Unless,’ she added, ‘you really, really, really don’t want to. Or, for the sake of my reputation, if I don’t think you should.’ She gave them her dark look for a moment, then beamed. ‘You’re all coming along nicely for the four-week stage, and you’ve covered the basics in four dances now, so that’s a good start. So far, I don’t think there’s anyone I’d actively hobble.’
‘Even me and Lauren?’ asked Chris, glumly.
‘Especially you and Lauren!’ exclaimed Angelica. ‘Good God, yes! Haven’t you noticed that Lauren is one of the stars of the class?’
Bridget beamed with mother-hen pride and Frank nodded proudly at her.
‘Along with her mum and dad,’ added Angelica, generously.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ said Trina, ‘but – no offence, Chloe – do I have to dance with her?’ She nodded towards her friend, but then her face brightened hopefully. ‘Could you not find me some bloke to dance with instead? I mean, you must know some, like.’
‘Be honest, it’s what you’re thinking,’ protested Trina. ‘Don’t ask doesn’t get, that’s what I say.’
‘Very true,’ agreed Angelica. ‘But I’m not a dating agency. If you want to dance with a man you’ll have to get recruiting at the Friday night social, won’t you? Hold your own auditions.’
‘Like Dance Idol,’ mused Trina. ‘I get where you’re coming from.’
‘So what exactly do we have to do?’ asked Lauren. ‘I’m not very good at . . . demonstrations.’ Which was a polite way of saying she’d bottled every exam she’d taken, tied up in knots just with wanting to do well. She looked at Chris, who had gone a bit white around the lips. Chris, of course, had been one of those jammy types who did no revision whatsoever and still fluked Bs. Although Lauren wasn’t so sure he’d be able to fluke a social foxtrot on no revision, not unless Angelica could hypnotise a sense of rhythm into him. Could you get tapes? Like those ‘Think Yourself Thin’ ones?
Irene would know.
‘It’s not a test! Just a chance for you all to show off what you’ve learned! Think of it as practice for your big day,’ suggested Angelica. ‘You’ll be fine! It’ll be fun!’
‘I don’t see why . . .’ Chris started, but stopped when Angelica’s finger pointed straight at him.
‘Christopher, you have the best partner here. She deserves a chance to shine. And you will be Fred Astaire to Lauren’s Ginger Rogers by December fourteenth, even if I have to glue the toes of your shoes together and let her drag you round like a puppet.’
‘Is that when it is?’ gasped Lauren. ‘We’re nearly at the end of October now! That’s only . . . six more Wednesdays!’
‘Plenty of time,’ said Angelica. ‘Now, with that in mind, and the fact that some of you seem to be allergic to practising, I’ve got a revision present for you.’ She bent down and opened up her big leather Kelly bag.
‘Loz, can we talk about—’ Chris began, but Lauren shushed him.
‘I’ve made special CDs for you to listen to. One each.’ Angelica began handing out the CDs, labelled in her flowing copperplate handwriting. ‘It’s got every type of music for the dances you know about, plus a couple you don’t yet but you will by next month. You can choose what you want your special dance to be. Now, I’ve written down the type of each song, and I want you to put them in your cars or on your Walkmen or whatever you have, and imagine yourselves dancing along with the music.’
She paused when she got to Baxter and Peggy. ‘I’ve made a CD for you two, although I expect you’ve got plenty of music for inspiration at home?’
Peggy simpered nervously, as she always did when Angelica spoke directly to her.
‘We have a selection of our own competition preferences, music-wise,’ Baxter said, with a modest smoothing of his hair. ‘Although we don’t like to make a big show about it.’
‘Of course not,’ said Angelica.
‘But we’re happy to give a little extra coaching to the others,’ he added. He inclined his shiny black head graciously. ‘Not that we want to take over your role, but, you know, if anyone in particular needed a little extra coaching . . .’
‘Christopher, you have your own dance coach,’ announced Angelica. ‘That’s really very generous of you, Baxter. And brave.’
‘Shall I take one for Ross and Katie?’ asked Bridget, as Angelica handed her a CD.
‘You know where they live?’
‘Well, I know roughly,’ said Bridget. ‘It’s on our way home, in Willoughby Road. And I can get the house number from school – I’m sure they’ll want to get practising. If you give me two CDs, Ross can pass one to Jo. Their two oldest are in the same class.’
‘Where do you reckon they are?’ asked Lauren, curiously. ‘It’s a bit weird, the four of them not being here.’
‘Maybe they’re on a wife-swapping holiday,’ suggested Trina. ‘They look the type.’
‘Trine!’ snapped Chloe. ‘That’s . . . gross.’
‘It’s probably something to do with the kids,’ Bridget explained. ‘It’s half-term – maybe they’ve gone away together.’
‘They might have let us know last week, then,’ sniffed Trina. ‘Makes a big difference being two men down.’
Lauren was surprised to find herself agreeing inside. It was amazing how quickly they’d all gone from being an awkward group who didn’t like dancing too close to each other, to noticing when people were missing. Well, not amazing, really, she conceded, when they were all cuddling up and treading on each other’s toes for hours at a time. She liked dancing with Ross, if not Greg so much. Greg didn’t like to talk, and tended to hold her hands a bit too tight, whereas Ross always made her feel better than she really was.
‘That’s kind of you, Bridget,’ said Angelica, and waved the one remaining CD like a tambourine as she swept back to her CD player. ‘And now, let’s start, shall we? First song on the CD is “Are You Lonesome Tonight”, a lovely old-fashioned waltz, especially for you, Lauren! I want to see you floating up on the balls of your feet, light as air, and imagine this is the last dance you’re doing before going off to a war! Everyone swap partners, please, and start in a big space, there’s plenty of room, so no excuse for crashing tonight . . .’
‘Here, Laurie, give your old dad a spin,’ said Frank, holding out his hands to Lauren. ‘Saves my bad back, having a nice tall girl to hold, ’stead of bending down to talk to your mother.’
‘I heard that, Frank,’ said Bridget, as she accepted Baxter’s hand with a smile.
Elvis’s massed choir with their introductory chorus of oohs echoed off the rafters.
‘Ready? And one, two, three, and . . .’ Frank and Lauren set off with a gentle push, like a boat being launched from the bank, and stepped gracefully across the floor, their feet finding the spaces easily.
‘Bend your knees, Lauren!’ shouted Angelica. ‘Imagine that big wedding skirt swaying as you swing up on that step! That’s it! Beautiful!’
Frank beamed as Lauren’s cheeks turned pink with pleasure and effort. ‘It’s nice to see you smiling, love,’ he said. ‘You’ve been really quiet tonight. Is something up?’
‘Not really.’ Lauren bit her lip.
‘Not really?’ He tilted his head, trying to see under her downcast eyes, so she had to look at him. He’d always done this, ever since she was tiny; he knew it made her laugh. Lauren was only a few inches shorter than her dad in her wedding shoes, and she couldn’t avoid his gaze.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘is that “not really – I need some money for a new dress” or “not really – Chris and I are emigrating to Canada and I don’t know how to tell Irene we don’t need a wedding cake”?’
Lauren’s lips curved into a smile, despite herself.
‘Tell me,’ said Frank, steering her expertly round a corner, narrowly avoiding Chris and Angelica as they stumbled past in a mess of elbows and feet. Or rather Chris was a mess; Angelica was firmly holding him together. He saw Lauren’s eyes follow Chris as he shambled past, and he knew her funny mood had something to do with him.
That made Frank even more determined to put the smile back on Lauren’s face.
Lauren saw his expression change and she knew she had to come clean.
‘You know how Chris and I are meant to be saving up for a house,’ she began slowly, ‘and that’s why we can’t live together, while we save up?’
‘Oh! And I thought you’d come home to spend more time with us,’ said Frank.
‘No,’ said Lauren, ‘don’t be daft. Although obviously it’s dead nice to be able to come home to you both but . . .’ She hesitated. Dad didn’t need to know about Chris’s bachelor behaviour; it would only make him storm round there and give him a lecture and a thick ear. ‘I miss him. Like you’d miss Mum if you had to live apart, you know, we’re both . . . grown-ups, and . . .’
‘I know what you me
an, love,’ said Frank. ‘We’re not so old that we don’t still like our private time together.’
Lauren squirmed. This wasn’t the direction she’d wanted this to go, and she hauled it back as fast as she could. ‘Anyway, you know those new houses they’re building, down where the old cattle market was?’
‘And now I want you all to do your reverse turns!’ yelled Angelica, over the chorus. ‘Men, face the corner of the room, and big turn to face the other corner, and feet together, and a bridging step and, now, ladies, the other way!’
Frank and Lauren swung round breathlessly, their feet stepping inside each other, as Lauren’s skirt twirled out with the exaggerated spin.
The reverse turns, with their wide, swift swing always made Lauren feel she was dancing ‘properly’ and, for a moment, she did imagine herself in her huge wedding dress, with the stiff Disney-style petticoats underneath. In her mind’s eye, she was looking down on herself, a vision of white and crystal elegance, with her blonde hair piled in high frosted curls, floating on her reverse turns like a dandelion clock blown in the wind, and she felt elated at what she’d learned to do.
I love dancing, she thought, her heart beating faster as her body spun and her feet moved to the music, fitting like clockwork together. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to being a princess, even when I’m dancing with my dad.
And then she remembered how she’d be dancing with Chris, and she sank a little. Still, she thought, rallying herself, just think how gorgeous he’ll look in the silver brocade cravat.