by Lucy Dillon
She blushed and looked down at her shoes.
‘Anyway,’ Angelica went on, to spare her embarrassment, ‘once you get into the tango, you won’t want to do anything else. It’s the sort of dance that just takes you over. I mean, when I . . .’ She stopped.
‘You what?’ asked Katie.
Angelica gave her a sad smile. ‘When I first learned the tango, my partner and I didn’t bother with waltzes or foxtrots for months. Our ballroom teacher was furious. We went round the milongas just dancing this. Learning the moves, making up new ones, letting it get right into our blood. It was like learning to dance all over again. I loved it.’
‘Was that your dancing partner or your . . . romantic partner?’ asked Katie.
‘Both.’ Angelica brushed some invisible lint off her skirt, and Katie saw a glow of something soft come over her face. ‘He was called Tony Canero. We were brilliant together – on the dancefloor at least. We won everything we entered, pretty much. I’ve never seen a man who danced like him, then or since. He really found something in me that I didn’t know was there – great partners do that.’
‘Was he your husband?’
‘No.’ She made a tsking noise with her tongue, her face still vulnerable. ‘No, we didn’t marry. It’s better to learn to dance with your husband than to marry your dancing partner, I think. We danced together, all over the world, every competition going, and we were together the same amount of time, but it all came to a head. It all ended. No, I haven’t seen him in years.’
‘You didn’t stay in touch?’ asked Katie, curiously. How could you achieve that much with someone, live through an experience like that, and let them just vanish from your life?
‘We didn’t exactly part on Christmas-card terms,’ said Angelica. ‘He ran off with a younger woman. Just before we were about to compete in a national championship, actually – not the greatest timing.’
‘What a bastard!’ said Katie, her eyes widening in sympathy.
Angelica opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. When she looked at Katie, frankness made her eyes even more piercing. ‘I was about to say something very flippant there, but if I’m being honest, it was as much my fault as his. I was very insecure in those days, thought that I was only as good as our last competition. I had this obsession about winning every title. I thought Tony would only want me so long as I could be the perfect partner, as long as we were learning new things together.’
She looked down at her hands. ‘In the end, he said he didn’t know whether I really loved him off the dancefloor as much as I did on it. Which was rich, because I could have said the same about him. I think the reality was that we were both scared of having to be honest with each other, when we didn’t have the dancing to do the talking for us. We were really hot stuff on the floor, you know. I couldn’t bear the thought of us stagnating into slippers and cocoa when he found out how dull I was underneath the sequins.’
‘You’re hardly dull, Angelica!’
The ballroom smile didn’t cover the regret in Angelica’s face, and standing there in the empty, daylit Hall, she seemed older than at class, and more worn out. ‘Tempestuous relationships are all very well when you’ve got the energy for fighting and making up, but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘It ended very quickly, but I’d rather have quick endings than drag things out. And then I went off to America and was married for a while to a very sweet man, Jerry, and I was very happy.’
Katie wasn’t convinced by her bright smile or her verys. ‘Tony’s never tried to get in touch since?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve moved around a lot. I’ve never believed in going back, in any case.’
‘You’re back here, though, aren’t you?’ Katie pointed out.
Angelica sighed through her long nose. ‘Seems so.’
The tango music seemed to have unlocked memories that she couldn’t pack away, and Katie was conscious that she was intruding.
Not intruding, she thought, sharing. I’m sharing my own relationship woes with her, without speaking, and she’s sharing with me. It was a bittersweet feeling, but not completely sad.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be nosy.’
‘You’re not,’ said Angelica. ‘It’s just . . . It brings it all back, teaching you this, being back in this Hall again. You know, I came back here to sort my mother’s house, and really it’s been me that’s needed the sorting out.’ She looked up at Katie and twisted her mouth wryly. ‘Don’t put things in storage, that’s my advice. In life and in relationships. One day you have to unpack it all, whether you like it or not.’
Angelica slapped her hands on her knees to indicate that the melancholy break was over. ‘And when you unpack your old dresses, you’re absolutely depressed to think you were once that skinny.’ She smiled. ‘You have to find slim young women to pass them on to. Now, don’t you have that job of yours to get back to?’
‘I do.’ Suddenly Katie was in no rush to get back to work. It had slipped down her priorities. ‘Can I have a CD of tango music to listen to in the car?’
Angelica smiled, and her face lost thirty years in a flash. ‘Of course. At last!’
As she left, pulling her coat tightly around her against the chill November wind, Katie looked back at the Hall, and was startled to see one of the outer stained-glass windows was broken. Not smashed, but definitely damaged. Slowly, she walked back, and realised that deep cracks split two other windows, and the wooden window frames had been pulled away, as if to prove they were rotten.
Her chest contracted with outrage, and in an instant, she knew what Nick had been up to – she’d heard about shady stuff like that before, contractors ‘discovering’ irreparable deterioration in staircases when they examined them with sledgehammers, or accidental damage done to historic façades, meaning the whole building may as well come down.
That was the last straw, thought Katie, and instead of feeling bad, she felt thoroughly elated as she stormed back to the office.
Jo’s house was as tidy as ever, but, later that evening, Katie could sense a hum of chaos as she walked through the door to pick up the children. Ross hadn’t called to say where he was, and she was too proud to phone him to see what he’d got up to on his day off.
The television was on very loud in the sitting room, for a start, which Katie didn’t remember ever hearing in Jo’s house, and the girls were screeching about something in the kitchen. She couldn’t tell what; they were making a high-pitched keening noise that, in her house, usually signified extreme pleading for sweets.
As she walked in, Katie realised she’d been proved right for once.
‘No more Haribo!’ Jo was yelling back as Molly and Hannah made hysterical praying gestures. ‘Molly, I promise you, even if I had any more, you wouldn’t be getting any! Look,’ she added, spotting Katie, ‘Hannah’s mummy will back me up. Isn’t that right – too many sweeties before tea makes your hair fall out?’
And I thought Jo was way above scary stories, thought Katie. Thank God it’s not just me.
‘Absolutely right,’ she nodded, seriously. ‘And I was thinking of taking some little girls to Claire’s Accessories to buy new hair bobbles this weekend, but obviously there’s no point taking you two if you don’t have any lovely hair to put in them?’
Hannah and Molly looked shocked, then ran off, screeching, to the sitting room again.
‘Thanks for that,’ said Jo. She let her face fall back into its exhausted state once the girls had left and Katie realised that it was only copious concealer making Jo look normal. ‘I promised myself I’d never do blatant sweetie lies like my mum did, but they haven’t let up all afternoon. I’m on the verge of running amok with that sleeping stuff Leigh Sinton drugged her kids with last summer.’
‘What?’ said Katie, putting the kettle on before Jo felt obliged to hostess her. ‘I missed that.’
Ross might have told her, but she couldn’t remember. She could barely remember who Leigh Sinton’s child was.
I’ve been missing too much, she told herself fiercely. No wonder Ross thinks I don’t care.
‘Delphi’s mum. She couldn’t be bothered to play i-Spy all the way to Brittany, so she knocked them out before they got to the motorway. Everyone pretended to be shocked, but Boots sold out of whatever she used in two days.’ Jo gave her a weary look. ‘The scandalous world of the under-fives, eh? We have to make our own entertainment.’
‘It’s more entertaining than my day at work.’ Katie sank onto a kitchen chair. ‘One passive-aggressive argument with my boss about this regeneration project and now I discover they’re trying to sabotage the whole thing. Hence a sneaky mobile-phone call to English Heritage about getting the key building in that very same regeneration project listed so my boss can go berserk and possibly fire me.’ She watched Jo make them both a cup of coffee. ‘The woman at English Heritage even asked me if I wanted a job with them, seeing as I was so concerned with historic buildings. I might as well write my own resignation letter, save Eddie the bother of sidelining me back to car parks.’
Jo put a mug down in front of her. ‘Why not? I think it’s a great idea. You should talk to them – it’s just the sort of thing we need round here, more appreciation of what the town’s already got. What’s happening with the Hall?’
‘Well, Bridget suggested we have an awareness-raising evening before Christmas – she and Angelica are organising an old-style ball, where everyone comes in vintage clothes? Bring the place to everyone’s attention, get them fired up about saving it. Angelica’s promised she’ll ring some of her old big-band contacts about the music . . .’ Katie cupped her hands round her coffee, not caring that it stung her hands. She looked up at Jo, and added, tentatively, ‘You must think I’m just like Greg, always obsessing about the office when I should be worrying about stuff nearer to home.’
‘Katie, you’re nothing like Greg,’ said Jo. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘I am.’ Katie stared into her mug. ‘Work’s taken over my life, I know. But it’s because I want the kids to have everything they need, and it’s down to me to provide that. I just want to be a good mum. And I’m not.’
‘You’re an amazing mum, Katie,’ said Jo, very seriously. ‘You’re far, far too hard on yourself. Do you think Hannah would be doing as well as she is if you weren’t? You work hard, and you set a great example about being independent. And it’s not like you don’t spend time with the children – you do! You’re there for them when you get in, and all weekend.’
‘Not enough,’ Katie began. ‘It’s not the same as you being at home every day with them . . .’
‘What? Fitting them in around everything else I have to do?’ demanded Jo. She put down her coffee and folded her arms across her chest. ‘Look, you’ve got to stop this idea that it’s some kind of Play School idyll being at home twenty-four seven. Yes, it’s lovely sometimes. But you ask Ross – it can be like solitary bloody confinement, when it’s just you, a squealing baby and the Fimbles for hours and hours on end. You’d go mad within a week. You need a seriously high boredom threshold, and yours is down here somewhere! Face it, Katie – and I say this as your friend – Ross is great with the kids. Of the two of you, he’s the right one to be at home with them. So stop beating yourself up about it, and just get on with it.’
‘But I feel like I’m letting them down!’ Katie burst out.
‘How?’ Jo stared at her. ‘I don’t get it. How are you letting them down?’
‘By not being there.’
‘Well, that’s about you, then, not the kids,’ said Jo, robustly. ‘That’s about you feeling guilty. Because let me tell you, they’re just fine. You spend proper, focused, positive time with them when you’re home, and they love you. Anything else is just you setting yourself yet another impossible hoop to jump through, that no one else gives a stuff about.’
Katie was taken aback by the breezy way Jo was dishing it out. ‘Are you saying I’m neurotic?’
‘No!’ said Jo. ‘I’m saying you’re missing the point of how good a mum you already are! You’re being the best parent possible by giving them a roof over their heads and everything they need. That. Is. Enough.’
She relented a little, seeing Katie’s dazed face. ‘This is just now, Katie. You’ve got years of parenting ahead of you. Years! Think of all those mother and daughter shopping trips you’ll have with Hannah when she’s older. You don’t know how things’ll turn out – Ross might go back to work in a few years, and you can go part-time when Jack’s at school. You can be the one going to football matches and sitting through endless recorder recitals.’
She reached over and grabbed Katie round the waist, shaking her for emphasis. ‘I mean it, Katie. Why are you so angry with yourself? You’re a great mother. I admire what you’ve done enormously and it breaks my heart that you can’t see what everyone else can. Give yourself a break.’
Katie felt her lip tremble. ‘No one’s ever said that to me before,’ she admitted, wobbling a little. ‘Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?’
‘Really?’ Jo looked astonished.
She shook her head. ‘No. I always thought I’d be a mum like you – you know, all warm and cake-baking, and cosy. That’s what I wanted, to stay at home like my own mum did with me, doing stuff. Being responsible for my children. And it hasn’t worked out like that, and I just feel . . . like I’ve failed.’
‘Then you’re daft,’ said Jo. ‘Because it’s not just about how well you can make your own play-doh. I’d say you’ve done a better job than me.’
‘And I’ve taken it out on Ross,’ Katie went on, suddenly realising. ‘I’ve been angry at him for doing what I wanted to do, and maybe I’ve just been jealous that he’s done it so well. You’re right, I don’t have his patience, or his niceness.’
‘Oh, you do,’ insisted Jo.
‘No, I don’t. For a couple of hours, yes, but not for day after day. And I’ve been so wrapped up in hating myself that I’ve let it destroy our marriage.’ She looked up at Jo miserably. ‘I’ve pushed him away because I hated myself. How stupid is that?’
‘Pretty stupid,’ agreed Jo. ‘But it’s not too late.’
Katie shook her head. ‘He’s just not talking to me any more. I keep trying to tell him how I feel, but he won’t listen.’
‘I don’t think it’s too late,’ said Jo again. ‘Trust me.’
She scrutinised Jo’s open face. What did she mean by that? What had Ross told her? It stung, not just that Ross found it easier to talk to Jo than he did her, but that Jo had a faith in her marriage that she couldn’t see.
‘Why? What’s he said?’ she demanded immediately, but Jo’s mouth had closed in a firm line.
‘He hasn’t said anything,’ she insisted, but Katie didn’t believe her. ‘I just know. Are you still going to that counsellor?’
‘He won’t, not now.’
‘Well, maybe you should go,’ suggested Jo. ‘On your own? It might be helpful.’
Katie thought of Peter, and the things Ross had probably said about her after she stormed out of their last session. Going on her own was like admitting it had failed.
At least her private tango lessons with Angelica would be good exercise, even if they didn’t have the magic effect Angelica seemed to think they would. ‘Maybe,’ she said, to agree more than anything else.
‘I’m going to start going,’ said Jo, starting to stack the dishwasher. ‘On my own. I don’t see why you and Ross and my mum should be the only ones stuck with my moaning.’
The shrieking continued from the sitting room, but Jo carried on loading plates calmly and ignored it. For someone whose husband had walked out days ago, she seemed unexpectedly serene.
‘Jo, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you on tranquillisers?’ asked Katie. ‘Did you go to the doctor or something?’
‘Oh, this isn’t what I’m like all the time,’ said Jo. ‘Inside, I’m furious. It’s sort of the fury that keeps me calm. I keep thinking, how dare Greg leave me, how dare h
e treat me so appallingly, and that allows me to let the kids do whatever they want, and not be round there begging him to come home. It’s a sort of weird balance. And he’s paying for a cleaner to keep the house tidy so I can focus on the children, plus he’s not here giving me a hard time about the mess. Or the size of my arse. I don’t have to worry about where he is, because he’s not meant to be here. So that’s a few things less to get stressed about.’
Jo’s composure slipped, just enough for Katie to see the strain around her eyes, and her heart ached in sympathy. At least she was angry. At least she wasn’t blaming herself. But was it really good for the girls to have their mother boiling away inside?
‘Jo,’ she said, carefully, ‘if you need some time out, I can always take the kids, you know. I mean, I’m not saying you can’t cope on your own, but if you need to let off steam . . .’
Jo saw Katie’s concern and touched her arm. ‘Listen, don’t get me wrong, I’m not furious all the time. Sometimes I’m really scared, and that’s when it goes to pieces. But I keep telling myself that it’s better like this, than if I’d forgiven him over and over, and my beautiful, bright daughters grew up into terrified fembots who think the only way to make a man love them is to be thin and let him screw around.’
‘And you’re right,’ insisted Katie. ‘If you need someone to tell you that, call me. Any time. Twenty-four hours a day.’
‘I will.’ Jo managed a weak smile. ‘I’ve hired my solicitor, and my mum’s constantly on the phone, so they’ll be telling me too. But I’m so glad I’ve got you and Ross.’ She paused, and lifted her eyebrows significantly. ‘Both of you.’
It was weird, thought Katie, how Jo and I’ve suddenly got something back in common, now we’re both struggling again. Or maybe, she corrected herself, it’s just that I’ve managed to take a step back from my own navel-gazing and seen she needs some support.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ she said, wanting it to be true with a strength that made Jo blink with emotion.