‘Whatever are you doing with the likes of Sam Reid?’
‘Who I spend my time with is my business.’ My tone was cool and direct, and I’d clearly taken Ben by surprise.
I heard Ben mumbling under his breath, but I’d already walked off up the road. How must Sam be constantly dealing with such behaviour? I knew exactly how it felt, feeling like an outsider, and over time it chipped away at your confidence.
Ten minutes later I was back at Wild Rose Cottage wiping away my tears of frustration. I’d knocked on Sam’s front door but there was no answer. I texted Grace to apologise and explain where I’d disappeared to, and she replied saying she was on her way back home. I was angry and disappointed that my night had been cut short and I hadn’t even said good night to Grandie.
For the first time since arriving back in Brook Bridge I began to question whether it was all that it was cracked up to be. If this was the way villagers treated people, holding a grudge for over two decades, then did I really want to be a part of it? Maybe Mum was right leaving. After this evening, I wasn’t sure if this village was the answer to my problems.
Chapter 18
The next morning, I woke up with the sunshine bursting through the curtains and the birds chirping outside my window. Within a split second, fleeting images from the pub flooded my mind once more as I remembered the way Sam had been treated.
When Grace had arrived home the night before, we’d shared a bottle of wine and I’d recounted the events, describing how for the first time I felt a little unsettled being back in the village. I thought my life was about to change for the better but after witnessing the hostility towards Sam that still lingered, I wasn’t impressed with some of the Brook Bridge residents.
Grace had divulged that there had been rivalry between Ben’s family and the Reids for decades. Ben’s grandmother had been Florrie’s best friend, and even after her death the family grudge between them had never disappeared. But after all this time, was there any need to continue to carry such animosity? Hadn’t time moved on? Given what I’d witnessed outside the pub, Sam had kept his cool, walked away. There hadn’t been any retaliation, so it appeared to me that he didn’t want any part of it. And I couldn’t blame him. I could sympathise. I too was fed up with people falling out over ancient feuds.
I sat in bed for a little while before I threw back the duvet and walked gingerly into the bathroom. Once inside the shower, I let the water cascade over my body while I thought about the day ahead. This morning I’d arranged to meet Bert at the dance school and once his lesson was over, I was going to take a walk up to Honeysuckle Farm to see Grandie before, hopefully, tracking down Sam.
Fifteen minutes later, with my hair washed and my make-up on, I wandered downstairs to the smell of bacon cutting through the air.
Grace smiled at me.
‘Breakfast,’ she said, placing a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea on the table in front of me. ‘Sleep well?’
On the whole I had, which was no doubt helped by the boost in alcohol consumption after Grace’s arrival home.
‘Yes, not bad.’
‘And the plan for today?’ she asked, sitting down opposite me.
‘Firstly, I’m foxtrotting with Bert.’
‘No Lycra,’ Grace reminded me, and I smiled. ‘See, there is a smile in there somewhere,’ she teased.
‘Just a little one,’ I said, squeezing my thumb and forefinger together, ‘but there’s stuff playing on my mind. I don’t know what to do.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘I was beginning to get excited about the dance school. I had it all mapped out in my mind – new dreams, something for me to focus on. I thought I’d waltz in and get the place fit for purpose again. I had visions of running dance classes at the weekend for the children, then during week nights I was thinking I could jive with the WI on a Monday, tango with couples on a Tuesday, paso doble with pensioners on a Wednesday and charleston with everyone else on a Thursday, leaving me Friday nights free to recharge my batteries. I wanted everyone flocking back to the dance school – a feel-good community atmosphere bringing all the generations back together with one common goal – to have fun and learn to dance, but now …’
‘But now …?’ urged Grace.
‘After last night, it doesn’t feel like a feel-good community.’ I looked at her incredulously and exhaled.
‘Don’t let what happened last night spoil your vision.’
I didn’t answer. Reality had hit – maybe village life wasn’t a bed of roses. Why couldn’t people just be kind?
‘Ben will be jealous.’
‘Jealous?’
‘Yes, look at you … gorgeous … and seeing you with Sam will have taken him by surprise.’
‘It was obvious to anyone walking past that Sam wasn’t bothering me. Ben caused a scene for no reason. What are Grandie’s thoughts on Sam and his family?’ I asked, suddenly realising I had no idea.
‘You’ll have to ask him that one,’ answered Grace. ‘He’s never spoken about it – well, not to me, anyway.’
Taking a bite of my bacon sandwich, my eyes threatened tears as I pondered the complexities of the past. Why did it all have to be so complicated?
‘But …’ Grace carried on as I cast my eyes towards her, ‘don’t let that situation cloud your judgement. That’s their problem, not yours. Just like whatever went on between your mum and grandfather, it’s not your argument.’
‘Look at me, stumbling at the first hurdle.’
‘Don’t panic, no one is stumbling. More like thinking about it all too much.’
I nodded, taking a swig of my tea.
‘Don’t think about it, just get on and do it.’ I knew Grace was talking sense. I couldn’t dwell on who was talking to who or what grudges they held. I needed to focus on my own life, my own business, and that started right now, this morning … I couldn’t wait to begin teaching Bert.
Chapter 19
The sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky as I ambled up the path of Wild Rose Cottage. I really wanted to catch Sam before I made my way over to the dance school but when I glanced over towards his cottage, the curtains were still drawn and there was no sign of life. It would have to wait until later.
Within minutes the school was in sight and my heart began to pound a little faster when I noticed a figure skulking at the side of the building. Squinting ahead, I was relieved to discover it was only Bert, who was acting very strangely.
‘Morning, Bert,’ I chirped. ‘Why are you being very cloak and dagger?’
‘Huh?’
‘Hiding at the side of the building,’ I said, fishing the keys out of my bag.
‘I can’t be seen. Dorothy is already on the warpath, wondering where I’m sneaking off to.’ His voice was low.
Glancing up the street, there wasn’t a soul around. ‘I think it’s safe to come out, Bert, there’s no one in sight.’
‘Good … good,’ he said, repositioning his cap on his head and taking a look up the street for himself. ‘But you never know, she has the habit of popping up when you least expect it. She gave me that look … you know, when I left the house.’
‘Dorothy?’
‘Yes, Dorothy. The look where she narrows her eyes and I feel guilty for even breathing,’ he chuckled. ‘Do you know how difficult it is to sneak out, even at my age? That woman must have some sort of psychic powers, knowing when I’m up to something.’
‘I think that’s just called being a woman,’ I grinned at a flustered Bert, who sidestepped into the foyer like a dancing ninja once the door was open.
After flicking on the lights, Bert followed me through the entrance hall into the main rehearsal room. He slung his coat on the back of a chair and placed his flat cap on a table before ruffling his hand through his hair. I walked to the far end of the room and opened the blinds, allowing the sunlight to flood the room.
As I turned back around, I caught Bert eyeing himself up in the mirror.
‘The things I do for that lady,’ he murmured once he’d recovered, wiping his mouth with a hanky and twisting his body from side to side, scrutinising it from all different angles in the mirror.
‘Everyone should have a Bert in their life,’ I smiled with amusement, setting up my iPad on a nearby table. ‘So, the foxtrot, you say.’
‘Dorothy’s favourite dance,’ he answered, finally taking his eyes off the mirror and turning his attention back to me.
‘Let’s start with a few warm-up exercises. I don’t want you pulling a muscle before we’ve begun.’
‘Could you imagine how I’d explain that one away?’
‘And then we’ll shake ourselves out.’
‘Sounds painful,’ said Bert in a playful tone.
For the next five minutes, I took Bert through a series of exercises to warm up his muscles. He already looked frazzled as he wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow, and we hadn’t even begun dancing yet.
‘Let’s start with basics.’ I pulled my jumper over my head and slipped my feet into a pair of heels which I’d brought with me. ‘Are you ready?’
‘I think so,’ he smiled, his watchful eyes observing my every move.
‘The foxtrot is a smooth dance and we travel round the floor in a clockwise direction,’ I began.
‘Noted,’ replied Bert, hanging on to my every word.
‘The way we count the foxtrot is slow, slow, quick, quick, where the slow takes up two beats and the quick takes up one. The man, that’s you …’
‘It was, last time I looked,’ interrupted Bert.
‘The men start with the left and take two walks forward, side step and then close … like this.’ I demonstrated the moves, my heels echoing on the wooden floor as I moved. ‘Then the ladies start with their right foot and they take two walks back, a side step then close. Got that?’
‘I think so,’ replied Bert, his gaze firmly focused on my feet.
‘Up you get, put your arms out, imagine you’re holding Dorothy while you practise your steps.’
‘Like this?’ asked Bert, standing in the middle of the floor.
I nodded, ‘Now forward with the left.’
Bert put his wobbly foot forward.
‘Then side with the left, like this.’
Bert copied me.
‘Close right foot to left and then we do it all again.’
After a few more attempts it was coming back to Bert and he was smoothly co-ordinating the steps with a daft grin on his face.
‘I feel wonderful, this is wonderful,’ he said, stretching his arms wider. ‘I feel like I’m a young man again.’
Just seeing the twinkle in Bert’s eyes and the enjoyment written all over his face made my heart swell.
‘Keep it going, and remember, clockwise around the room.’
Once Bert had mastered his steps, he watched me while I performed the ladies’ part.
‘Pretend I’m Dorothy,’ I smiled as I took my position in the middle of the room. ‘Dorothy will put her weight on her left foot, right foot free, then back with the right foot, back with the left foot, then side with the right and close left to right and again. Shall we try together?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bert, taking his place opposite me.
‘Basically, now you lead and I follow.’
‘Dorothy won’t like that, you know,’ he teased, ‘she wears the trousers in our house and I’ve always had to follow her lead.’ He gave a light-hearted chuckle at his own joke.
‘Well, enjoy your moment, Bert, because for three whole minutes you’ll get your chance to shine, and for once Dorothy will have to take your lead.’
‘I’ve waited fifty years for that moment.’
I couldn’t help but feel warmth towards Bert. Even though he played the hen-pecked husband, it was obvious to anyone that his love for Dorothy was very much alive and kicking.
‘Okay, lead and follow. Apply pressure from your frame. Lead Dorothy into those walks.’ I was really enjoying myself and my mood had certainly been lifted since last night. My mind began to tick while I put Bert through his paces, and Grace’s words whirled in my mind: ‘Do what you want to do. You only have one life, so live it. Be happy.’
Bert was concentrating hard, mumbling the steps under his breath.
‘When you move to the side, take me with you,’ I shouted out clearly as we began to dance around the room. ‘You need to connect with Dorothy and apply a little more pressure from your whole body, then step and do the walks. Take her to the side from the right and gently bring her along with you from your frame … That’s it, Bert, nice and smooth … perfect!’
‘I’ve got it, I’ve got it … it’s all coming back to me,’ the joy in Bert’s voice made my heart melt. His wrinkled face was alight with excitement and his cheeks were aglow. He glided smoothly over the floor, taking me with him.
‘Shall we try this to some music?’ I suggested now that Bert had the hang of things.
As the music filtered from my iPad we took our positions and as soon as I counted Bert in, he began to lead. At first, he stumbled a little, found it difficult to step in time with the music, but gently I talked him through it.
‘We don’t want any stops in the body as we move through the feet. Keep your knees flexed and extend the leg and roll on to it, side and close. Try not to step and stop,’ I instructed softly. Bert listened to every word and the determination showed on his face. After a couple more attempts he understood and we were soon gliding around the dance floor until the music stopped.
‘I didn’t want that to end,’ breathed Bert, catching his breath, ‘that felt magical.’ His eyes were watery with emotion.
‘I can’t wait to see Dorothy’s face when you take her by her hand and lead her up on that stage.’
‘Dorothy …’ he exclaimed, checking his watch. ‘We’ve been over an hour. I’d best hurry, otherwise she’ll be giving my lunch to the dog.’
‘I didn’t know you had a dog.’
‘We haven’t,’ he laughed, placing his cap swiftly back on his head and slipping his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. ‘Alice … I can’t thank you enough for your patience. You’re such a kind-hearted girl, giving up your time to help me.’
‘You don’t need to thank me, it’s been a pleasure.’
‘You are such a fantastic teacher. Can we go over it a couple more times before the big day?’
‘Of course,’ I answered, having enjoyed every second of the lesson. Teaching Bert had left me feeling uplifted, giving me the confidence boost I needed. Maybe this was the way forward, doing something I was good at.
He took my hands and squeezed them tight. ‘My Dorothy’s face is going to be a picture. She needs some cheering up at the minute.’
‘Why?’ I asked, releasing myself from his grip and stuffing my jumper inside my bag.
He sighed. ‘She takes on too much, that one. It’s this Village Day, you see. I don’t know why she takes it upon herself to organise it every year, it will be the death of her.’ He raised his bushy eyebrows, ‘This year there’s no one to bring the day to an end – there won’t be a grand finale.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
He paused for a moment. ‘Stella’s son was booked, she’s Dorothy’s friend from the WI. He’s been on TV, one of those talent programmes – a magician, she said. But he’s cancelled at the last minute and now she’s searching high and low for a replacement, but at short notice everyone is busy.
‘When is it, again?’
‘A couple of weeks’ time. Not much time to book another act. The WI are up in arms – you’d think it was her fault this magician guy had cancelled.’
‘Let’s focus on the positives. At least they will have you twirling Dorothy around that stage.’
‘T
here is that,’ he forced a smile, but I could see he was upset about the strain it was putting on Dorothy.
‘Anyway, I’d best be off, and remember, this is our little secret.’ Bert tapped his nose and disappeared through the door.
The second Bert left the building my mind began to whirl. Was this meant to be? As I packed up my iPad a smile hitched itself on my face.
After locking up the dance school I whistled my way back to Wild Rose Cottage. My mind flitted back to Dorothy’s dilemma and I’d begun to have a crazy thought. What if … what if …?
‘What are you smiling at?’ Grace’s head was poking out of the bedroom window of the cottage as I pushed open the garden gate.
Looking up, I said, ‘Put the kettle on and I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘Oooh, intrigued, I’m on it!’
Grace was sitting opposite me with a goofy grin while hugging her tea. ‘Alice, you are a genius, that’s a brilliant idea. Have you run it past Dorothy?’ The praise was coming thick and fast.
I shook my head. ‘But is it biting off more than I can chew? There’s only two weeks to organise this.’
Grace thought over my madcap idea for all of a second. ‘I’ll help, and we can rope Mum in too, she loves things like this. All hands to the deck.’ Grace was clapping her hands together like a demented sea lion. ‘Gushing friend moment coming up,’ Grace warned me as she stood up and flung her arms around me.
‘Brook Bridge Goes Strictly!’ she announced. ‘I can see it now, all the WI in their sequinned sparkly dresses … pirouetting their way around the stage in front of the judges … Can I be a judge? Please let me be a judge!’ She gave me a lopsided grin and placed her hands in a prayer -like stance. Grace was running away with herself now.
‘But what about the men, where are we going to find the men from?’ I interrupted, racking my brains. ‘I’m up for the challenge but it’s going to be difficult enough teaching the women to dance from scratch in a couple of weeks, never mind finding a group of men and persuading them to take part too. Then there’s the costumes et cetera, et cetera.’
A Home at Honeysuckle Farm Page 17