Ballroom Class a Form

by Lucy Dillon

  ‘Now,’ said Angelica. ‘How about you two?’

  ‘My name’s Chloe,’ said the taller one with spiralling blonde curls, pushing her round glasses up her nose as she spoke. She looked a bit like a grown-up Cabbage Patch Kid, thought Katie: snub nose, bright green eyes, and all that hair, like a mad Girl’s World.

  Her mate, on the other hand, looked like a bulldog with indigestion. Her small features were concentrated in the centre of her face, and she seemed liable to snap your arm off, given half a chance. Katie got the feeling she was one of those ‘No offence, but . . .’ women. ‘And I’m Trina. And I’ve come with her, but I’m not with her, if you get my meaning. I’m not one of them. Can’t speak for her, mind.’

  ‘Trina!’ said Chloe, looking scandalised, but not totally surprised as she nudged her.

  ‘Well, not being rude, Chlo, but you never know!’ Trina shoved back, then gave Angelica a direct look. ‘Do you get many single blokes coming along, like?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Angelica. ‘This is the first week.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Trina, and Chloe gave her another admonitory nudge.

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Angelica, clapping her hands together. ‘Shall we get started?’ As she made her way to the centre of the room, the group followed her, like a flock of sheep. ‘Now, what normally happens is that numbers go up and down according to what the weather’s like and what’s on television, so don’t worry about having someone to dance with. I’ll be mixing you all up anyway once you’ve got the hang of it. So!’

  She spun smartly on her heel to face them, putting her hands on her hips as her skirt swung out. ‘Before we get on to learning our first dance, we’re just going to start with some walking up and down, to get you used to moving together. So stand opposite each other, like this, and put your arms on each other’s shoulders.’

  Katie turned to Ross and felt self-conscious. She always did when it came to physical activity in public. She didn’t like the sense that anything could happen, that she’d have to respond immediately, and in front of other people. Those badminton sessions he’d told the counsellor about had been about as far as she could go – but in those days, she’d been willing to put up with anything to be near him. Ross might have got annoyed at her competitiveness, but focusing on being the best, and doing it properly was just her way of coping with her awkwardness.

  Ross grinned, and held out his arms.

  He, of course, had no such hang-ups, able to tumble and clown about with the kids, something else that made her feel inadequate.

  Grimacing, Katie extended her hands, balancing them on his sloping shoulders. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton of his T-shirt, and it felt strangely intimate, even though the pose was very formal. They were standing toe-to-toe, so she could hardly avoid looking him in the eye. This should feel romantic, she thought. But it’s not. It’s just the opposite. We’re here because we don’t know how to be romantic any more.

  Ross jiggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Is this the most ridiculous thing we’ve done?’ he whispered.

  ‘Don’t,’ she muttered. ‘You’re putting me off.’

  ‘Oh, lighten up!’ he muttered back, and she wanted to explain that she felt stupid, but there wasn’t time.

  ‘Come on, Katie, relax a little – you’re going to dance, not wrestle with him!’ observed Angelica, suddenly materialising behind them. ‘Now, hold it everyone and just watch these two,’ she said, to Katie’s mortification. ‘I want you to walk backwards, Katie, while Ross walks forward. And off you go. It’s a trust exercise. No, no! Don’t look down, don’t look at each other’s feet, just look at each other! Take your pace from Ross, Katie! And Ross, don’t think about the step, just think about looking at Katie, and moving to the space she’s in.’

  Katie winced as Ross trod on her toe.

  ‘Ow!’ she said, accusingly, glaring at him.

  ‘Now that was your fault, Katie,’ said Angelica.

  ‘How? He trod on my toe!’

  ‘You were pulling him backwards. Carry on. Just walk . . . and walk . . . and, no, you see you’re doing it again. You’ve got to let him lead you. Do you want me to show you?’

  Without waiting for Katie’s response, Angelica moved between them, put her hands on Ross’s shoulders, and nodded at him to start walking forwards.

  ‘Can you see? I’m watching him, reading his face for signals, and step, and step, and step . . .’

  Katie watched as Ross and Angelica glided towards the back of the hall, their legs moving in perfect time, their eyes never leaving each other’s. Ross’s forehead, creased in concentration to begin with, unfurrowed and a smile spread across his face as if Angelica had just pulled off a magic trick, rather than walked ten metres backwards.

  ‘See? Now, ladies, show me your soles as you walk back – it’ll help get your feet out of his way . . . Lauren, point your feet! Oh dear!’

  Katie couldn’t help feeling a surge of relief as the big blond lad trod squarely on Lauren’s foot, causing her to yelp aloud. He looked even more flustered than she did.

  Angelica sashayed across to them, and took over from Lauren, her tiny neatness making him seem even more hulking.

  ‘Come on,’ said Ross, holding out his arms. ‘Let’s give it another go.’

  Grudgingly, Katie put her arms on his.

  ‘Watch my face,’ he said. ‘I’ll raise my eyebrows when I’m going to start.’

  ‘You don’t have to patronise me,’ she grumbled. ‘Just because you did it right once.’

  But Ross was raising his eyebrows and moving his feet, and she tried her best to keep in step with him, guessing when he would step forward.

  ‘You’re pulling him, Katie!’ carolled a voice from across the room. ‘Just let him move into your space . . .’

  ‘Is she picking on me?’ Katie muttered. ‘How come she’s watching us the whole time?’

  ‘She’s watching everyone,’ said Ross, ‘and one, and two, and three, and four . . . Ow!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You trod on my foot.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ Katie paused. ‘You left it in the wrong place.’

  ‘And now we’re going to go the other way,’ announced Angelica, ‘because sometimes ladies go forward and men go back! So, ladies, step forward, and aim for the place where your partner is now, and step, and . . . Katie, you’re much better at this one, aren’t you!’

  ‘Eff off,’ muttered Katie, staring at Ross’s face.

  ‘Shh!’ he giggled.

  ‘Stop giggling,’ she said crossly. ‘It makes you look like a girl.’

  There was a screech and a clatter from the other side of the room, and when Katie looked round, she saw Lauren and her fiancé (Chris, was it?) in a heap by the stacked chairs.

  ‘Well, that’s a first!’ cried Angelica. ‘Normally that doesn’t happen until we get on to spins! Get up, the pair of you, come on, nothing’s broken!’

  ‘Face it, Katie, we’re not that bad,’ said Ross.

  ‘Only because I refuse to show myself up,’ said Katie, gritting her teeth. ‘Right, now you go forwards . . .’

  It took a good fifteen minutes before Angelica was satisfied that they could all walk up and down without maiming each other, but eventually she announced that they were about to learn their first proper dance.

  ‘Now,’ she said, clapping her hands, ‘let’s start with a rock’n’roll step! It’s a very basic, easy step to do, and if you don’t want to move those feet, Christopher, you can more or less stand still and let Lauren do all the fancy stuff around you.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lauren with a sideways glare.

  Things hadn’t improved and Chris hadn’t got the hang of it. In fact, she was totally gobsmacked by how inept Chris – king of the jinking side-step on the rugby pitch – was at something so simple even she could manage it.

  ‘Now, rock’n’roll, or jive, is what you’d do if you were at a wedding reception and the band pl
ayed “Reet Petite” or “Rock Around the Clock”, or something like that,’ Angelica went on. ‘In fact it’s the one everyone’s dad does as soon as the DJ starts playing any kind of modern music,’ she added to Lauren’s parents, with a wink. ‘Fits in with everything, doesn’t it?’ She stretched out a hand to Frank. ‘You look like a man who’s done a few of these in your time – do you mind demonstrating a rock step with me? If you don’t mind, Bridget?’

  Bridget’s face glowed with amusement at glamorous Angelica dancing with her Frank in his slacks. ‘Not at all.’

  Katie saw Lauren nudge Chris with an ‘oh no!’ expression on her face that didn’t cover her pride.

  Angelica took Frank’s hands, and talked to the class over her shoulder as they began to move. ‘We’re just transferring our weight to the left, to the right, then onto a backstep,’ she said, turning her hip out, ‘and then . . . Oooh!’

  Frank spun her round, sending her skirt wrapping up her legs, then spun her back the other way. Angelica laughed and took up the challenge, dancing forward, changing hands in a little spin as Frank spun behind her, then they stepped straight back into the basic step, in perfect time, and with no apparent effort.

  Katie stared in amazement. It was so smooth! Frank looked like the sort of man who only got excited about lawnmower catalogues.

  ‘Woah woah woah!’ said Lauren. ‘Slow down, Dad! I didn’t get any of that!’

  ‘That’s a bit advanced,’ said Angelica, as Frank twirled her again, this time with his hand over her head. ‘Now! OK! Enough! I think we’ve had a preview there of what your dad’ll be doing at your wedding reception,’ she said, patting her chest, pretending to get her breath back, as Frank returned, pink with effort, to Bridget’s side.

  Katie flicked a nervous glance up at Ross, but he seemed to be hanging on Angelica’s words.

  ‘We’ll do it together, to start with,’ said Angelica. She shouted out the steps as they stamped painfully from one foot to the other. ‘Keep it small. And now the lady’s steps . . . Other foot, Katie!’

  Thanks, thought Katie, muddling up her left and her right foot again. Draw attention to me, why don’t you?

  Angelica’s eyes were everywhere, and her tone swooped from encouragement to gentle teasing to pretend dismay. ‘Don’t step out, Chris, you’re not doing aerobics, just transfer your weight from one side to the other, and back step, that’s it! That’s it, Lauren – if he carries on galumphing we’ll just box him in with two chairs. I usually have to box someone in till they get it, don’t worry . . . Now, it’ll all make sense once I put some music on. What do you fancy, Bill Haley? Some Elvis? Let’s have a look . . .’

  Angelica started ‘Summertime Blues’ on her CD player, clicking her fingers loudly to the beat.

  Katie watched the two older couples enviously as they swayed with minimal effort, their actions gliding elegantly from one into the next. They made it look so easy, as if they were the teenagers, and the rest of them were the old crocks, shuffling awkwardly through the basics. She wondered why they were there at all, but if Angelica wondered that too, she didn’t show it.

  ‘Oh, Baxter, you’ve got a lovely action there,’ she said, sashaying up behind them, mirroring Peggy’s steps. ‘Peggy, you’re a lucky lady.’

  ‘Thank you, I know,’ said Peggy, her Hush Puppies making no sound on the parquet, as Baxter swung her out, spinning her in a step they’d probably learned twenty years before Katie was born. She kept checking his face for signs, Katie noticed, and then checking Angelica’s for approval.

  The other two, the Armstrongs, were much less showy, dancing with each other as if they were just at a wedding, and the smiles they flashed occasionally were sweet ‘remember this?’ ones.

  ‘It’s all coming back to me now!’ she heard Mrs Armstrong giggle as they passed.

  Next to them, Chris swung Lauren the wrong way, nearly dislocating her arm.

  ‘Ow!’ she yelped, clutching her shoulder and glaring at him with a mixture of annoyance and surprise. ‘Chris!’

  ‘You were going the wrong way,’ he explained.

  ‘No, she wasn’t!’ said Angelica. ‘Here, let me show you again . . .’ And she took over from Chris, one hand slipping easily around Lauren’s waist, even though Lauren towered over her. ‘Slow, slow, and back, and slow, slow, lift-your-hand-on-the-slow-so-she-knows-you’re-going-to-spin and slow and slow, and there you are.’

  To Lauren’s visible surprise, they’d executed a flawless turn, so neatly that her pink mouth dropped open. ‘Wow!’ she said. ‘Chris, quick, try again before I forget how to do it.’

  And she grabbed him and started counting.

  If they can do it, I should be able to, thought Katie, and turned back to Ross.

  ‘Want another go?’ she asked. ‘Before the music stops?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ross, and smiled.

  She could feel there was something in the rock’n’roll music that was trying to make her dance, and she wanted to – she really wanted to get the steps in the right order, so she and Ross could glide like Baxter and Peggy, or even Frank and Bridget, who were merrily chicken-stepping away like teenagers in slow motion.

  But it wouldn’t come out. Katie could see herself dancing in her head, but when she tried to match her steps to Ross’s, her coordination seemed to vanish, leaving her feet hesitant as she trod on him, twisting his fingers.

  ‘Tell me!’ she snapped at him. ‘You’ve got to tell me when you’re going to spin me!’

  ‘I’m trying,’ whined Ross, ‘but you won’t look at me.’

  ‘It’ll come!’ called Angelica as she passed, drawing attention to Katie’s ineptitude. Her face burned.

  How this was meant to fix their marriage, she had no idea. If anything it would prove how totally out of touch with each other they really were, in the cruellest possible way.

  4

  Friday night, for the Parkinsons, was At Home Friday. Having given up all hope of ever seeing the inside of a restaurant without colouring books again, Katie and her best friend Jo took it in turns to simulate going out for dinner in each other’s houses, with the kids tucked up in bed upstairs. The money they saved on babysitters was reallocated to a decent bottle or two of wine.

  Katie and Jo Fielding had met at antenatal class, had an illicit cappuccino afterwards, and been good mates from then on. Hannah and Molly were both nearly five, and Jo’s baby, Rowan, was a few months older than Jack. But whereas Katie had gone back to work soon after Jack arrived, Greg’s well-paid IT consultancy meant that Jo could afford to pack in her job at the estate agency and be a full-time mum. As it was, Ross now saw more of Jo than Katie did, with playgroups and school runs, but she looked forward to their rushed lunches and Friday nights. She always got a laugh with Jo.

  Katie could have done without the hostess duties that Friday, with her new project starting to stack up overtime, but the chance to get some friendly adult company was something she’d move mountains for.

  ‘Sorry I’m so behind with dinner,’ she apologised for the third time, struggling to get the elastic band off the chicken’s scaly legs so she could ram some lemon up its cavity. A hugely expensive, organic unwaxed lemon, purchased eight minutes previously from the nearest cornershop. ‘Ross used the last lemon to make pancakes for madam – Hannah’s a vegetarian now, apparently – but he didn’t tell me until I’d got in from work and started preparing the food, after I’d cleaned up the pancake mess, so I had to rush out again while he was bathing them and—’

  Jo put a hand on Katie’s arm. ‘Katie. Calm down. There’s no rush.’ She topped up the wine glass next to the chopping board. ‘The kids are in bed, the wine’s on the table, the husbands are talking about . . . something, and there’s no babysitter to run home at midnight. I don’t want you to get wound up about supper – I don’t care what time it’s done. You and I are going to have a glass of wine and relax.’

  Katie gave the lemon a final cross thrust and banged the chicken in the
tin.

  ‘Or do I have to put something in your drink?’ asked Jo. ‘I will. I’ve got some Medised in my handbag, you know.’

  Katie managed a wry smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said, running her hands under the tap. ‘It’s just work. I’ve been moved onto a big new project, town regeneration? It’s going to be good for me, but every time I leave the office for ten minutes, they seem to arrange another meeting.’

  ‘Leave the office in the office,’ said Jo, firmly. ‘You’re at home. With your friends, and your husband.’

  Katie took a large mouthful of wine. ‘Oh God,’ she said, staring helplessly at the chicken, lying in the tin with its legs splayed lasciviously, as if it was about to have a smear test. ‘Where’s the elastic band to tie it back up again? And I forgot to weigh it. How long would you give that? Roughly?’

  ‘Here,’ said Jo, handing her the bottle of wine, as she searched through the jumbled kitchen drawers for string. ‘Let me.’

  The string would find Jo, thought Katie. She was like that these days: a domesticity magnet. Jo was one of those women who made complete sense as a domestic goddess, but without ever making a big deal about it. She didn’t need to. Everything about motherhood seemed to suit her. Jo hadn’t lost her baby weight after Rowan, despite promising to come with Katie to the Yummy Mummy Bums and Tummy class at the sports centre, but she actually looked better than she had done in her skinny, suited, estate agent days. Now she wore lots of flowing skirts and soft smocks, and had the sort of hips that babies fitted onto instinctively, moulding themselves into her cosy shape. Jo exuded good sense and kindness like a chocolatey perfume, and was completely oblivious to how attractive it made her. There was something about her you just wanted to touch.

  Katie’s stomach was flatter but she still envied Jo. Keeping two steps ahead of Eddie Harding had helped her squeeze back into her old suits, but she knew she looked about five years older these days as a result.

  ‘Now, you said, when you went back to work, that you weren’t going to let it drive you mad,’ Jo reminded her. ‘Ah, there’s the string, excellent!’