Ballroom Class a Form

by Lucy Dillon

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I’m not going to punish her,’ he went on. ‘She’s upset. Maybe you should have a talk with her in the morning.’

  ‘That’s so typical of you!’ Katie couldn’t hold it in any more. ‘Leave all the discipline to me, as well as everything else, so you can be Mr Nice Dad. Well, thanks. Thanks for that.’

  ‘Katie, I am doing my best. What do you want from me?’ asked Ross, and she shrugged.

  She didn’t know what Ross wanted. She couldn’t see inside his head.

  They stared at each other in painful silence.

  Two words, thought Katie. I could say it now. I’m leaving. I could just get in the car and drive.

  Then Jack stirred on Ross’s shoulder, whimpering in his sleep, sending a tremor of guilt and love through her, and just as she was about to speak, the doorbell rang.

  ‘Jo!’ squealed Hannah, hurtling for the door, and Katie felt punched again.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ross under his breath, but it was too late. Katie could hear Jo and Hannah in the hall, Hannah giggling gleefully, obviously doing spins on her toes from the audible clunks. Katie flinched, half for Hannah’s feet, half for the scuffed hall wallpaper they never had spare money to redecorate.

  ‘Careful, sweetie! Oooh, clever you! And what a lovely outfit!’ she could hear Jo saying. ‘Are you a ballerina, or a ballroom dancer? I love your spangles!’

  Katie carried on holding Ross’s gaze, willing him to say the right thing. Anything that would make her feel less like her dad and more like his wife.

  Don’t make me make you say something, she pleaded inside. Please just say it of your own accord.

  But he didn’t say anything. Instead he blinked behind his glasses, then turned to take Jack to bed, just as Hannah and Jo barrelled into the sitting room. Jo was wearing a red dress underneath her usual warm parka, and little sparkles glittered in the light.

  ‘Hi, Ross, isn’t she back yet? Sounds like you’ve had a grand afternoon with these two . . . Oh, hello.’ Jo looked between the two of them, sensing the tension hanging noxiously in the air like burnt toast. Her friendly face suddenly became cautious. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Katie. ‘But we’re going to be late for dancing.’ She glared at Ross. ‘I told Ross you and Greg were going to come with us – I’m sure there are other people he could have called.’

  ‘Like who?’ Ross demanded.

  ‘Look, don’t worry about it,’ said Jo, hastily. ‘I talked Greg into coming to the class after all, so I was going to take my two round to my mum’s for the evening. She’s said she’ll pop over here and sit all four of them here instead, if that’s OK with you? It’s nearer for her, less fuss for your two, and we’ll pick ours up on the way back. Greg’s just bringing them in.’

  ‘That’s sweet of her,’ said Katie. Jo got her domestic goddess genes straight from her mum, Dorothy. She was the white-haired, sweetie-giving substitute granny Hannah didn’t have, and Katie wasn’t sure Jo knew how lucky she was.

  ‘You don’t mind Mrs Sanderson coming over to babysit, do you? Will you show her how clever you are at big-girl reading now?’ Katie said to Hannah, in the hope it might elicit a cuddle.

  Hannah ignored her, the latest adult skill she’d learned. ‘Where are you going, Daddy?’ She leaned against Jo’s legs and looked lovingly at Ross, her blue eyes sharp.

  ‘Dancing!’ said Ross, brightly. ‘So we can do some new steps in the morning.’

  ‘Ooh! That’ll be fun, won’t it?’ said Jo, bending down to distract her with tickles. But Hannah looked far from convinced and Katie noticed, to her dismay, that her thumb returned to her mouth for the first time in months.

  Jack stirred in Ross’s arms, and Katie seized the chance to swoop him up to bed herself.

  ‘Have you time for a coffee?’ she heard Ross ask Jo, after a pause in which she was sure eyes had been rolled. But she nuzzled her nose into Jack’s hair, and let herself focus on her baby for once.

  The hall was chilly when they arrived, as if all the hot air had floated up off the frilled cast-iron radiators and into the rafters, but Katie couldn’t help feeling her trepidation at what was to come mixed with a bit of pleasure at being somewhere different, for once.

  They were the last ones to arrive, and from the way the heads swivelled when they walked in, it was clear everyone saw Greg and Jo and thought: the New People.

  Already, thought Katie. After only one week.

  Angelica was standing next to Lauren the Fiancée, chatting to her about something or other to do with shoes, from the way they were pointing their feet. Lauren, she noted, was wearing a pair of white satin Louis XV heels. Her wedding shoes, obviously.

  Jo nudged Katie. ‘That the teacher?’

  ‘Yes,’ Katie whispered back. ‘Fame costs, and right here’s where you start paying. In sarcastic comments about your posture.’

  ‘So!’ Angelica clapped her hands together, and everyone’s attention snapped her way. ‘My goodness, I can’t have been mean enough to you all last week – everyone’s back for lesson two! I’m so pleased that you listened to what I said about dressing up! Well, nearly all of you.’

  Katie looked round the class, and instantly regretted not getting changed. There hadn’t been much time after she’d put Jack to bed. Everyone was looking decidedly festive, it was true. Lauren was wearing a pink prom dress, left over from the summer, with a thick cardi on top, while her mum had stuck a feather clip in her short dark hair, and thrown on a diamanté-studded black top to jazz up her sensible red skirt. Even Chris and Frank were in brighter shirts. Of the other older couple, Peggy had swapped last week’s caramel twinset for a heavily sequinned M&S one, while Baxter had added a blue silk hanky to the top pocket of his blazer. Trina was resplendent in a swirly bias-cut skirt that made her look like a gift-wrapped skittle, while Chloe had gone the whole hog with a pair of black fishnets, and put a silk flower in her curly blonde hair as well. The two of them were still looking hopefully at the door, and seemed to cheer up considerably when Greg arrived.

  ‘And two new people!’ beamed Angelica. ‘Welcome to the class!’

  Jo and Greg were drawing attention, and not just from Chloe and Trina, who were eyeing Greg up unashamedly. Jo’s ample curves were filling out her red dress into something spectacular – the spangles made her look as if she was about to take part in some kind of professional dance competition. Greg just looked competent and at-ease, tieless and with just the right number of buttons undone. He always did look right. It was good to have them there for moral support, but at the same time, Katie felt even more conscious of her work skirt than before, and her jaw jutted defensively. At least she was wearing a skirt this week.

  Trina, she saw, was glaring at her. Or she might just have been looking. She had an unfortunate face, in that respect.

  ‘Are you a policewoman?’ she asked Katie, straight out.

  ‘No!’ Katie protested.

  Ross coughed, trying to disguise a giggle.

  ‘Oh.’ Trina screwed up her nose as if she didn’t quite believe her. ‘You look like one.’

  ‘Come on, Katie, where’s your nice dress?’ said Angelica. ‘Ross can hardly feel as if he’s taking his favourite girl out dancing if she’s dressed for a ten a.m. conference call! Everyone else has made the effort, look.’

  ‘This isn’t 1959,’ she snapped. ‘Women don’t have to put on pretty dresses to look nice. Anyway, Ross hasn’t dressed up!’

  ‘I have!’

  Too late, Katie spotted, now he’d taken his jacket off, that he’d put on a fresh shirt – his ‘going-out’ shirt as they used to joke. He’d never owned a suit, much less formal shirts, and this was a soft sea-island cotton one she’d bought him in London for a birthday present: a pale buttery yellow that used to make her think of spring chicks. He’d even put in the pair of silver cufflinks she’d given him to go with it.

  He’s trying, she thought, and felt terrible that it didn’t
make much difference.

  ‘See?’ said Angelica, and Katie sensed a wash of curiosity from the others, as to why they were acting so childishly.

  ‘You’ll find it much easier to move in a swingy skirt,’ she went on persuasively. ‘And I promise, it makes the dancing easier when you have that swish about you.’ She met her eye, and Katie had the uneasy sensation that her mind was being read.

  ‘OK,’ Katie heard herself say, for a quiet life. ‘Next week.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ And in an instant, Angelica was in demo mode.

  ‘Now, you were all so good with your rock’n’roll basics last week that tonight we’re going to learn something new! Then we’ll go back and recap what we did so you don’t forget,’ she added, reassuringly, as Chris started to mumble nervously.

  She gestured that they should all spread out in a horseshoe, so they could see her feet.

  ‘So, you’ve got your fast dance to do at the wedding reception, but what about something a bit smoochier, for the end of the night? Hmm? This sort of music. Think about white tie and tails, and satin dresses, and big bands, and romance!’

  ‘Oooh!’ said Trina and Chloe.

  Jo shot Katie an amused glance, and said, ‘Oooh!’ too, with a remarkably straight face.

  Katie had to look down to stop herself giggling.

  Angelica stepped back to her CD player and pressed play. The hall filled up with the big-band sound of Harry Connick Jnr, and Katie recognised the opening bars of ‘It Had To Be You’.

  ‘Now we’re going to learn a very useful social dance that fits most old songs, it looks very proficient, and it’s very simple. It’s called the social foxtrot, or a crush dance. Now where’s my volunteer?’ She swooped on Frank, with her arms held open, and this time Bridget happily waved them away on to the middle of the floor.

  The class watched impressed as Angelica and Frank clasped each other in the ballroom hold, then floated in curving turns from one end of the room to the other, with only a few little bumps and hesitations.

  ‘Now, the social foxtrot is fabulous for doing when you’ve only got a tiny dancefloor, like at a wedding,’ Angelica called over one shoulder, as they swirled back down the other side of the room. ‘Watch how small we can make this,’ she went on as their steps became compact, and little more than a shuffle.

  ‘I thought the foxtrot was the quick one where the lady slides round the room backwards like she’s on wheels,’ said Lauren. ‘That’s the one they did on Strictly Come Dancing. The one with the dresses with floaty wings.’ She spread her long arms, nearly taking Chris’s eye out.

  ‘Ah, now that’s different – that’s called the slow foxtrot,’ said Angelica, while Frank twirled her round as the instrumental break took over. ‘That’s the one you see in Fred Astaire films. That’s all about syncopation, and gliding round the floor as if you’re not touching it, and very, very precise footwork. And it’s very difficult, believe me.’

  ‘We won the Longhampton District Five-Dance Cup nine times,’ said Baxter. ‘Slow foxtrot was our special dance, wasn’t it, Peggy? And our son Ray is also an ex-champion, twice.’

  Peggy nodded, her eyes sparkling.

  It was hard to imagine Baxter and Peggy as a pint-sized Fred and Ginger, thought Katie, but then maybe that was the transformational power of dance Angelica kept going on about. She thought Baxter looked a bit put out, and wondered why she hadn’t chosen him to demonstrate with. Frank was good, but he wasn’t nearly as slick as Baxter. Baxter moved as if his soles were oiled. Maybe that was the point – maybe she didn’t want to make it look even harder than it was.

  ‘Really? How marvellous!’ said Angelica.

  ‘We were in all the papers,’ added Baxter. ‘Two generations of champions, if you will.’

  ‘Everyone! If you get stuck, just have a look at what Peggy and Baxter are doing,’ said Angelica, good-humouredly, as she returned Frank to Bridget with a little curtsy.

  ‘Now,’ she went on, ‘that’s how you do it quickly. Now let’s see all that again very slowly, shall we?’ Her sharp eyes turned to Katie, Jo, Greg and Ross.

  ‘Great,’ Katie muttered under her breath towards Jo, bracing herself. ‘This is where she picks on us.’

  ‘Not you, dear!’ said Angelica. ‘I’ve got my feet to think of. It’s your husband I’m after. If you don’t mind?’ she added, taking Ross’s hand.

  Ross smiled as Angelica neatly manoeuvred him into the centre of the hall, and beamed at the class.

  ‘Ah!’ said Jo, encouragingly. ‘Doesn’t he look like he knows what he’s doing?’

  He is such a creep, thought Katie. If he displayed that much enthusiasm at home, we wouldn’t have to be here at all.

  ‘Now I should tell you that I won’t always allow you to dance with the partner you brought,’ Angelica went on. ‘When you’re let loose onto real dance floors, you’ll be expected to dance with everyone, not just your friends, so you’d better get used to swapping around.’

  ‘Oooh!’ the single girls cooed, this time with more enthusiasm, and nudging in the direction of Greg and tall, blond Chris.

  ‘Get ready, Lauren,’ said Trina, winking at Lauren, whose arms had folded automatically over her chest as her fiancé beamed in the spotlight of female attention. ‘You might just get stampeded in the rush, love!’

  ‘And then they’ll get stampeded by Chris,’ retorted Lauren.

  Greg caught Katie’s eye as the class bantered away, and he raised his eyebrows slightly, as if to say, ‘Is it like this every week?’ Katie adjusted her face, and returned the gesture, quite a private one, of shared amusement, and a flutter ran over her skin.

  She looked down at the floor, then at Ross, who was remembering to pull his slopey shoulders back now he was dancing with Angelica, and when she glanced back at Greg again, he was murmuring something to Jo, and the amused look had vanished from his face.

  Angelica explained the steps, the slows and the quicks, while they copied her. ‘Watch my feet!’ she called out, over the music. ‘We’re going in zig-zags, like the pattern on the floor, can you see?’

  To the untrained eye, it looked as if Ross was expertly propelling Angelica. Even he looked surprised.

  ‘You’re very good at this,’ she added, as they turned slowly. ‘I think you’ve got that!’ She let his hands go, and gave him a little clap. ‘Now, you teach Katie, and I’ll have a look at . . . Careful, now, Chris! If you drag her she’ll . . . you see what I mean?’

  Ross came back to Katie as Angelica went to disentangle Chris and Lauren. He held out his arms in a stagey dance manner.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Katie.

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Don’t make me feel even more self-conscious than I already am. God, I hate not being able to do stuff,’ Katie muttered, trying to keep her grumbling beneath Angelica’s radar. ‘Right, OK, which foot do we start on?’ She stared at her work courts. They needed polishing. Next to her toes were Ross’s Converse All-Stars, which had also seen better days.

  ‘Stop looking at your feet,’ said Ross. ‘Look at me.’

  Reluctantly, Katie looked at Ross. They were standing quite close together, his hand on her shoulder-blade, the other holding hers at shoulder-height, a breath apart. She’d forgotten how near they were in height, especially when she was in heels, and now they were close enough for her to smell the baby powder on him, mixed with his own end-of-the-day smell. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, and the formality of the pose did make her look at him properly.

  He needs to do something about his open pores, she thought, at the same time as she realised his brown eyes actually had a ring of amber round the iris.

  ‘Now take a slow step back,’ said Ross helpfully.

  ‘When?’

  ‘When I decide to start. You’re meant to watch my face for clues.’

  ‘And what if I don’t want to look at you?’ she replied, knowing how childish she sounded. ‘What if I preferred a verbal signal? And why do you have
to decide when we start?’

  Ross sighed. ‘Fine. You tell me when you’re ready, then we’ll go. Now when I lead you back, I’ll lean into the step and . . .’

  Katie let her hands drop. ‘Lead? Sorry? What?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Was that what you were watching with Hannah? A teach-yourself-dancing DVD? You were, weren’t you?’

  ‘Why not?’ Ross looked surprised. ‘I want to be able to do it. I don’t want to let you down.’

  ‘Well, don’t! That’s not on!’ she spluttered. ‘The whole point is that we’re both equally crap! You can’t cheat by getting ahead of me!’

  Ross shook his head and stepped away from her. ‘I can’t believe this. Seriously, Katie. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Trouble in paradise?’ Angelica glided up behind them.

  ‘Oh, great,’ muttered Katie.

  ‘Now, there’s nothing to it,’ she said, motioning them back into the right hold. ‘Clever girl like you will pick this up in no time, Katie. And . . .’ She looked at Ross, who stepped forward with a nod. ‘And slow, keep that long step slow, Katie, and slow, and together, feet together! Together! You’re not Charlie Chaplin! Now you step forward, and . . .’

  ‘Ow!’ Katie glared accusingly at Ross as his Converse connected with her toe.

  ‘You’ve got to let him lead you, Katie,’ said Angelica, but sympathetically this time. ‘No use shoving him around – you can’t see what’s behind you and he can. Here, let me show you.’

  She put her hands lightly on Katie’s, holding her as Ross had, and started to move so skilfully that Katie felt herself being gently eased into the right position. Her feet went to the right places without her having to tell them to, and as Angelica spoke the steps aloud, like a patient primary-school teacher, it began to fit together.

  Her hands were small, perfectly manicured, no rings, and Katie barely felt their weight at all, expect for the moments when Angelica pressed her very gently to guide her in the right direction. Angelica’s head was about level with her own ear, and Katie could smell her flowery perfume, and the faint cashmere smell of her fitted jumper. Even close up, Angelica’s make-up was flawless: the winged flick of her black eyeliner unwavering, her arched eyebrows plucked to perfection, with only a few papery lines around her eyes betraying a few extra years more than the age Katie would have put her at.