Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams (14 page)

‘
O
n the bitch mode scale
, I'm calm – only like a two right now, but ask me again in an hour when he hasn’t texted me back.’ Tony was blowing my hair in between huge gasps of furiousness. ‘I texted him at ten past four,’ he continued, tugging a little too hard on my roots as he pulled the brush vigorously through my hair. I wanted to say ‘ow’ but he wouldn’t have listened, he was completely off on one about his latest dating disaster; ‘I said don’t worry about me, sugar tits, not that he was. I said I watched “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane” on Netflix in case you were wondering what a fucking white-knuckle thrill ride my evening was when you were a no-show. I think he got the message.’

‘Good for you,’ I nodded. Tony’s complicated and free-flowing sex life often involved his ex-partner Joel who’d once broken his heart but turned up every now and then for sex. Tony was handsome, he could have his pick of men and enjoyed various ’gentlemen callers’ with different talents and varied abilities in the bedroom – but he would drop them all for Joel. Deep down, Tony knew Joel was using him but was in complete denial. Whilst I’d been waiting for Cameron, Tony had been waiting for Joel, who didn’t turn up either. Tony knew exactly what I was going through and it made me feel better to know I wasn’t alone in all this relationship madness.

‘I hope you gave that Cameron short shrift too,’ he hissed. ‘There’s me on my pink velour sofa looking chic as hell, and there’s you, dressed in cheap loungewear, house done up all candlelight and driftwood like something from “Blair Witch,” And he doesn’t even bother to text. They are all the same, bloody men, letting us down.’

I wasn’t sure what I resented most, the Blair Witch comment (I was going for Kelly Hoppen), or the reference to cheap loungewear.

‘Short shrift? I can’t even find him. I refuse to text him and come over all desperate. But I went on Facebook this morning and he’s gone, completely disappeared into thin air, it’s like he never existed. His account’s not even on there’ I said.

‘Facebook’s like the wardrobe in bloody Narnia sometimes. You’re convinced you’ve had the most amazing adventure then someone deletes everything taking the fucking wardrobe with them so there’s nowhere to get in. What a tosser,’ he spat, taking his frustration out on my poor hair – wasn’t I suffering enough.

‘Oh... ow!’ I was gritting my teeth as he untangled a tricky knot – with vigour. ‘I’m used to it Tony. I don’t know why I bothered. How stupid I was to be taken in by him. I told you, I don’t want or need a man in my life, I’m fine as I am. I’d just like someone to hold me every now and then, tell me I look nice... someone who’s there for me.’

‘I’ll be there, Lola,’ he smiled, kissing the top of my head. He meant it too and it made me realise that the Cameron’s of this world will just disappoint you and let you down. While waiting all night for him I’d recalled a few times when we were younger when he hadn’t turned up as promised and I sometimes wondered if he’d cheated. Perhaps those lovely salad days of loving Cameron weren’t quite as lovely as I’d remembered? As a young woman I’d probably put up with far more than I would now and for me Cameron hadn’t only left Facebook, he’d left my life and my head too.

I thought about this as Tony continued to rant and pull at my hair. We were in my kitchen and he’d turned up to walk with me to the dance centre for our usual session, but wanted to talk me through flamenco while he made me look ten years younger with a bit of hair mousse and a lot of pain and heat, because he said I looked ‘rough as old boots’, which was nice. I think he just wanted to try out his new hair mousse on my hair rather than his – I was the guinea pig.

‘It’s only a couple of weeks before I go on my flamenco odyssey and I’ve been reading up about it online. It looks like a fortnight in heaven and hell, my love – long arduous days of training, difficult steps and the compás ... oh my god don’t talk to me about the compás. I will be exhausted... but fabulous.’

‘You will. What’s
compás?’

‘It’s the rhythm of flamenco, it’s not like anything we do. The dance is originally Moorish and so the music’s alien to our ears – and our toes.’

‘Oh it sounds so exciting, and intriguing too. Why don’t we practise together before you go?’ I said, excitedly. How I longed to go with him and bask in the sunshine and the dancing.

‘You read my mind. Already thought of that – you and I are going to do a little flamenco this evening, my love... I’ve been online and checked out the steps. I’ve downloaded some music and I think between us, you and I will be able to make it sizzle.’

He finished my hair, which looked good, and before leaving for the dance centre I ran upstairs and, grabbing my handbag and putting Dad’s letter in., I wanted Dad with me tonight, the Flamenco was a dance he’d longed to do and I just wished I could dance for him, with him. I adored the difficult Argentine Tango and the smooth and wonderful waltz – we were planning to enter both dances for Blackpool the following year – but this was the flamenco and it was different. It was also something close to my heart.

Waiting for the studio to clear, I thought about how far I’d come since that first class a few months before. I could barely walk the next morning, I’d ached everywhere. I still ached after every dance session, but it was a good ache, a reminder of something I could do rather than something I couldn’t.

Eventually everyone had left, but some of the Zumba girls asked if they could hang around and watch, which meant we suddenly had an audience of about thirty people watching us attempt a dance we’d never done before. Tony could tell I was nervous and kissed my cheek, then with the most gentle and loving look on his face, he said, very quietly, ‘Remember what I told you – dance like nobody’s watching.’ I looked up at him, smiling, then he burst the bubble, ‘Now no whingeing and move your tight little arse onto that dance floor – or I will kick it!’

I smiled sweetly at him through gritted teeth. I would ‘perform’ with confidence, and no one would know I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. Tony took my hand and led me forward into our arena.

‘Now, I’ve been reading up on it – flamenco isn’t like anything we’ve ever done before,’ he explained. ‘It’s not just a dance, darling, it’s a culture, an art form, a lifestyle – people take a lifetime to learn flamenco so don’t expect to get it on the first try.’

I nodded, even with the spectators it was all so exciting, and though I knew it would be a huge challenge, I was keen to learn some of the basics.

‘In true flamenco there’s a dancer, singer and a guitarist, but we’re going to make do with my iPod, my hips and my passion. Okay, Lola?’ he turned on the music and started to clap out the rhythm, then after a little while we did a little stomping and I imagined I was wearing a long, frilly dress like my doll, Senorita. I attempted to flurry my wrapover skirt into a frenzy, which didn’t have the desired effect, but it made Tony laugh. As the music continued, we just kept going, our own improvised flamenco, twirling and stomping and clicking our fingers in the air and laughing like two little kids. Eventually, we slumped against the wall, sweating but still smiling. I grabbed my water bottle. ‘It’s thirsty work, flamenco,’ I said.

Tony laughed. ‘I’m not sure what you just did there was flamenco, love. Let’s give it another go shall we?’

So we got up and started again, this time a little calmer. The strains of the guitar soothed and inspired me and I felt like I knew the dance. Of course I didn’t, but as we both stamped on the floor and raised our arms, straightened our posture it began to feel like something Spanish. Then Tony started with the ‘Olés’ and the Zumba girls started clapping and shouting ‘Olé’ too.

Tony didn’t need much encouragement to put on a show, swirling around, stomping, and shouting random Spanish sounding words I wasn’t convinced were actually Spanish. But the ‘audience’ seemed genuinely enthusiastic about what we were doing. This time I wasn’t intimidated but inspired by the clapping and the sounds of approval – and I carried on, stamping and clapping to the rhythm. I really loved it, and despite feeling self-conscious, I curtseyed when Tony bowed, and I felt a rush of blood and emotion in my chest and the sting of tears in my eyes. The applause was for us, for me – I’d never realised how bloody wonderful that could feel. I felt I’d finally broken through the barrier to becoming a better dancer... and maybe a braver person.

T
ony was excited
about a new venue he had found for us to practise in and was driving along the M6 to a leisure centre near Walsall. I still hadn’t heard from Cameron since his no-show and the fact he hadn’t texted me at all since it was clear he had no plans to take anything further. I had resisted texting him and if I’m honest was still hoping that he’d text with an explanation. But the day before I’d found out the truth and I needed to share it with Tony, who I knew would understand and be totally on my side. There was no way to sugar coat it, so I jumped straight in. ‘Cameron’s married.’

He was overtaking a lorry and I wasn’t sure if he was concentrating or just taking this news in, but after a few seconds he exploded.

‘You are kidding me? Tell me it’s a joke?’

‘Well if it is I don’t think it’s a very funny one,’ I snapped.

‘How did you find out?’

‘Carole told me. She wasn’t sure – but she had her suspicions because she was at school with his sister. So she made a point of standing with her in the queue to be weighed at Slimming World and somehow got the conversation onto Cameron and his family. She should have worked for MI5, anyway within minutes his sister had sung like a canary about his wife and three kids. Carole even found out they are about to celebrate twenty-five fucking years of marriage next week.’

‘Bastard!’ with that Tony slammed his fist hard on the steering wheel.

‘It’s okay, Tony... I just feel stupid. I can’t believe I was taken in.’

‘He took advantage...’

‘No he didn’t. I wish he had. I just got carried away... it’s easy to start seeing more in an online friendship... a “goodnight, gorgeous” becomes a relationship.’ I didn’t add fuel to the fire and remind him that Cameron had lied and told me he was divorced.

‘Babe, that’s an engagement where I come from,’ he sighed. ‘But don’t beat yourself up, Lola, it was the first sniff you’ve had in decades...’

‘Years... not decades, I’m not that old... I don’t sniff at men like a dog either.’

‘Oh come on love it’s been a while. Decades... he was desperate and you were needy... and sniffing around him like a dog,’ He started laughing at his own imagery.

I reached out and slapped him. ‘I’m not needy or desperate... and I don’t need a man.’

‘No you don’t – you’ve been responsible for your own orgasms since 1992...’ he added.

‘Thank you for that.’

‘But you’re okay aren’t you, Lola?’ he said, more seriously now. Joking aside, he knew this had knocked my confidence and was worried I might retreat back into my safe little world.

‘I am fine. I enjoyed talking to Cameron, it was good sharing our memories. I’d always looked back on my teen years as being overshadowed by my mum’s sadness when Dad went. Cameron reminded me that I was young once and had dreams and... I feel like I’m now picking up the threads all these years later... and I don’t need a man to help me do that, in fact they just muddy the waters.’

By the time we arrived at the leisure centre, it was dark and empty, almost spookily quiet. Tony opened a door and led me into a changing room where the stench of sweaty feet and chlorine whacked the back of my throat.

‘Why here?’ I said, covering my mouth with my hand.

‘I’m friends with the manager and he says we can use the space for free.’

‘Yeah but... a swimming pool?’

‘Yes, to tighten that footwork of yours,’ he said, opening another door and leading me out to the impossibly turquoise pool.

‘I’m not dancing underwater,’ I said as we stood on the edge, looking into the pool. There were no lights above, but the pool was lit from inside which gave it a beautiful but eerie quality – all we could hear was a dripping sound.

‘We aren’t going in the water, Lola, you only need to put your trainers on. If we were going in I’d have told you to bring your tiny, fluorescent bikini.’ We both laughed hard at that... Tony laughed a little too hard for my liking, so I whacked him with one of my trainers, then wandered to the edge of the water and peeped in.

‘It’s quite ghostly, like a scene from a TV drama,’ I said, peering down into the aqua depths. I hadn’t watched TV for ages - not even Silent Witness, and Strictly wasn’t back until the Autumn - I made a mental note to tell Sophie how I’d been too busy to watch TV.

‘Yeah, it’s good though, isn’t it? I was down here with Peter the other night and it struck me that it’s the perfect place to dance.’

‘Peter?’

He smiled. ‘The manager, I told you we’re friends.’

I didn’t ask how friendly, but I could guess.

‘Anyway, see this,’ he was pointing at the fairly narrow strip around the pool, the way the blue on white tiles formed a line.

‘We dance between the pool and the line,’ he explained. ‘It’s only a couple of feet wide and it will keep your footwork tight. The flamenco is about using a small area and if your feet go over that line you know you’re dancing too wide. And if your feet go over the other side – then it’s woman overboard,’ he laughed.

‘I’m not a great swimmer,’ I warned him.

‘Even more reason to keep your feet tight,’ he pulled me to him and we danced, me keeping my feet very close together as I was petrified of landing in the water.

As we danced around the flickering turquoise light I began to feel a little more relaxed, allowing the dance to take me somewhere else. The only music was in our heads and we had complete solitude. The radiance from the pool reflected back in turquoise, a cool ripple moving gently across the water, luminous in the dim setting. The light cast ghostly shadows on the tiled wall as we moved in the strange blue glow, like we were dancing in another time and place.

Suddenly there was a gentle clapping from above and someone stepped out of the shadows.

Tony looked up, his hand over his brow to see the shadow, who stepped nearer, still clapping. I could see he was handsome and smiling – Peter I presumed?

‘It’s a ten from me!’ the voice said.

‘Oh no you’ve been watching us?’ Tony was pretending to be embarrassed, but I could tell he was secretly pleased.

As Peter joined us by the pool and introductions were made, Tony congratulated me on my footwork. ‘It works doesn’t it? Much better, Lola... very tight footwork... but you’re still not letting go, love.’

‘Yeah, perhaps tonight wasn’t the best time to try and let go,’ I smiled, ‘but it made me feel so much better.’ It was just what I needed after the news about bloody Cameron, mind you I felt even more sorry for his poor wife who hadn’t a clue what he got up to on Facebook.’

I thanked Peter for allowing us to dance by the pool and they both walked me to the door. Tony said he had a lift back… and I knew what that meant. I was pleased for him. I drove home that night feeling like I’d had a very magical experience dancing by the pool, it reminded me again of my dad’s dream to dance under the Spanish sun and I felt so sad and happy I cried.

The following morning I was having a scintillating conversation with a customer about the virtues of breaded pollock when Carole’s voice emerged from behind the baked bean pyramid; ‘Laura – have you heard from Tony this morning?’

‘No,’ I said and leaned forward to continue my ‘conversation’ with the baked beans. ‘Why?’

‘I think something’s happened,’ the voice said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s Tony... he’s been hurt.’

‘But I was only with him last night... oh for god’s sake, Carole, come out from behind the beans,’ I said abruptly.

She shuffled towards me. ‘It’s all right for you; I’m on my third written warning,’ she said crossly.

‘What’s happened? What makes you think he’s hurt?’

‘Well, there was something on the radio this morning about someone being beaten up by thugs. Then I go online just now and the headlines are ‘Leisure centre manager and local dance teacher Tony Hernandez beaten in suspected homophobic attack.’

My legs collapsed from under me. ‘And... what’s... how is... he? Does it say?’

‘No, it says one of them is in the local hospital with serious injuries but it doesn’t say who.’

‘I have to go,’ I said, throwing my green nylon overall at Carole. ‘Cover for me will you?’ I asked, abandoning Mrs Breaded Pollock and her shopping and running through the store. All I could think was poor Tony, poor lovely, kind Tony – how could anyone do something like this?

‘What on earth is going on?’ I heard Julie’s voice, harsh and shrill in front of me, blocking my exit, where the bloody hell had she come from?

‘I’m sorry, Julie – I’ve just heard my friend’s in hospital... he...’

‘I’m sorry but you can’t just leave your checkout.’

‘No. I haven’t, I’ve left it with Carole. Look I have to go.’

‘Hang on a minute, lady,’ she said, coming over all aggressive. ‘Your friend, you say? Is this a family member, friend or a boyfriend?’

‘What difference does it make?’

‘It makes a lot of difference, because if you think you can just run out of the building because some “friend” is in hospital, forget it. You might be allowed to go at my discretion – for family care or bereavement purposes, but not for one of your mates.’

‘But he’s been hurt... I think... he doesn’t have much family, only a sister – I don’t even know if she knows yet.’

‘Not my problem – take him a bunch of flowers when you’ve finished,’ she snapped.

‘No. I’m going,’ I said, adamantly.

I went to push past her and she pushed her face into mine, ‘If you go now, don’t even think about coming back.’

‘Oh, shove it, Julie, you ridiculous woman! How dare you speak to me like that. You strut around here thinking you’re better than everyone else just because you earn an extra 20p an hour. Well I’ve got news for you, love – in that big world outside, this green overall and your sad little supervisor’s badge are nothing...
you
are nothing. I’ve left someone on my till and I am now going to see my friend who’s in hospital, whether
you
like it or not.’ I didn’t wait for her response, her open mouth said it all, and I ran straight past her and into the car park, grabbing my keys from my bag and leaping into the car. Driving to the hospital all I could think about was Tony and just kept saying over and over in my head, please be okay, please be okay.

Arriving in reception I explained I’d come to see Tony Hernandez and the lady behind the desk nodded and looked at me with pity, then ushered me into a room. ‘The doctor will be with you shortly. There are a few magazines and a coffee machine just outside,’ she said, trying to be helpful.

‘I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t want coffee and magazines I want to see my friend... how is he?’

‘A doctor is coming to talk to you,’ she smiled sympathetically and left. I wanted to call after her, rugby tackle her to the ground and make her tell me he was okay, but I just sat there in the square room with white walls covered in leaflets about syphilis and breastfeeding.

My heart was in my mouth – why had the woman put me in here? Was this where they gave bad news? I stood up and walked around, sat down, and then stood up again, I couldn’t rest, I was so anxious. Tony was so talented and funny and clever... and so young. All kinds of horrors were whirling through my head – perhaps the worst was ‘if he lives – will he ever dance again?’ A life without dancing wouldn’t be a life for Tony.

After what seemed like an eternity a doctor appeared clutching a sheaf of paperwork, she nodded, quietly closed the door and pulled up a chair. Sitting down gently, she looked into my face. ‘His friend said his name is Tony Hernandez, but we can’t find him on the system.’

‘No... no his name’s Griffiths, Tony Griffiths. Hernandez is his stage name. How is he?’

‘It’s too soon to tell... his address?’ she was writing his details on a form. She looked at me, my mind was blank, all I could think was, is he dead?

I was so upset and frustrated I said, ‘Just please tell me how he is... how is my friend?’

She didn’t flinch, she was obviously used to this frantic, brisk behaviour from worried family and friends.

‘He’s comfortable. He took quite a beating, he was protecting his friend who escaped with cuts and bruises, but I’m afraid Tony has some severe injuries.’

‘How... bad? His brain?’

‘Not as far as we can tell. He’s under heavy sedation at the moment, and it may be a few hours before we can establish his injuries. At the moment we can’t confirm anything more than broken bones.’

‘Bones? Broken? But he’s a dancer...’

‘His left leg has been injured, his left arm is fractured – it seems his arm was stamped on by one of the people who attacked him. There’s a lot of bruising and he needed stitches over his eye.’

‘Did they hurt him... because he was gay?’

She half nodded. ‘We can’t confirm anything at this stage – but the police suggest it would seem to be the case... I have to warn you, he’s in a bad way.’