The Ballroom Class (24 page)

His eyes twinkled at her as if they had a shared joke, while they both counted under their breath to start at the right time.

‘Don’t show me up in front of Hannah. She’s very demanding. And, one, back rock, cha-cha-cha, forward rock, cha-cha-cha  . . .’ said Ross, guiding her backwards, his knees bending easily where hers were rigid with self-consciousness, even here, even in her home.

‘Oh  . . . I still can’t get it right,’ groaned Katie as she stumbled, and would have stopped right there, if Ross hadn’t said, ‘No, no, no, keep going, at least until the guitar solo  . . .’ and pushed her on.

‘See, Hannah?’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Isn’t Mummy a good dancer?’

‘No,’ said Hannah. ‘She’s not as good as you.’ She gave Katie a furious look and ran out of the room. They heard her feet scuttle up the stairs to her room.

Suddenly Katie didn’t feel angry any more. She just felt weary. How did you explain to a four-year-old that the reason you weren’t there to dance during the day wasn’t because you didn’t love her, but because you loved her so much you wanted her to have everything you could possibly get?

‘It’s that time of day,’ sighed Ross, preparing to pursue Hannah. ‘Sorry. That was uncalled-for.’

‘No, I’ll go. Let me just give Jack a cuddle.’ Katie went over to Jack and lifted him out of the beanbag chair, bouncing him in her arms to make him laugh. ‘Hello, little man! Hello! Have you missed me? I’ve missed you!’ She gave him a tentative sniff. ‘Is Jack bathed?’

‘We’re dropping them at Jo’s on the way. Katie?’

‘What?’ She turned.

Ross looked tired, and with a thick stripe of blue eyeshadow on his cheek and a string of Katie’s plastic beads round his neck, rather camp. But there was something about his scrawny, long-muscled arms sticking out from under his T-shirt that stirred up an old memory in Katie. A warm one. Added to the memory of his ‘nice arse’ on Wednesday night, she could feel something stirring for the first time in ages.

‘I want to book you for the cha-cha this evening,’ he said, wagging his finger. ‘Your card’s marked.’

The blaring brass and swinging beat was audible from outside the hall: ‘Moonlight Serenade’, performed by a very loud big band.

Jo and Katie shivered outside as the wind cut through their thin dresses. Autumn was definitely here now, with a keen chill whipping the leaves off the trees and whisking ruthlessly through the wind tunnels made by the concrete towers around them.

‘Glad I’m not the only one to have dressed up,’ said Jo, her teeth chattering. A sparkly pink flowered skirt stuck out from under her jacket, and she was wearing what looked to Katie like a new pair of silver satin court shoes. ‘You look  . . . festive.’

‘Thanks,’ said Katie with a wry smile.

To coax a good mood out of Hannah, Katie had put on her old faithful black dress, and let her ‘decorate Mummy’s outfit’ with the handful of red silk flowers she’d picked up from Claire’s Accessories for a wedding and never got round to doing anything with. Hannah had also graciously applied some glitter that Katie had removed with a babywipe once safely inside Greg’s BMW. On her freezing feet were the only shoes that Hannah had approved – a pair of silvery sandals she’d bought for last year’s office party and never worn since. Katie was already regretting it. She’d taken maybe twenty steps and already blisters were forming on her toes.

If Hannah wasn’t four, Katie would have suspected her of punishment dressing.

‘You look nice,’ said Jo, with an encouraging nudge.

‘Thanks,’ said Ross, patting his hair.

Jo giggled and batted his arm with her clutch bag. ‘Get away. I was talking to your lovely wife.’

‘What’s Greg doing with the car?’ asked Katie, to put off the evil moment of going in. She wasn’t even sure why she felt so nervous, but she did. She didn’t know enough yet. If she couldn’t cha-cha with Ross in her own living room, they were going to look like total fools in front of people who did it every week.

‘He doesn’t like parking it round here.’ Jo rolled her eyes. ‘You know what he’s like. If people
look
at it too hard, he gets all nervous about scratches.’

‘Well, I can understand that,’ said Katie. ‘I wouldn’t be too happy either – it’s brand new, isn’t it? Greg was telling me that  . . .’

‘Katie, it’s just a car!’ snapped Ross. They exchanged irritated looks.

Jo caught the exchange, and said, quickly, ‘Do you reckon it’ll just be, like, us?’ She nodded towards the hall. ‘I know it’s loud, but I haven’t seen anyone go in.’

‘There’ll be Angelica, don’t forget.’ Katie adopted a pretend serious expression. ‘Maybe she comes here on her own every week, and this is just a sad attempt to boost the numbers.’

‘You think?’

‘Yes,’ said Ross. ‘It’ll be like the class, only with louder music and twice as long. And Baxter will be able to do Gentleman’s Excuse Mes, and everyone will make a beeline for Chris. While he’s sitting down.’

‘And you and Greg,’ added Jo, as Greg’s tall figure emerged from round the corner.

I hope I get to dance with Greg, thought Katie, secretly. He doesn’t look that chuffed to be here either. And we were both up at the crack of dawn this morning, so that’s a good excuse not to stay too long.

But if she was being honest, she was curious to see what it would be like to be in Greg’s arms, so much more solid than Ross’s. What he smelled of. Whether he’d bothered to shave again before coming out. What he found to talk about during the three minutes of close contact.

That was the one thing she was dreading: the conversation with complete strangers, better dancers, who might ask for a dance. What were you meant to say? Would it feel like a driving test? Would they all stand out as beginners?

‘Right, that’s the car parked,’ said Greg, jangling the keys ostentatiously. ‘Didn’t want to park it on the street so it’s in the NCP down the road. Bit of a trek but at least it’ll be there when we get back. That OK?’

Jo looked down at her feet, then at Katie’s bare toes. Then up at Katie’s taut face. She grinned. ‘So long as you go and get it, Greg.’

‘Why?’ He looked confused.

‘Because the ladies will have crippled themselves and probably us too,’ said Ross. He pushed open the door, and a gust of thumping Glenn Miller escaped, along with a rush of warm air. ‘Come on, then.’

Any dread Katie had about their being the centre of attention vanished before she even got her coat off. Beyond the wood-panelled entry hall, the dancefloor was packed with couples, clearly enjoying the sort of evening Katie had only seen before in old Pathé newsreels. A swinging big-band tune was blasting out of the speakers, all shrilling trumpets and urgent drums, the air was thick with the smell of cologne, hairspray and warm human bodies, and a man in the corner appeared to be doing a roaring trade in orange juice.

The dancefloor that seemed so huge when there were only ten of them clumping about now seemed intimate in the crush of couples – there were at least sixty people there, Katie reckoned. Ladies of varying ages were being swirled expertly around by confident men who definitely weren’t having to count aloud, their fondant-fancy coloured skirts blooming up as they floated around each other like clockwork figures, almost but never quite colliding, thanks to some mysterious sixth sense that Katie was pretty sure she and Ross would never acquire.

It wasn’t just the dancing that had lifted to a new level, she marvelled: the hall itself looked completely different. Darker, more glamorous, and romantic. The overhead lights were turned down, and a huge mirrorball sprinkled diamonds of white light around the floor and over the dancers’ shoulders like confetti. Chairs and small tables had been arranged around the edges, where couples and hopeful singles sat watching the dancers, sipping their juice, waiting for their turn on the floor as their toes tapped out the beat.

Standing just inside the door, also handing their coats in to the cloakroom, were Lauren and Chris. Lauren greeted Katie and Ross with enthusiastic relief, and Katie felt a little warmth uncurl in the pit of her stomach like a fern – camaraderie that they were all about to make fools of themselves together. Chris gave them a blokeish nod, his hands jammed firmly in his pockets.

‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Lauren. She was wearing a tight black bustier and a flower-pattern skirt that was meant to be mid-calf, but just grazed her knee. ‘Did we just, like, step back in time? Is this the same place?’

‘And are they doing the same dance?’ Chris looked nervously out at the floor. ‘I said to Loz, that isn’t what we’ve been learning.’

‘I don’t know.’ Katie stared at the forest of spangly court shoes, but they were moving too quickly to tell.

‘Hello, Ross! Jo!’ Lauren’s parents had appeared behind them, their coats already off. Her dad, in particular, seemed unusually animated by the atmosphere, nodding his head to the tune and tapping his right foot.

‘Marvellous, isn’t it, this music? Takes me back,’ said Frank, extending a hand towards his wife. ‘Bridget? May I have the pleasure?’

‘You may!’ Bridget beamed, and handed her bag to Lauren, who stared with the rest of them as her parents stepped onto the dancefloor and immediately began moving in tiny, intuitive steps, already smiling into each other’s face as they hovered for a moment on the edge, and were then swept away in the surging merry-go-round of sports jackets and pink sequins.

‘Wow,’ breathed Lauren. ‘Aren’t the clothes great? So this is what Angelica meant about getting dressed up to get into it. I must admit,’ she went on, smoothing down her skirt, ‘it does make you feel a bit special.’

‘You suit big skirts,’ said Katie, wanting to be nice to her. ‘Look at your little waist!’

‘Oh, I remember when I had one of those,’ sighed Jo, dramatically. ‘Treasure it, Lauren. It doesn’t keep.’

‘Katie?’ Ross held out a hand. ‘Shall we?’

Katie felt the nerves clutch her. ‘Can’t we get a drink first, or at least get a table?’

‘I’m going to the bar,’ said Chris. ‘Lauren, can you get a table?’

‘There’s one, over there! Katie, give us your bag?’ And laden with three handbags, Lauren was off, inching her way around the tables to the final spare one at the back.

Katie turned back to Ross. ‘Can’t we just watch for a bit?’

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Take the plunge.’

‘But I don’t even know what sort of dance it is! It’s all right for you – you know what you’re doing!’

He smiled, and Katie was irritated that she was irritated by something that she knew she should be happy about: Ross taking the initiative, for once. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘It’s got four beats. We can do that shuffly wedding dance one – it’s not like there’s room for much more anyway.’

Reluctantly, she let him pull her onto the floor, where they paused for a moment, to count to four, then Ross stepped forwards and they started their basic social foxtrot steps, the ones that made a slow zig-zag shape down the room. To Katie’s surprise, he was right: one, it fitted to the beat, and two, there really wasn’t much room for dancefloor heroics.

‘Ooops, sorry! Sorry!’ muttered Ross, as they bumped into a couple doing a flashy step sequence.

‘Are we going the right way? What did Angelica say about directions?’ panicked Katie. ‘Was it clockwise or anti-clockwise?’

‘Anti-clockwise. And don’t stray into the fast lane round the outside,’ said Angelica, spinning past out of nowhere and making them both jump. ‘You’ll get trampled! Hello!’

‘Hello!’ stammered Katie. How did Angelica just
appear
like that, when she least wanted her to?

‘How lovely to see you! You must have a dance with Victor here, Katie,’ she said, smiling up at her enormous partner, whose crisp white shirt strained somewhat at the shoulders. ‘He has a
wonderfully
strong lead!’

‘Angelica makes it so easy,’ Victor explained, casually dipping Angelica so her long neck arched elegantly to the side for a slow-motion moment. He sounded Eastern European, and had a look of Rudolph Valentino. Katie had no idea such exotica existed in Longhampton. ‘There is always a queue to dance with her.’

Angelica seemed more delicate than ever in Victor’s manly arms. She was wearing a red satin skirt and an off-the-shoulder black top, her jet-black hair gleaming as if freshly polished. ‘Very bad form that, by the way,’ she added, regaining her upright stance, and nodding towards the couple who’d bumped into them. ‘You’re not meant to do routines on a social night.’

Victor swung her back in a neat step, then twirled her round so they overtook Ross and Katie in the fast lane.

‘I’ll send Victor over later!’ she called, as they vanished. ‘You’re doing very well! But point those feet, Katie! And let Ross lead!’ Her voice trailed off.

‘There you go,’ said Ross, as they shuffled onwards. ‘We’re doing very well. Are you pointing your feet? Are you trying to back-lead me?’

‘Back-lead?’ Katie raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you been watching those DVDs again?’

‘Be quiet or I’ll hand you over to Baxter,’ said Ross serenely, and then yelped as he tried to do a box-turn, and their feet jumbled.

‘I lost the rhythm,’ said Katie, then added, ‘sorry.’

Ross smiled. ‘Doesn’t matter.’