The Ballroom Class (53 page)

Lauren managed a brave smile. ‘Yeah. I suppose.’ She leaned down, hugging her mum tightly. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘I love you. You and Dad.’

‘I know,’ said Bridget. ‘We love you too.’

Lauren unfolded herself, then pulled her shoulders back. ‘Right,’ she said, and with a final crooked smile, she marched across the tiles to the heavy front door.

Bridget watched her go, and sent up a silent prayer to whichever helpful deity was in charge of dodgy relationships that Lauren found the right words. Or, failing that, that some random act of God would spare her the awful conversation, just as she and Frank had been saved from theirs.

Then she heaved herself up off the bench (When did I get so creaky and ancient? she wondered) and went back into the main Hall, to find the husband she’d loved every day since then.

It was easy enough to tell Lauren to be honest, but she wasn’t looking forward to the confession she knew had to be made that evening.

31

After Lauren left, the class never really got going again properly; Frank and Bridget danced together in the sort of close hold that suggested they were engaged in a conversation they didn’t want anyone to overhear, while everyone else pretended not to look curious as to what that might be about. Angelica, the seasoned pro, maintained her glossy smile and cheerful encouragement, but even she seemed distracted, and Baxter had to take her to task about her definition of a
fleckerl
.

At half-eight, Angelica finally called it a day, and Katie hurried over to catch Bridget before she left.

‘Is everything OK?’ she asked. It didn’t come naturally to Katie to interfere in other people’s problems, but there was something in Bridget’s eyes that she couldn’t stand to see.

‘Oh, I think it’ll be  . . . I don’t know.’ Bridget shouldered her handbag like a soldier and smiled wonkily.

‘Well, if there’s anything I can do  . . .’ Katie knew it was a lame thing to offer, but Bridget seemed to be grateful for it. Her eyes turned more animated as she seized on a distraction.

‘I’ve written a letter to your boss at the planning department, about this place. And I’ve suggested we do it as a school history project too – which’ll be a nice local interest feature for the paper, don’t you think?’

‘Clever!’ said Katie. ‘I mean, you’ve obviously got lots else to be thinking about but—’

‘I’m happy to think about this,’ said Bridget. ‘Believe me.’

Then Frank came back from the loo, and Katie saw a new determination come over Bridget as she waved goodbye.

As she was changing her shoes in the entrance hall, she heard Angelica’s heels clicking over to her.

‘Katie, are you dashing off?’ Angelica’s red dancing courts were standing about a foot away from her.

She straightened up. ‘I’ve got to get back to Hannah,’ she said, feeling rather fraudulent. ‘She’s not too well.’

‘Oh, right. Of course. Um, I’d like a quick word, if you’ve got a moment,’ Angelica went on, then glanced around the vestibule where the class were slowly getting their things together to drift out into the cold evening. ‘If we could just wait a second until  . . .’

Oh God, thought Katie, as her heart sank. It’ll be about Ross and what we’re going to do for this display. Everyone else had chosen their songs, apart from them. And Jo and Greg, of course.

‘Night, all!’ called Baxter. ‘Another lovely evening! Your footwork’s really coming on, Katie!’

‘Thanks.’ Katie raised her voice a fraction too loud. ‘Night!’

Angelica watched, smiling, as Baxter helped Peggy on with her coat, then she turned and walked over to the chair where she put her own bag and coat.

Katie watched her walk, fascinated by her grace. Each step was a mini dance, thought Katie, admiring the flex of her calves and the way her skirt swung like a bell. Angelica was just the right side of cartoon womanly. It was the sort of womanly you could see at a distance.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Angelica was saying, returning now with a large paper carrier bag. ‘But I’ve been watching you and Ross and there’s something I wanted you to have.’ She handed Katie the bag. ‘I’m having a clear-out,’ she added. ‘Everything must go.’

It was from Fenwicks, in London, and much heavier than Katie was expecting.

Cautiously, she looked inside at the glittering folds of dark fabric, with a red lining like strawberry jam and dotted with heavy layers of hand-stitched jet-black sequins.

‘Angelica,’ she said, lifting it out slowly. ‘It’s  . . .’

‘I think we’re about the same size,’ Angelica was saying, ‘give or take an inch or two. It’s one of my old competition dresses, a bit elaborate for practice, perhaps, but you’re really never going to get
into
dancing until you let a little femme fatale break through those boring office suits. Short of marching you to the shops and making you buy something to do justice to those legs of yours, I thought this might help you find your inner drama queen.’

Inner drag queen more like, thought Katie.

She paused when Katie didn’t respond, and added in a kinder tone. ‘Don’t take it the wrong way. You only have to let her out on the dancefloor if you want. Pack her up at the end of the evening. Maybe Ross might appreciate a bit of feminine glamour when you’re dancing? Men aren’t as subtle as us. Sometimes they like a bit of obvious. Make him feel he’s dancing with his gorgeous wife, and not his bank manager?’

Katie said nothing, but held up the dress by its sequinned shoulder straps and let it fall past her chair to trail its handkerchief hem on the floor. It weighed a ton, but the dress seemed to wiggle on its own.

Angelica was right – the bias cut looked as if it would slip over her curves perfectly, although it was handmade and didn’t have a size label inside. It was far too stagey to wear outside, but she knew that under the right lights, like the mirrorball at the social, it would come to life in a different way. It was a dress that danced with you. A dress that made everyone turn to look at you and the man who was guiding you proudly around the floor.

‘It’s lovely, Angelica, but it’s not really me,’ she said, and her voice wobbled. She pressed her thumb and forefinger against her eyes to stop the tears starting.

‘Well, yes, it’s pretty nice,’ Angelica agreed after a pause, ‘but not enough to make you weep over it.’

Katie let the dress fall into her lap and blinked hard.

Come on, Katie, she told herself. Don’t let Angelica see you upset.

But it was all bubbling up inside her, all the pain and despair she’d felt in the last week, and pressed down so the children wouldn’t see, so the team at work wouldn’t see. There had been no one to tell – no Ross, no Jo, no one.

‘It’s too late. Too late for me to find my inner dancer. Ross and I won’t be coming any more,’ she gulped, straining under the control. ‘He’s  . . . we’re not  . . .’

‘You don’t want to do the demonstration?’ Angelica’s skinny eyebrows shot up her forehead. ‘But you’re my star pupils!’

Katie screwed up her face. It was so stupid she almost wanted to laugh. Part of her did feel bad about missing the class’s moment of glory, but a bigger part suddenly realised how much of her life she’d wasted worrying about exactly that sort of thing. Doing well. Jumping through hoops. ‘No, we’re going to separate.’

‘Oh my God. Not you as well.’ Angelica crossed her arms, then raised them heavenwards. ‘What
is
it about this class? What am I doing wrong?’

‘We tried. We really tried but it’s over.’

‘Are you sure?’ Angelica peered at her, her eyeliner making her narrowed eyes seem feline. ‘Because you don’t look that over to me.’

Katie looked up. ‘Angelica. We were only
coming
to class as part of our relationship counselling. We’ve been having crisis sessions for the past couple of months.’ She swallowed. ‘But I said some things I can’t take back, and now, we’re sharing a house but that’s it. He’s cutting himself off from me. And  . . .’

She closed her eyes, and heard her own worst fear come out of her mouth.

‘I think he’s fallen in love with someone else. Someone who probably suits him more than me. And I don’t know what’s going to happen now.’

There, she thought. I’ve said it. Somehow it made her feel slightly better.

Angelica took a few deep, thoughtful breaths, then looked at her sideways, tipping her smooth dark head to one side like an exotic bird.

‘Mind if I give you some advice?’

Katie shook her head.

‘I’ve seen hundreds of couples dancing. Learners, amateurs, pros, the lot. I see them dance with other people, and, sometimes, I see little fires starting where they shouldn’t.’ Angelica leaned forward and tapped Katie’s knee so she’d look up. ‘Sometimes I see little fires go out. But in all the classes you and Ross have had, and in the social dances too, his eyes have never left you, whether you’ve been dancing with him or not. He watches you when Frank’s giving you a turn around the floor, he watches when you go to the loo, he watches when you’re dancing together and you refuse to look him in the eye. Not all the time, not in a possessive way, but now and again, to check you’re all right. When you’re dancing with him, he dances differently – his back’s straighter, his step’s bouncier. I promise you, he isn’t having an affair with Jo.’

‘Jo?’ Katie froze, and immediately backtracked. ‘I never said anything about  . . .’

‘You didn’t need to. It’s obvious from your face. They’re not, though,’ she assured her. ‘They’re friends.’

‘But I think they are!’ protested Katie. ‘It’s my fault – I’ve pushed him around and made him feel like I don’t appreciate him when I
do
. He’s great with the children, and I understand now how much he’s given up to look after them. I just  . . . I just don’t feel what I did.’

Angelica sat back in her plastic chair and crossed her legs. ‘Katie, do you think it’s over? If you could get in your car and drive away, tomorrow, would you?’

Katie paused, and thought hard. ‘No,’ she said, after a moment or two. ‘I can’t imagine a life without him. But I just don’t see how I can see the old Ross again – I can’t tell whether he’s stopped being sexy, or whether I’ve just shut down all that side of myself.’ She raised her eyes sadly. ‘Isn’t that sad? I’ve forgotten how to be a woman.’

Angelica abruptly changed her plans. The dress clearly wasn’t going to be enough.

‘Katie,’ she said, ‘I’m going to teach you a dance, on your own, that’ll help. I promise. It’ll make you feel better about yourself, for a start.’

‘Really?’ asked Katie, doubtfully. ‘I’m not that good at dancing.’ She looked pained. ‘Ross is the dancer.’

‘No, but you’re good at standing up for yourself, and that’s what this dance is all about.’

‘What is it?’

‘The Argentine tango,’ said Angelica.

Katie’s hopeful expression dropped. ‘Oh God, not that one with the stomping up and down, and the whiplash-neck thing? No, I don’t think that’s going to help.’

‘No, no – you’re thinking of the
ballroom
tango.’ Angelica shook her head. ‘That’s totally different, that’s all about the man. This is something much sexier, much more sensual.’ She smiled encouragingly at Katie. ‘It’s about two strong people, dancing together. You learn this, and I promise you, you’ll remember how to be a woman.’

‘You say that as if you’ve tried this yourself.’ Katie suddenly realised how little she or anyone else at the class actually knew about Angelica, aside from a few snippets about professional competitions and cruises. Did she have a husband? A lover? A dancing partner? Children?

It was almost impossible to imagine Angelica having parents. She was such an individual, self-possessed entity. And yet, thought Katie, her whole career has been about being the perfect partner.

‘I have,’ said Angelica, simply. ‘And it changed my life.’

She hesitated for a second or two. ‘I can’t come in the evenings, though, with the children and  . . .’

‘You get a lunchbreak?’

Katie nodded.

‘Then meet me here. Tomorrow lunchtime. We’ll start then, OK?’

There was something about the confident, brisk way Angelica spoke that Katie agreed.

‘Here we are,’ said Frank, jovially, as he parked the car. ‘I’m about ready for that cup of tea!’

It was now or never, thought Bridget. Now. Do it now. After you’ve had such a lovely evening.

‘Frank,’ she said, before she could stop herself. ‘Frank, there’s something I need to tell you.’

‘What?’ he said, unbuckling his seat belt and turning easily to her. ‘You’ve told our Lauren she can get me all togged out like a footballer in a cravat, haven’t you? Well, the answer is no. Not even for Princess Lauren. If she needs a Disney Beast, mind you  . . .’

He looked at her with such affection that Bridget wanted to cry.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve got myself into some trouble. With money.’

Frank hesitated for a moment, as if she were joking, then when he saw she was serious, his face fell. ‘Oh, Bridge. How much?’

She knew he’d be expecting her to say a couple of hundred, and when she told him the full amount, the shock he couldn’t disguise, though he tried, was painful to her.