скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Well, I'm here too much,’ said Katie. ‘I could do with an injection from the metropolis once in a while. But you, you need to take a break from all that. So come on, cut me some slack here. I'll feel too much like an idiot if I go to dance classes on my own. After all this time, I probably can't put one foot in front of the other any more. Please come with me.’
‘I am so going to regret this,’ said Emily. ‘But go on, you've twisted my arm. I'll come.’
‘Great,’ said Katie. ‘That's settled then.’
‘Yes,’ Emily agreed, taking another sip of wine, 'so it is.’
Chapter Four (#ulink_8c181b9d-bfe5-5ad6-86fd-329c7d8fa71d)
‘Bienvenida, welcome,’ a small dark woman ushered them in. An off-the-shoulder top clung to the contours of her lean body and her red skirt swished and swirled as she moved on gold open-toed sandals with a heel, which Katie coveted immediately. With her long, raven-black hair tumbling down her back, and her gold hoop earrings, the woman resembled a glamorous gypsy queen. She motioned Katie and Emily to follow her into a large studio lined with tables and chairs. The lights were dimmed, the Blue Danube was playing in the background and couples were already dancing. Katie and Emily exchanged worried glances. They all looked scarily proficient.
‘You must be Isabella,’ said Katie. ‘I'm Katie Caldwell and this is Emily Henderson.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Isabella, with the faintest hint of a foreign lilt. She looked part Spanish, or Portuguese perhaps. Katie already felt clumsy beside her, and wondered whether she'd made a terrible mistake. Charlie had teased her mercilessly about going dancing, conveniently seeming to forget that at one time he'd enjoyed going himself. He was spending the week at his company's headquarters in Amsterdam discussing a potential takeover bid, so Katie had organised a babysitter. At least she didn't have to put up with Charlie's ribbing tonight.
‘Right, first things first,’ said Isabella. ‘Have either of you done any dancing before?’
‘I can waltz after a fashion,’ said Katie, ‘and I know how to rumba. But it's been a long time.’
‘Me, I can't dance to save my life,’ admitted Emily cheerfully.
‘Excelente. We'll put you both in the beginners’ section for now. Katie, if you find it too easy there, we'll think of moving you on. Have you ever tried for any medals?’
‘Oh God no,’ said Katie. ‘I'm more of an amateur enthusiast.’
‘We cater for all sorts here,’ Isabella reassured them. ‘Though be warned, there are some who take it very seriously.’
Having extricated their fee for the evening, Isabella bustled off to deal with some other new arrivals.
The women sat down and looked around the room. Predictably, there were more women than men. The dearth of decent ones ensured they all at least had partners. The room was lined with women sitting alone.
‘Oh God,’ said Emily, ‘this feels like the school disco all over again. I am so going to feel like a wallflower tonight.’
‘You'll be fine,’ Katie assured her. ‘Though I'd be a bit cagey about what you tell people about yourself, if I were you. In my experience a lot of these things tend to be full of sad blokes on the pull.’
‘What, you mean like those two?’ Emily nodded towards the door where two men had just entered. One of them was rather plumpish and balding, though the other –
‘Actually, the one on the left looks quite dishy, don't you think?’ Katie nudged her friend. ‘If I wasn't married already, I wouldn't say no.’
The one on the left was tall and dark, and looked ill at ease. Unlike his friend, who strutted confidently into the room and looked around him with a cheeky grin, eyeing up the talent. As if aware of the women's scrutiny he whispered to his friend then turned towards them and winked.
Katie and Emily snorted into their hands.
‘I see what you mean,’ said Emily. ‘Right, my name is Amelia Earhart and I'm a pilot.’
‘Aren't you a bit lost, then?’ said Katie.
‘You're not the first to say so,’ Emily replied. ‘Come on, I think it's time we got going.’
Isabella was busy rounding people up and organising them into groups. Katie and Emily followed her.
‘God, I hope I don't make too much of a fool of myself,’ said Emily. ‘I have a feeling I might regret this.’
Mark had been having similar thoughts all day. He had very nearly cried off when he'd got home from a hideous day at work. Despite accepting his decision the previous week to pull out her tooth, Jasmine had put in a complaint to Head Office to say that not only was she unhappy with Mark's treatment, but he had been 'really brutal, know what I mean?’ It wasn't the first time she'd made a complaint, and as she didn't really have any grounds to do so, Mark was intending to ignore it, but it was tedious nonetheless and he could have done without it.
However, Rob was having none of it when Mark tried to get out of going.
‘You're coming out tonight, and that's that,’ said Rob. ‘So quit moaning and get your coat.’
Mark felt even more ill at ease when they walked through the door and saw the place was heaving with women, many of whom were dancing already. Rob had insisted Mark couldn't go in the jeans and trainers in which he felt comfortable, so he'd dug out a pair of smart trousers he barely ever wore and a pair of ancient brogues. Rob himself was dressed in black chinos, a dark blue shirt and tie, and black shoes with a Cuban heel. He had piled on the aftershave, evidently hoping to make a conquest. Mark looked around the room. There were hardly any other men there, so Rob wasn't likely to have much competition. But it made Mark feel more self-conscious than ever. He was going to stick out like a sore thumb.
Rob had no such worries. He swaggered through the room, smiling at the women he knew, and trying to catch the eyes of those he didn't. He nudged Mark.
‘See those women over there,’ he said. ‘Gagging for it. They‘ve been watching us since we came in the room.’
Mark glanced over at the women in question: a slim, dark brunette with a smart bob wearing a sleek black dress, and a rather plumper blonde, dressed in a frumpy skirt and baggy top. She was also quite pretty, and would have probably looked slimmer if she'd been standing up straight. Rob nodded over to them, and then turned back to Mark. ‘Keep 'em keen, that's the trick of it. I've got them interested, and now I'm going to ignore them. They're bound to come running.’
Mark wasn't so sure. The women had gone off into peals of giggles, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being laughed at.
‘Oh, and a word of advice,’ added Rob. ‘If you do start chatting someone up, for God's sake don't tell her you've got kids. She'll run a mile.’
Thinking that the chance of even talking to a woman was about zero, Mark nodded absently. He wished he was anywhere but here.
‘Ooh, I didn't have you down as a dancer,’ a familiar voice squawked in his ear. Mark turned round. A tarty-looking blonde was eyeing him speculatively. Where did he know her from? Working in the same town he lived in meant he was always running into people he vaguely knew, and he could never work out if he had filled their root canal or met them over the fish counter in Sainsbury's.
‘Your Beth looking forward to going to the Isle of Wight?’ Oh. Right. School. Mark delved into the furthest recesses of his brain. She had a son in Beth's year. What was her name?
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Mark politely, though he couldn't remember Sam mentioning the trip.
‘It's about time I made an appointment,’ the woman continued. ‘You'll be telling me off again about the state of my molars.’
Oh bugger. A patient as well.
‘I'm a bit booked up at present,’ said Mark, ‘but give the surgery a ring. Diana may be able to find you a cancellation.’
Mandy Allwick. That was it. A single mum whose predatory nature was renowned. That was all he needed. Maybe he should palm her off on Rob. It would serve him right for getting Mark into this mess.
‘Save a dance for me, Doctor Davies,’ was Mandy's parting shot, as she wandered over to the double doors at the end of the room, where a petite dark-haired woman was sorting people into groups.
Forbearing to mention that he wasn't technically a doctor – calling dentists doctor was a stupid fashion that had come over from America, along with too much litigation – Mark got up and followed Rob into the crowd.
This was going to be a long evening.
‘Tonight, chicos, we will start with the social foxtrot,’ announced Isabella with a smile. ‘For those of you who‘ve come for the first time, it is quite simple and is danced in four/four time. Take your partners – if you are two women one of you will need to learn the man's steps, but remember it is always the man who leads.’
‘That had better be you,’ said Emily to Katie, who was suddenly feeling ridiculously nervous about the whole thing. ‘After all, you've done it before.’
‘For the social foxtrot, you need to learn the cuddle hold,’ continued Isabella. ‘The man places his right arm round the lady, and rests his hand under her right shoulder. The lady puts her left hand on the man's shoulder and holds the man's right hand in her left hand like so.’ She demonstrated with a baby-faced lad who looked nearly young enough to be her son, before going round the room and checking everyone was in the right position.
‘Now, the man leads off first with his left foot, to two beats of music, while the lady steps back with her right. Then the man takes a step to the right, the lady to the left, the man's left foot closes to the right, and the woman's right foot to the left.’
‘I don't think I'll remember a word of that,’ muttered Emily.
‘It's okay,’ said Katie, ‘just follow me.’
Miraculously, mainly thanks to the fact that Katie clearly knew what she was doing, Emily did get it right, and was able to follow the next steps, which involved her stepping forward with her left foot, then stepping to the right, before closing with the left foot.
‘Right, now we put it together,’ announced Isabella with a clap. ‘I will clap out the time and you dance the steps. Slow step forwards, quick to the side, quick and close, slow step backwards, quick to the side, quick and close.’
‘I'll never get the hang of this,’ said Emily, muddling up her lefts and rights and stepping on Katie's toes.
‘Yes you will,’ assured Katie, ‘you just need practice, that's all.’
After twenty minutes, Emily wasn't convinced. Once they'd mastered the basic steps, Isabella had them trying it to music, and then she added in another set of steps which involved turns as well, and Emily got completely lost. Particularly as she'd had to change partners, and none of them bar one were as good as Katie, so she kept getting it wrong. She was sweating profusely and feeling like a total idiot. In her efforts to get it right, she had had her feet stamped on, and done her fair share of feet stamping too. She knew that dancing wasn't her thing, but she'd had no idea how little natural rhythm she actually had, or how hard it was keeping time to the music. That was until she was apprised of the fact in no uncertain terms by a gay dancer, who was training at the local dance school and had only come along to expand his repertoire. His were the only toes she'd trod on deliberately after hearing him mutter ‘bloody amateurs!’ one too many times under his breath.
Eventually the torture ended and Isabella announced it was time for social dancing, ‘So you can put it all together.’ Apparently this meant pairing up with just one other person. Emily looked at Katie, whom she'd been watching gliding around the room with a serenity she felt deeply envious of. Despite her post-baby weight gain, Katie had the natural poise and grace Emily lacked.
‘I'd say I'd partner you,’ she said, ‘but I don't want to be the cause of hospitalising you.’
‘You're not that bad,’ Katie grinned.
‘You know I am,’ answered Emily. ‘So stop being nice. We'll have to find someone else decent for you to dance with.’
‘Ladies, would you care to dance?’ The plumpish bloke from earlier on was pushing his way over, with his good-looking friend.
Katie and Emily looked at each other uncertainly.
‘Please, we don't bite,’ said the good-looking one. ‘Besides, you have to take pity on us. I'm being chased by a raging nymphomaniac, and I need to seek sanctuary.’
Katie laughed. She had been watching Mandy Allwick in hot pursuit of their new companions all evening.
‘Well, if you need rescuing from Mandy, I think we might be able to help,’ she said.
‘Oh, you know her?’ Mark asked.
Katie pulled a face.
‘For my sins.’
Mark was about to chip in with something about Beth being at school with Mandy's son, and then, remembering Rob's strictures, thought better of it.
‘As it's your first time,’ Rob whispered to Mark, ‘I'll give you the pretty one, and I'll have the one with the fat thighs.’
Mark, who thought the not-so-pretty one had seemed rather nice, smiled awkwardly at Emily and said, ‘Shall we?’
‘If you like,’ said Emily. She felt awkward too. The new arrival was even better-looking close up. He had rather soulful eyes, she thought. There was a kind of brooding intensity to him that she found appealing. She felt a brief flickering of interest, which she dismissed instantly. She was here for fun, not to pick up men.
Katie was fuming. She'd overheard Rob's whispered aside, and her poor opinion of him, based soundly as it was from two minutes' observation of his cockiness as he came into the room, had increased a hundredfold. She would have liked to tell him where to get off, but she thought Emily deserved a decent shot at his friend, who seemed altogether nicer.
‘The one with the fat thighs heard you, by the way,’ she said, as Rob took her by the hand and started to quickstep.
‘Oh.’ Rob had the grace to look sheepish. ‘Did I say fat thighs? I meant to say gorgeous eyes.’
‘Of course you did,’ said Katie drily. The cheek of him. He was so sure a pathetic compliment would make up for insulting her. Still, he was so sure of himself, maybe she could have a bit of fun with that …
‘Do you come here often?’ Mark decided that a mocking approach was the best way to deal with the situation. It was so long since he'd asked a woman to dance, and the hour he had spent trying not to trip over people's feet had made him very aware that he was a contender for the most useless dancer in the room. But for the first time since Sam had left he felt the spark of interest in another woman. Mark wasn't sure if it was the determined look that had come across her face while she was listening to Isabella's instructions, or the rather panicky eye rolls that had set in when she had clearly forgotten them again. Or it might have been the way that she pealed with laughter when he stepped on her toes. He was so grateful that she hadn't slapped him.
‘This is my first time,’ she said, laughing again, her whole face lighting up. ‘So be gentle with me.’
‘If you're gentle in return,’ Mark batted back. ‘The name's Mark, by the way.’
‘Emily,’ she replied. ‘You honestly can't be a worse dancer than I am,’ she added, as Mark took hold of her. His hands were sweating, and despite trying to remember Isabella's admonitions about relaxing, he felt stiff and awkward.
‘I don't know about that,’ said Mark as he stepped on her toes once again. ‘Sorry. You see what I mean.’
‘It's okay, really,’ she said, ‘I think we're probably quits on that front.’
‘This is horrible, though, isn't it?’ said Mark, desperately trying to maintain a closed position and keep four/four time. ‘I don't know why I'm here.’
Emily laughed again as she realised that once more they were out of step with each other.
‘Just dance like no one's looking,’ she said, as they both paused for breath.
‘Do you think that will work?’ asked Mark, looking around. ‘I can't help feeling everyone's staring at us.’
‘I'm sure they're not,’ said Emily, ‘but if we dance as if they're not, it doesn't matter, does it?’
‘Dance like no one's looking,’ said Mark. ‘Where have I heard that before?’
‘On Green Wing?’ suggested Emily. ‘That's where I heard it first.’
‘Oh, I love Green Wing,’ Mark replied.
‘Me too,’ said Emily. ‘It's one of those proverb-type things. No one knows who wrote it. It goes like this:
Dance like no one's looking. Love like you've never been hurt.
Work like you don't have to
Live like it's heaven on earth.
* * *
I think that's rather lovely, don't you?’
‘Dancing like no one's looking is probably the best recipe I can think of for getting through this excruciating experience,’ said Mark.
‘Charming,’ she replied.
