Strictly Love

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Emily frowned. Katie, who was the most repressed person she had ever met, would never ever admit that things weren't right, but Emily couldn't help feeling something was wrong. Katie had barely mentioned Charlie the last time they'd met, and the few times Emily saw them together Charlie seemed incredibly distant. In the meantime, Katie was developing a weird kind of cleaning fetish. Emily blamed Anthea Turner, whom Katie had actually started quoting as if she was Shakespeare.

‘Penny for ‘em?’ Emily looked up and was surprised and pleased to see Mark standing next to her. ‘Just wondering what I'm doing here, again,’ she said. A warm glow suffused her. How stupid. She barely knew Mark. ‘Me too,’ said Mark. ‘Rob was busy tonight. I wasn't going to come, but …’

There was a lot left in that but. Was it a but that said, I just thought it would be fun? Or a but that said, I wanted to see you again? Or maybe it was just a but that meant nothing at all. Poor little but, thought Emily, so very lonely …

‘I'm sorry?’ Mark looked puzzled. ‘What are you talking about?’

Oh bloody hell, Emily must have let that last bit slip out loud.

‘Oh, nothing,’ she gabbled. ‘Sometimes I have weird random thoughts. And sometimes in a weird random way they flow from my mouth, without me realising it. I think it's because I live on my own.’

‘Oh,’ said Mark. He looked around. ‘Your friend not with you today?’

‘Nope,’ said Emily. She had been about to mention Molly being ill, but as Katie had been adamant she didn't want to give anything away about her private life, she said instead, ‘She was busy this week.’

‘But you came anyway?’ That flash of a smile, utterly dazzling, had a rather unsettling effect on Emily.

‘Oh, you know. I thought since I was so good last week, I'd come and show them all how it's done.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Mark.

‘Actually,’ confessed Emily, ‘I didn't have anything else much on, so I thought, oh bloody hell, why not? What's the worst that can happen?’

‘Dancing with me?’ Mark was only semi-serious.

‘You're on then,’ said Emily. ‘And I really will try not to step on your toes this time …’

‘How does it go again?’ Mark said as he tried and failed to perfect the open hold that Isabella had shown them earlier. Sweat was dripping off him, and his hands were clammy as hell. Hardly a way to get Emily to take the right kind of notice of him.

‘Well, I think you're supposed to step forwards, while swinging your hips, while I step backwards,’ said Emily, ‘and then we're supposed to sway slightly and transfer our weight onto the other foot or something. Oh, and I think you need to hold your hand up higher.’

‘I thought I'd got that wrong,’ said Mark. ‘Shall we stop and watch what everyone else is doing?’

‘Perhaps we'd better,’ said Emily, and they stood trying not to giggle as they watched the rest of the class sashaying round the floor to the Cuban music that was playing in the background.

‘I have to say, it does get your toes tapping,’ said Emily, unable to stop herself from swaying in time to the music, ‘even if I can't go in step. Shall we have another go?’

‘If we must,’ said Mark. ‘Okay, so it goes, one, two, step forward, three, transfer weight, four; one, step side, two, step back, three, transfer weight, four, step forward. Hey, I think we did it!’

Growing in confidence now, and by dint of watching their neighbours who seemed to be really in the swing, eventually Emily and Mark found themselves making a reasonable fist of the steps Isabella had shown them. Emboldened by their efforts, Mark decided to really push the boat out and attempted to fling Emily to one side as he had seen other people doing. Unfortunately, in doing so, her foot got entangled around his heel, and before he knew it the pair of them had tumbled unceremoniously to the floor.

‘I don't think that's how it's meant to go,’ said Mark ruefully.

‘Me neither,’ said Emily. ‘I think someone is telling us something.’

‘Like why don't we go next door for a pint?’ said Mark with a cheeky grin.

‘I thought you'd never ask,’ said Emily.

It seemed an entirely natural thing to do until they actually got into the pub. It was only when they were facing each other over a pint that there was a sudden awkward silence.

‘So what do you do when you're not picking up strange women at dance classes?’ Emily broke the ice first.

Mark pulled a face. He hated telling people what he did for a living. Nine times out of ten they felt obliged to tell him all about their abscess, or their granny's dentures. ‘I am that incredibly rare beast, an NHS dentist,’ he said. ‘And you?’

‘Well –’ said Emily. She felt the need to prevaricate. She wasn't quite sure why, but suddenly she felt rather ashamed of what she did for a living.

‘I hope you're not going to say you're a lawyer,’ Mark added. ‘I can't stand them.’

‘Oh, why not?’

‘My wife ran off with one,’ said Mark.

‘You're married?’ Emily looked disappointed.

‘Divorced,’ said Mark. ‘She went off with the lawyer, and I didn't see much point in contesting it.’

‘And you've not found anyone else?’ Emily was determined to steer the conversation away from the subject of lawyers at all costs.

‘Not yet,’ said Mark. Again that dazzling smile. He paused briefly and then said, ‘what about you? No significant other in your life?’

‘Not any more,’ said Emily, looking down.

‘And no kids, I presume?’ Mark was feeling his way. Perhaps if he could steer the conversation around to children, he could let slip he had a couple himself.

‘Oh God, no,’ said Emily. ‘Why on earth would I want children? I've watched too many of my girlfriends turn from bright, intelligent women into poor demented creatures whose only topic of conversation is the content of their child's nappies. And then they expect you to be as entranced by their puking, shitting, squealing little bundles as they are. Children utterly ruin your life. Who in their right mind would ever want them?’

‘Who indeed?’ said Mark faintly. That put paid to that then. There was no way he could mention Gemma and Beth now. He scrambled around frantically for something else to say.

‘So, you like Green Wing?’ he said pathetically.

‘I sooo love that programme,’ said Emily, ‘the scene where Statham kills the dwarf …’

‘… is brilliant,’ agreed Mark.

‘I missed quite a bit of it, unfortunately,’ Emily said, thinking back to all those nights when she'd been out aimlessly partying, or stuck at her desk trying to see an important deal through, and wondered why she hadn't been home more.

‘Me too,’ said Mark, thinking back to the days when he'd been so busy keeping Sam sweet that he'd had to watch all the crap she liked, which included drivel like I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and Big Brother. Love Shack, which had shot Jasmine to fame, had been on at the same time as the first series of Green Wing, so he'd pretty much missed the lot.

‘I've just bought series one on DVD. I could lend it to you if you like.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Emily. ‘I might never give them back. In fact, faced with the opportunity of being able to watch Julian Rhind-Tutt forever, I'll definitely never give them back.’

‘Nope. I can't let you do that,’ said Mark. ‘In that case, we'll have to go for a full-on Green Wing fest at my place.’

‘Oh.’ Emily was slightly taken aback.

‘There's nothing behind that,’ said Mark hurriedly. ‘I mean, it's just watching a DVD and having a beer if you want. Nothing more.’

‘Of course,’ said Emily, ‘I never thought for a moment it was.’ She ignored the voice in her head shouting Liar! at a thousand decibels.

‘Good,’ said Mark. ‘Then that's settled. What are you up to at the weekend?’

Emily thought ahead. Without Callum to distract her, or some big do of Ffion's to attend, the time stretched out before her without end. A weekend watching Green Wing with Mark – especially with Mark – might be just the thing.

‘Nothing much,’ she said.

‘Good,’ said Mark. It was Sam's weekend with the kids. ‘How about we kick off around two, then if you have something more exciting to do later, you'll still have time.’

‘Sounds great,’ Emily said. She lifted her glass. ‘To dancing like no one's looking.’

‘I thought you'd lost the plot when you started colour-coding my socks, but you're hoovering now?’

Charlie stood incredulously in the doorway with his suitcase. He was flying to Amsterdam that morning and seemed very bad-tempered about it. Katie had been up since five with the baby, and had decided, once Molly had finally gone back to sleep, that she might as well get the lounge cleaned while she was up. There would be precious little time later once the full onslaught of the day hit. But she hadn't factored in Charlie's bad temper, or thought very much about the fact that their bedroom was above the lounge.

‘Sorry,’ said Katie, feeling simultaneous twinges of guilt and resentment – her rejoinders of if you were here more, if you helped out more, were immediately cancelled out by, who would pay for the house? One of her mum's tricks had been to nag and nag and nag at her dad. Katie had always sworn she would never do that.

‘Do you want a coffee before you go?’ Katie asked, going for placation.

Charlie glanced at his watch.

‘It's okay, the taxi will be here in a minute. I'll grab one at the airport.’

‘Have you said goodbye to the boys?’

‘They're still asleep.’ Charlie was fiddling with a fridge magnet that bore the legend: Hysteria is a state of mind. It has nothing to do with my womb. He seemed very restless for some reason, and fidgety. Katie was feeling more than a little irritated. His evident annoyance at her cleaning had stopped her doing it, but now he wouldn't even sit down and talk to her. It was almost as though he couldn't look her in the eye.

‘You got ants in your pants?’ Katie enquired.

‘Why would you say that?’ Charlie looked like a startled rabbit caught in headlights.

‘Because you've been pacing up and down the kitchen for the last five minutes. Are you sure you don't want a coffee?’

‘Have I?’ Charlie said. ‘Sorry. I'm a bit distracted. What with this deal and everything.’

‘Of course,’ said Katie. It was understandable that he should be feeling wound up. She went over and gave him a hug. ‘It will be all right,’ she said.

‘I don't deserve you,’ he replied, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

Charlie continued to wander restlessly round the kitchen, picking up bits of paper and idly sifting through them, clicking a pen off and on incessantly. It was almost as if he was trying to work himself up to say something to her.

‘This is hopeless,’ he burst out suddenly. ‘Katie, there's something I need to tell you –’

A beep from the front of the house indicated the taxi had arrived.

Katie looked at Charlie expectantly. There was a look of raw pain in his eyes, and he was trembling.

‘Charlie, whatever's wrong?’ she asked, genuinely worried now.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing. I'm just wound up about this deal. Taxi's here, I'd better go.’

‘Oh,’ said Katie. ‘Well, if you're sure you're okay?’

‘I'm fine,’ he said, ‘I'll see you on Sunday.’

‘Be good,’ she said, going to kiss him on the lips.

‘When aren't I?’ It was said lightly, but she detected a faint look of strain in his eyes, and he turned away from her so her lips brushed his cheek instead. There was definitely something wrong. She felt sure of it. She watched him go off in the cab with a heavy heart. He looked lost and lonely sitting there. And she had the oddest feeling that nothing she could do was going to help him.

‘So when's she coming then?’ Rob was lounging on the sofa laughing like crazy as Mark frantically tried to remove all evidence of his children from the lounge.

‘In about ten minutes,’ said Mark. ‘So could you please pass me the Sims game, which I know is hiding under your cushion, because that's Beth's favourite place to lose it.’

Rob whistled as he sat up and felt behind him, dragging out a plastic computer game and handing it to Mark.

‘You're really not going to tell her about the kids?’

‘You were the one who said I shouldn't,’ said Mark.

‘I know, but … it's going to be a bit hard to hide them from her if this cosy DVD thing becomes regular.’

‘You didn't hear her going on about children. If she thinks I've got some, she'll never look at me twice.’

‘So you do like her?’ Rob could barely contain his delight. ‘I knew it. I knew I could get you over Sam.’

‘I'm not, as you put it, necessarily over Sam,’ said Mark, ‘but let's just say that meeting Emily has made me see I can keep my options open.’

‘So long as you don't tell her you have children,’ added Rob.

‘There is that, of course,’ said Mark, suddenly spotting a pair of Gemma's shoes in the corner. Honestly. It wasn't even as if the kids were with him all the time. How on earth did they manage to leave all their junk behind? He grabbed the shoes and shoved them in the kids' bedroom, slamming the door firmly shut. He toyed with locking it and then thought, no, that's paranoid. He flitted quickly into the bathroom to check that it was devoid of teen paraphernalia, but luckily, as Gemma could never go anywhere without a complete grooming kit, she tended to carry everything she needed with her.

Mark felt vaguely guilty about the subterfuge. He loved his kids, and didn't want anyone to think he was ashamed of them. But Emily was the first woman he'd been attracted to since Sam. And she had been so adamant about disliking kids, he didn't want to scupper his chances before they'd even got going. There'd be time enough to tell her the truth later. Chances were she wasn't the slightest bit interested anyway …

Emily stood on Mark's doorstep feeling incredibly stupid. It had seemed natural to say earlier in the week that she would come and watch a TV programme with him, but now it seemed a little odd. She liked him, certainly, and he had occupied rather a lot of her thoughts in the last few days, but apart from the fact they were both crap dancers and they liked Green Wing, what exactly did she know about him? He might be a serial killer or something. Right.

Rob answered the door. Which reassured her. At least she wouldn't be alone with Mark. But as she followed him into the lounge, she had a sudden panicky thought. Oh God, suppose they were into threesomes or something. Had she just walked into the lion's den?