‘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 fel
t 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.’
When Katie and Ross had done a slow lap of the room, with only three more collisions and a new bruise on Ross’s foot, they picked their way back to the table to find Lauren in animated conversation with Trina. Handbags and jackets were placed territorially on the empty chairs, and their eyes were swivelling like Wimbledon spectators as the dancers swished by. Trina’s red-lipsticked mouth was moving even faster than her eyes in a running fashion commentary worthy of the Grand National.
‘. . . someone should tell her pink satin isn’t her friend. It isn’t anyone’s friend, come to that, unless you’re a drum majorette or under three years of age. And is he gay? Him! There, in the lime shirt. He looks far too well turned out to be . . . Oh, hi, Ross! Katie!’
Katie squeezed into a free chair and helped herself to the jug of orange juice on the table. She hadn’t realised how parched she was until she saw it. The heat and the effort of dancing were surprisingly fierce. ‘Hi, Trina. Have you been here long?’
‘Long enough to have had a foxtrot with Mr Octopus over there in the yellow shirt,’ she said, nodding darkly at the dancefloor. ‘Watch out for him. I’d say the only thing quicker than those flashing feet are his hands. That’s where Chloe is now. Learning a new way to get out of corners.’
‘Still, at least you’re meeting new people, eh?’ said Lauren, quickly. ‘Katie, have you seen Angelica?’
‘Yes. She took the time to slag off my feet, then sashayed away in the arms of some enormous hunk,’ said Katie.
Trina giggled. ‘Ooh, you are funny, Katie.’
Am I? thought Katie, but she felt flattered.
‘Well, good for her – she’s taken Chris off my hands for this one.’ Lauren topped up her glass. ‘I hope she can do something about his waltz. He’s already ruined one pair of my fishnets.’ Her brow creased. ‘It’s really unsexy, not being able to count to three. Or move your feet.’
‘Your mum and dad seem to be enjoying themselves,’ said Katie, as a flushed Bridget and Frank approached the table. Bridget was fanning her round face, and Frank was guiding her with a sweetly protective hand on her back.
‘Yeah, it’s dead sweet how good they are,’ said Trina. ‘You know, watching them, they obviously still—’
‘Don’t!’ said Lauren, covering her ears. ‘Whatever you were about to say, don’t! I’m living at home now.’
‘We were just saying,’ Trina said to Bridget, ‘how well you two dance together. Budge up, Ross – they’ll want to sit down!’
‘Sit down? Certainly not! We’re just getting going!’ Bridget extended her hand to Ross. ‘You youngsters, no stamina! Now, Ross, I know it’s not correct form, but would you care to dance?’
Ross looked quickly over to Katie.
‘Go on,’ said Frank. ‘I’m hoping to take Katie for a spin round the floor, if you don’t object?’
‘Not at all!’ Ross’s face relaxed, and he led Bridget back into the throng of bodies as the music changed to a slower ballad, sung by a female vocalist Katie didn’t recognise; like most of the songs, it was about a love affair of some kind. Happy, unhappy, it all sounded the same. Katie watched Ross’s serious expression change from concentration to a gentle smile as Bridget’s head bobbed in conversation, then they had turned out of sight.
‘May I?’
She realised Frank was still standing there, his hand outstretched.
‘I’ll be coming back for you later,’ he added to Trina, with a charm that Katie would never have guessed at from his quiet, brown-jumpered appearance in class. There was something about stepping onto a dancefloor that seemed to do something to people – well, Katie corrected herself, some people. Not her.
Awkwardly, she got up from her seat and took Frank’s hand, very conscious of the unfamiliar contact. It was warm and dry, with little ridges of hardened skin. Gardening, she wondered? Or DIY? Katie knew she was over-analysing to take her mind off the nerves that still plagued her when she had to dance with someone other than Ross. It was intimate but formal at the same time; they were almost hugging, thighs nearly touching, hips brushing, hands moulding together, but all so they could move in ordered, formal steps.
It felt different from class. Like the first time she set off in a car after passing her test.
‘All set?’ Frank said, with a kind smile. ‘I think this one’s a waltz, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ she said. He knew it was. He was just being nice, to make her feel less of a complete beginner.
‘Now then,’ he said, as his hand settled on her shoulder-blade and, with a tiny pressure from his fingers and a
bend in the knee, let her know they were setting off.
Katie felt acutely self-conscious, and wasn’t sure where to look. At his face? Over his shoulder? Come on, she told herself. People have been doing this for hundreds of years without getting into a tizz about it.
Frank turned her round into a simple waltz step and she lost sight of the dance-class table.
So if they can all do it so easily, why can’t I? thought Katie as she trod on Frank’s polished toes and stumbled in her high heels. I’m never going to be any good at this.
‘No need to look so worried!’ he said, steering her effortlessly out of trouble. ‘You’re doing very nicely. Just relax.’
‘Sorry.’ Katie looked instead at the faces of the dancers passing around her. They were chatting, smiling, flirting, singing along to the music, having a wonderful time. Not concentrating hard on the basic waltz steps they knew.
They were nearly at the end of the room. Katie was gripped with panic as the edge of the floor loomed up, the music pressed relentlessly on and her mind went blank. How were you meant to turn round? She didn’t want to mess things up.
She looked up at Frank apologetically. ‘We’ve only had one waltz lesson. And I’m not very good in corners!’
‘Not to worry, love, I’ve done a few waltzes in my time. You know,’ he went on, moving them slightly to the side to let another couple pass, ‘it might be easier if you let me take charge of the directions. What with being a bit taller, I’ve got a better view of the on-coming traffic, you see.’
‘Oh God, am I leading? Sorry,’ stammered Katie, flushing. ‘Angelica’s always on my case about that, but you get into habits, you know . . .’
‘Don’t worry.’ With a very subtle pressure on her back and a little extra angle in his foot, Frank eased them round the corner, turning her so neatly that her skirt twirled out, although Katie was concentrating too hard to notice. ‘You’ll get used to it – I know it took Bridget a while to believe that a bloke knew what he was about, and that was forty-odd years ago!’