Strictly Love (12 page)

‘So I was just wondering …’

‘The answer's no, Jen,’ Rob interrupted. He'd resolved years
ago that he was never going to get involved in stuff like this again, and he wasn't about to make an exception, even for Jen. The memory of that night, so long ago, still haunted him, however much he tried to forget it. It was funny how since he'd met Katie, he found himself thinking about it more and more.

‘Rob, please.’ Jen was more pleading than he'd ever known her. ‘If I can't get enough help I'm going to have to cancel. We use the team-building to help the kids prepare for SATs. It's only four Saturdays of your life. They look forward to it so much, it seems such a shame if they can't do it.’

She'd got him there. Despite his outward cynicism, Rob loved his job, and he liked it that kids got better opportunities these days. It wasn't his problem, but on the other hand he'd feel a bit lousy if he was the difference between the course happening or not. And what had happened in Wales was years ago. There was no reason at all to think such a thing could happen again.

‘Are you sure you can't get anyone else?’

‘I've tried everyone I can think of,’ promised Jen. ‘Honestly, I wouldn't ask if I didn't need to.’

Rob felt himself cracking. Maybe it would do him good to face up to his demons. And maybe he'd enjoy it anyway. The reason he'd gone to Wales was because he enjoyed that sort of thing. Perhaps it was time to reconnect with his past.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I'll do it. But only on the understanding that if someone else puts their name forward I can drop out.’

‘Rob, you're a star. Thanks so much,’ said Jen. ‘What can I do to repay you?’

‘I can think of lots of things,’ said Rob. ‘But I don't think your boyfriend would like any of them.’

‘I'll buy you a beer next time I see you,’ laughed Jen.

‘You'd better,’ said Rob, and put the phone down.

What had he done? He'd spent the best part of fifteen years avoiding responsibility. It was why he'd lost Suzie. It was why he was spending yet another Sunday afternoon alone. He and Suzie
had seemed so special, but it had not been enough to hold them together in the wake of the tragedy that had engulfed them. He wondered what she was doing now. He hoped she was happy.

But the face that kept swimming before him wasn't Suzie's at all. For some reason, he couldn't, just couldn't, get Katie out of his head.

Chapter Fourteen

 

‘Are you dancin’?’ Rob sidled up to Katie as she stood contemplating the room, wondering if she really had the guts to keep coming to dance classes when Emily clearly wasn't planning to return. The thing was, Katie wasn't sure if she could live without dancing now. When anyone ever asked her, she always maintained that she enjoyed her cosy domestic set-up so much she didn't miss having a social life. ‘Being at home with the kids and Charlie is enough for me,’ she'd always say earnestly, and with most people that worked. Apart from with her mum, who had scathingly said, ‘I think the woman protests too much,’ the last time Katie had waxed lyrical about the joys of domesticity.

And, increasingly, it wasn't true. The boys needed her, of course they did, but they were at school all day, leaving her with Molly, who was great and gorgeous and all of that, but Katie could hardly have a meaningful chat with her. And then there was the house. The effort of keeping it pristine was killing her. During the day when Molly slept, Katie would run round frantically trying to put things in cupboards, clean out loos, hoover bedroom floors, but there never seemed to be enough time to get it done before Molly awoke. Oh God, maybe Charlie was right, she thought. Perhaps she was going bonkers. She'd even found herself itemising her cupboards the other day, and, let's face it, who else would dream of ironing hankies and putting them in colour co-ordinated piles to match her husband's shirts? If she was like
this now, what on earth would she be like when Molly started school?

And so her dance classes had become vital to her. It was the one time in the week when no one was demanding her attention, when she could be anyone she wanted to be. She could forget that she was a size sixteen, had three children and a failing marriage. Although, of late Katie had been pleased to notice that her clothes were getting a little bit looser. Perhaps the dancing was helping her to lose weight. She had also found that Isabella's strictures about standing tall meant she was walking straighter. She'd spent so many years crouched over a buggy, she'd begun to think hunchback was her natural position.

And once Rob was leading her on the dance floor, she felt less of an ugly duckling and more of a graceful swan. She needed what he gave her each week; the chance to escape from the dreary reality of her life, to believe she could go somewhere different, be someone different. It was intoxicating somehow.

‘Are you askin’?’ Katie laughed back. Why was it that with Rob she felt ridiculously alive in a way she never (if she was honest) had done with Charlie?

‘I'm askin’,’ Rob said.

‘Then I'm dancin’,’ Katie replied, following him onto the floor to do a quickstep they had practised last week.

There was no doubt about it, Rob was the most assured and polished dancer of all the men in the room. Unlike the terrified divorcé Katie had danced with the previous week, or the supercilious young dancer from the local theatre school who'd once taken it upon himself to spin her round the room while telling her everything she was doing wrong, or any of the Jet Set, who made her feel like a plank, dancing with Rob felt natural. Instinctively, she seemed to know where he was leading her, and her body automatically fell in step and rhythm with his.

‘You not dancing with Mandy this week?’ Katie couldn't help
teasing, as she counted slow, back, quick to the side, quick close, slow forward, while Rob whisked her round the room.

‘Nope,’ said Rob, deftly executing a quarter turn – so very different from the guy who'd nearly sent them spinning into a wall last week. ‘I think you could safely say that Mandy isn't going to be on my Christmas-card list any more.’

‘I wouldn't worry about it,’ said Katie, ‘I think she's got other fish to fry.’

They stopped dancing for a minute to watch as Mandy sashayed up to the divorcé (from whom Katie had managed to elicit the information that he was a rather wealthy stockbroker) and proceeded to guide him by the hand and throw him round the dance floor. The poor man looked terrified.

‘That's a relief,’ said Rob, as they attempted the Forward Lock step Isabella had shown them earlier. ‘Sorry, I got that wrong, my right foot should have been to the left of your feet.’

‘Ooh, Rob's actually made a mistake,’ grinned Katie, as they started again.

Rob glanced over at Mandy and the divorcé again, who were dancing incredibly close, like something out of
Dirty Dancing
.

‘At least I don't have to feel guilty that I didn't call her at the weekend,’ he said, nodding towards Mandy, who was lasciviously trailing a hand down the divorcé's back and hooking a finger on his jeans. Her victim was coming out in a cold sweat and looking as if he was completely out of his comfort zone.

‘I find it hard to imagine you
ever
feeling guilty when you don't call a woman,’ said Katie as they completed a quarter turn.

‘Oh ye of little faith,’ said Rob. ‘I do have my principles, you know.’

‘Why do I find that hard to believe?’ said Katie.

‘Believe it,’ Rob replied. He brought her close to him as the dance came to an end. She could feel the thump of his chest against her, and for a moment, as she stared into his eyes and looked at his cheeky grin, she did believe it. For a moment. Then she came
quickly to. Rob was as much part of the fantasy as the dancing was. She knew him for what he was. It was all right to engage in harmless flirtation with him, but it could go no further. Even if she weren't married. She recognised a heartbreaker when she saw one.

‘Are you coming to the pub this week?’ said Rob. He asked every week, and every week she said no.

‘Not this week,’ Katie replied. ‘Thanks for asking, though.’

‘What is it with you?’ Rob asked. ‘I swear you turn into Cinderella when you leave here, you're in such a hurry.’

‘Yup, Cinders, that's me,’ Katie said, curtseying as she got to the end of the dance.

‘I'll have to turn into Prince Charming to get you to stay then,’ said Rob.

‘I think it will take a little more than that,’ said Katie, and made her excuses to leave, wishing that she didn't really feel like Cinders going back to her daily grind.

Mark had read the letter three times, and still he couldn't believe what he was reading.

‘What is it?’ Diana looked up from the reception desk, which she was busily trying to restore to some kind of order after mis takenly allowing Sasha loose on it the previous Friday.

‘Jasmine's going to sue us. Well, me specifically.’

‘No.’ Diana put down the case notes she was holding, and looked at him aghast. ‘She can't.’

‘Apparently she can,’ said Mark. ‘She's been advised by her PR agency that the News of the Screws was given the story about her tooth by someone at this practice, which is tantamount to a breach of confidentiality. Without anyone else to point the finger at, they're blaming me.’

‘Here, let me see,’ said Diana.

Mark handed her the letter and she scanned it rapidly.

‘It's not as if they can prove it's you. Shall I run it past my old boss, see what he thinks?’

In her previous incarnation, Diana had been a legal secretary.

‘Would you?’ Mark felt all at sea. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and he hadn't a clue what to do next.

‘Have you informed Head Office?’

Mark grimaced. Since the practice had been bought out by a corporate dental group, there were precious few people at the top who knew the first thing about dentistry (their current CEO had been big in dog biscuits once, apparently), so he wasn't at all convinced anyone would even have a clue what he was up against, let alone think about supporting him. If anything they would be more likely to buy Jasmine off to shut her up, and leave him out to dry.

‘I have already told them she might be complaining,’ he said. ‘So I suppose I'll have to tell them this too. Thank God I rang my union rep.’

The meeting was fortuitously scheduled for this week. He was relieved beyond measure that he had someone professional to talk about it with.

‘I'm sure it will be all right,’ said Diana. ‘Judging from this letter, all they've got is hearsay. I doubt very much that it will go to court.’

‘I hope you're right,’ Mark replied, taking the letter back from her and going to his surgery to ring someone in HR. He had a nasty feeling, given Jasmine's propensity for wanting to be in the public eye, that this one was going to run and run.

Rob was suitably sympathetic when they met for a pint in the Hookers. But, like Diana, he thought it would all blow over.

‘I mean, how can they prove it was you?’ Rob wanted to know. ‘Unless they have you on tape talking to a journo, I don't think they've got anything to go on.’

Mark looked into his pint despondently.

‘I suppose,’ he said. Why did everyone feel more optimistic about this than he did?

‘You didn't, did you?’ Rob suddenly looked a bit anxious.

‘Didn't what?’

‘Ring the News of the Screws?’

Mark threw a beer mat at him by way of reply.

‘Don't be daft,’ he said. ‘I would never tell anyone anything about my patients. You of all people should know that.’

Rob had at one point tried to get Mark to divulge the address of a woman Rob had spotted in the waiting room while having his teeth checked, and had been most disappointed when Mark wouldn't oblige.

‘Yeah, I didn't really think going to the tabloids was your style,’ said Rob. ‘But it was worth it to see your reaction.’

‘Bugger off,’ said Mark in response. ‘Fancy a game of darts? I want to imagine the board is Jasmine's face.’

‘Okay,’ said Rob, and the pair of them ambled over to the dartboard.

‘What's happened to your buxom lady friend?’ Barry the barman shouted out.

‘She couldn't keep up with me.’ Rob affected a swagger then prepared to throw his first dart. As the dart bounced off the board and nearly hit Paranoid Pete (who was standing dangerously close to the dartboard) on the head, the nonchalant effect he'd been after was rather lost.

‘That's not what I heard,’ said Barry.

‘Oh, what did you hear?’ Rob said.

‘That she's found someone who's a better lay than you are,’ said Barry. ‘Not that that would be difficult.’

‘And who told you that?’

‘I have my sources,’ said Barry, tapping his nose.

‘Hmm, she may have found someone richer,’ said Rob, aiming his second shot, and this time hitting a perfect ten, ‘but I doubt she'll get as much satisfaction.’

He winked at Barry and threw his last shot, this time hitting the edge of the dartboard, the dart pinging off.

‘Never mind,’ consoled Mark, whose first throw had scored six, ‘there's always Katie.’

‘Puh-lease,’ said Rob. ‘I do have my standards, you know.’

‘Yup. And you are such an Adonis.’ Mark hit another six, followed by a ten. Anger seemed to be having a positive effect on his aim. ‘Your round, I think.’

Emily felt sick to the pit of her stomach. Week five of her tentative reunion with Callum, and already he was demonstrating how little he cared for her, by sidling off into the loos to snort the contents of the little sachet of white powder she had seen him purchase from a man who had vanished as if by magic into the background of the so-called Fun Pub Callum had dragged her into. It was the sort of place she wouldn't have been seen dead in normally, and she couldn't understand why Callum had taken her here until, coming out of the girls’ toilets, she had seen that brief exchange.

It hurt Emily far more than it should that Callum had clearly been hoping he could get away without her seeing anything untoward. And had she been a moment later he would have succeeded. Trust her luck to walk out at the wrong moment. The charade she had been keeping up for the last few weeks collapsed. With a sharply painful clarity, Emily realised that she was never going to be able to trust Callum.

‘What? What have I done?’ Even now, of course, he would deny it. Emily thought with despair of the piles of work waiting on her desk, piles that Callum had managed to persuade her could wait till tomorrow, and she wished she were there or back home in the cosy little house she had so neglected of late.

‘Forget it, Callum,’ she said. ‘If you don't know by now, there's no point me trying to tell you.’

‘You need to lighten up,’ said Callum.

‘And you need to grow up,’ said Emily. ‘I'm leaving. Don't bother trying to call me.’

Without waiting for his reaction, she headed for the train
station, with a lighter heart than she'd had for several weeks. It was a balmy April evening and spring was finally here. It was heading towards dusk as she got off the train in Thurfield. Birds were singing as she walked down the High Street, and in the distance the sight of the downs made her heart lift. There were worse places to live than this, worse places to be.

‘Emily?’ A familiar voice called to her from the shadows across the road. Her heart stopped for a moment.

‘Hi Mark,’ she said, feeling suddenly foolish. She hadn't seen him for weeks and suddenly up close she felt her face redden and her whole body tingle with anticipation.

‘Where are you off to?’

‘Home. You?’

‘I've just popped out to the offie,’ said Mark. ‘Rob and I are putting the world to rights over a curry and a beer.’

Emily smiled. The picture of the two of them together in their bachelor pad was enormously cheering somehow.

‘You – you don't fancy joining us, do you?’ The words came out in a rush and Mark looked like a kid with his nose pressed up against the window of a sweetshop.

‘Sorry, not tonight,’ said Emily, ‘I'm a bit tired.’

Tired?
Tired?
That sounded really lame. She didn't know why she'd said it.

‘Oh.’ Mark looked completely crestfallen.

‘But you could ring me if you like,’ said Emily. ‘I might be free later in the week.’

‘Great,’ said Mark.

‘Yes,’ said Emily.

They stood for an awkward moment framed in the halo of the streetlight, then Mark said in a rush, ‘I'm sorry about, you know – lying and everything. I didn't mean to. It all got a bit out of hand.’