Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams (15 page)

I
t was
two days before Tony finally came round and was moved out of Intensive Care. I’d been visiting him for two days, sitting by his bed with his sister Rita, we were both distressed by his injuries, not knowing what the outcome would be until he woke up. And when he finally opened his eyes Rita and I were sitting by his bedside. The nurse had been in and done some checks, arranged for the doctor to come and see him and gave him some water. Apart from his physical injuries he seemed to be his old self, he was smiling and when he said ‘Lola what are you doing hanging around here? You should be practising,’ I knew he was fine.

‘You’re the one hanging around. If you didn’t want to be my partner anymore why didn’t you say instead of getting yourself beaten up,’ I joked.

‘Don’t make me laugh it hurts,’ he winced. I felt terrible for him, unable to move, his face and body covered in bruises.

‘They got the men that did this to you, love,’ Rita said, holding his hand. ‘They’re in Police Custody and it’s just as well because me and Laura were going to find them – and we’d have been on a murder charge,’ she laughed.

‘Oh well, Laura watches enough detective dramas to commit the perfect murder and even if she was caught she’d conduct her own defence.’

‘It’s true,’ I laughed. ‘On another note, I brought you these – and I want one,’,’ I said, holding up a box of his favourite cupcakes from the local bakery.

‘Oh, brought those for yourself, did you Lola,’ he smiled, and reached out to squeeze my hand. ‘I was thinking – we’ll need to cancel my classes, we don’t want students turning up on Monday night and no Tony Hernandez.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll put a notice up on the dance centre door and I can call your students too if you have their numbers.’

‘Thanks babe. The doctor’s coming round later to give me some idea of my treatment and when I’ll be able to go home, but the nurse said it could be weeks, and even then I’ll need someone to give me a hand.’

‘I can look after you,’ Rita and I said at the same time.

‘It will mean wiping my arse,’ he smiled angelically.

‘In that case Rita can do it,’ I said.

‘I think Laura would be very good at that,’ Rita laughed.

‘Have you seen Peter?’ I asked, after we had finished laughing.

He nodded.

‘How is he?’

‘Not too bad. He popped in this morning. He just had a few cuts and feels awful about me getting the brunt of it, but he ran for help in the bar and when the big heavies came out the cowards ran off. He saved me...’

His eyes were filled with tears and despite all the joking and the upbeat approach I knew Tony was hurting at the memory. I couldn’t get my head round what had happened, how could anyone physically attack someone for just being who they are?

At nine p.m. Rita and I were told by one of the nurses that we had to go, so we hugged Tony goodbye. He was tired from his injuries and from our visit, but managed to give us a list of his requirements for our next visit: ‘Sushi, pink lemonade, proper coffee... don’t forget the chocolate... 70% cocoa solids. Oh, and I need my brows doing, I can’t sit here with brows like this,’ he said. His brows looked fine to me, what you could see of them with the bruising, but he had them ‘done’ every fortnight by Mandy at ‘Curl Up and Dye’. And it seemed it would take more than a few broken bones to stop him making his regular beauty appointments.

‘Ask Mandy if she does hospital visits,’ he said.

‘Mandy? By your bed with tweezers. Telling a graphic story about her latest conquest? You’re incapacitated, she’ll have all the power – anything could happen.’

He nodded slowly and took my hand, ‘Sometimes one has to think of the greater good and suffer for their brows. And if that means enduring physical agony while listening to a long and detailed description of Mandy’s latest shag then so be it. That girl can take ten years off my face with her HD brow treatment.’

I laughed, said I’d call her and was just heading to the door behind Rita when he said, ‘Lola... there’s something else.’

‘What? You’ve just given us a list that will keep you in face cream and eye treatments for ten years. And if it’s anything to do with Grindr, forget it – you are not capable, and I’m certainly not “Grinding” anyone for you, if that’s the expression.’

‘No, I wanted to ask you about something else.’

‘Tone... what else could you possibly need?’ Rita said, laughing. ‘Over to you, Laura, I’ve got kids to feed,’ she announced, waving and promising to come back the next day.

‘Lola... it’s the flamenco course...’ he said, when she’d left.

‘What about it?’

‘I can’t go now,’ he said, sadly.

‘Oh Tony – you’re due to go in a couple of weeks aren’t you?’ In all the madness I hadn’t really had chance to think about his trip. I’d been so worried that he might not wake up everything else had been pushed to the back of my mind.

‘Yep, I was due to go on Madonna’s Birthday, 16th August,’ He said. ‘I don’t know how long I’m going to be in here, but I won’t be fit to go away. With a broken arm, I couldn’t even get on a plane let alone do a stompy tango when I got there.’

I felt so sorry for him, this was his dream and now he wouldn’t be able to go – he’d been saving up for so long. ‘I’ll ring them. You might not get a full refund, but...’ I took out a notebook. ‘Give me the number and I’ll cancel it.’

‘No. You can’t do that, the flight’s booked and everything – it’s too late – I won’t get any money back now.’

‘Tony, don’t just give up on this – it would break my heart if you didn’t make it and I’m sure you can just rebook it.’

‘No, I’ve read the small print. But I’ve had an idea – why don’t you go in my place? You can change the name on the flight and the course, I’ll phone them and explain.’

‘Tony, I can’t do that, it’s your holiday, let’s see what we can salvage money-wise and perhaps you can go next year?’

‘Lola – I love you to bits but you can be a silly mare. My injuries will take weeks to heal. I want you to go – I want you to learn if for both of us and bring it back here, to me.’

The nurse came in and told me I really had to leave.

‘Look, just say yes. Tell me you’ll go...’

Something started to fizz inside me. Why not? Was it fate that this was my father’s dream and it was being handed to me on a plate?

‘I want you to do this... if not for yourself, do it for me,’ he said.

‘Oh Tony...’ I looked at him and he was looking straight at me like he was daring me to say yes. I paced around the bed, going through the possibilities in my head. I’d need time off work – if Julie hadn’t sacked me – and I’d have to get a holiday wardrobe together. I didn’t have time to save for this, but could use some of Sophie’s wedding money to take with me. Then there was Mum... would she be okay while I was away? And then I thought about Dad’s dream to dance flamenco and how he’d put it off until it was too late, and my decision was made.

‘Yes,’ I heard myself say.

‘Oh Lola, that’s wonderful, you won’t regret it girl.’

‘Oh yes, yes, yes,’ I just kept saying it and hugging him tightly.

‘Ow, that hurts,’ he squealed as I squeezed his face and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ll ask work if I can get the time off... if you’re really sure?’

‘I’ve never been more sure of anything,’ he said. ‘Now fuck off and pack that tiny fluorescent bikini... or whatever fat octogenarians wear these days.’

I was about to slap him playfully, but decided against it.

‘Oh and you need to learn a few Spanish words or you won’t know what the bloody hell’s going on – you daft cow.’

The nurse appeared again, so I left, waving and blowing him kisses before running down the corridor, my parking ticket had probably run out, but that was the least of my problems. I was heading unexpectedly to Spain in a couple of weeks... I’d never been to another country, and never travelled alone before. I wish it had been under different circumstances, but it looked like I was going to dance flamenco under that Spanish sun after all.

‘It looks like we’re going Dad... you and me, Flamenco under the stars,’ I said under my breath.

T
he next two
weeks were a whirlwind of organising things for my upcoming trip. Because of this, my FaceTime sessions with Sophie had been sporadic, so that night I made an effort to call her and fill her in on my news.

I told her all about Tony and was dying to tell her about Spain but wanted to know how she was first.

‘So how are you, sweetie?’

‘Well, actually, Mum, I’m thinking of coming home soon.’

It was music to my ears, I couldn’t wait to see her.

‘That’s great news, love – when?’ I was wondering how this would work with me being in Spain.

‘Probably in a couple of weeks... I’ll have to see what happens here.’

‘Okay. Good. If you can let me know...’

‘Mum, I’m in South America – I can’t give you a time and a date, anything could happen between now and then.’

‘I appreciate that, my love, but I do need to know because...’

‘God mum, don’t pin me down! Things might change and if I decide to stay you’ll be worrying at an airport somewhere waiting to pick me up and then I’ll feel bad.’

‘I won’t be waiting at an airport for you...’

‘Yes you will it’s what you do... and you’ll be phoning and texting and panicking...’

Sophie was seeing the overprotective mother, but I was about to surprise her with ‘Cosmopolitan Mother.’

‘If you come home in the next couple of weeks you’ll have to make your own arrangements from the airport because I won’t even be in the UK.’

‘What? Why? Where will you be?’

‘Spain.’

‘Spain? You can’t just go off to Spain like that! What are you going to do there?’

I had to smile at the irony, Sophie was the one who’d told me I had to be random and live life and when I did she was completely thrown.

‘I’m going to live my life, Sophie. Despite what you might think, I don’t sit by the TV every night with a bag of Revels,’ I said. ‘That’s the past, and I’m going to Spain to learn flamenco.’

I told her about Tony’s course and I could see by the blurred pixels she wasn’t pleased.

‘But what if I decide to come home when you’re away?’

‘Then I’ll make sure there’s food in the freezer and someone has a key and I’ll see you when I get back.’

I wanted to be there for Sophie, but just as she had her own life I now had mine.

‘So when exactly is this trip taking place... you can’t just say “in a couple of weeks”.’

‘Sorry, but you did... ‘I said pointedly, but with a smile. I gave her the dates and told her a bit more about the course and she seemed okay with that.

‘I might wait until you’re back then Mum.’

‘Okay, that would be good. Sophie you were right - you told me I had no life and made me realise I needed something else other than work, worry and watching TV.’

There was silence as she took it in; ‘Mum, when I said that... I didn’t mean to upset you... I just felt that you needed to live a bit.’

‘I know darling, and that’s what I’m doing. I had to learn to let go, find my own path so I can leave you to take yours. I’ve watched you grow wings and fly and I’m so bloody proud of you Sophie – but it’s time now for me take the ride... and see what happens.’

There was silence for seventeen seconds, which is a long time on FaceTime, but Sophie needed to process what I’d said.

‘I understand, Mum... I just worry about you, in another country.’

I gave her a look which was meant to say ‘welcome to my world,’ but was probably lost among the pixels. ‘I know, love, and there will be no one happier than me when you’re back home safe, but I won’t clip your wings – and you mustn’t clip mine.’

During that call I think Sophie realised that things had changed for me. Hopefully she wasn’t too worried – I hope she felt empowered by it – I was finally becoming the role model I wanted to be.

O
n the night
before I went away, I’d popped in to see Mum who was about to enjoy a seventies night with the other residents. As Mum explained, some of ‘the more showbizzy guys and gals’ were putting on a concert, featuring various pop stars and bands from the era. Mum was Agnetha, the beautiful Swedish blonde in ABBA, and compared to some of the other residents in their costumes she looked good. Dressed as Alice Cooper, Stanley was in full make-up looking like something from a Wes Craven horror movie. And when eighty-nine–year-old Betty sashayed into the communal area wearing a Madonna wig and suspenders, several of us gasped – and it wasn’t in admiration. The gentrified atmosphere of Wisteria Lodge was quickly morphing into a very dark geriatric version of The Rocky Horror Show.

‘I thought this was Seventies Night? Madonna wasn’t around in the seventies,’ I said to Mum, trying to keep my voice down.

‘She is – Madonna’s in her seventies. She lies about her age... she was at school with Cher, you know.’

My mother called Betty over and they started giggling like two teenagers. It was wonderful to see Mum so happy and involved, but I wasn’t ready for another OAP fancy dress show, I was still getting flashbacks from the last one. I wished her luck and told her I had an early start so would get off. I gave her my flight times on a notepad along with the airline and the address where I’d be staying. She took the notepaper off me and nodded, but I could see she had half a mind on Betty’s dance routine, which she was now practising in front of us.

‘So this time tomorrow I’ll be in Spain, Mum,’ I said, hoping for a chance to explain my reasons for going. We still hadn’t talked about the letter I’d found, or about my rediscovered love of dancing. I suspected Mum knew, but she never raised the subject with me.

She hadn’t heard me, so I repeated, ‘Mum, I’ll be in Spain.’

‘You’re in pain... oh whatever’s the matter?’

‘No... Spain, Mum, I told you.’

‘Lovely... lovely.’

I was so excited about the trip and the dancing and Mum seemed happy so it felt like a good time to tell her I was going to learn flamenco while I was there. I wanted her blessing, to know it was okay with her that I was dancing. The timing was also good because I was about to leave anyway so could would throw the hand grenade into the middle of the room then make a run for it, ‘Mum. I’m going to learn flamenco... while I’m in Spain...’ I started.

‘Betty did that, didn’t you Betty?’ she said, without missing a beat.

‘Yes I can do the flamenco...’ Betty said and started stomping and clicking her fingers, which was surreal and quite disturbing in the Madonna basque.

‘So... what time are you on?’ I heard myself asking, and in that split second I realised that it wasn’t just Mum who couldn’t talk about the past – it was me too. I’d been moulded by both my parents only to look at the pretty stuff, the easy conversations and anything confrontational or difficult was avoided. I could now see as an adult that they were good people, but naive, both dreamers with delusions of grandeur, living in a fantasy world of faded chintz and afternoon tea dances. Mum was like a fragile film star with her pale skin and long fair hair while Dad was tall, dark and handsome. He never let their financial problems dampen his enthusiasm for life or dancing, his only desire was to make Mum happy, but having read the letter I wondered now if he behaved this way towards her to stop her leaving him for someone else? A veil was pulled over everything and no-one really spoke about money or whatever it was that had made Mum unhappy throughout my childhood. We’d almost had a breakthrough and I had just pushed it away, Mum had heard me, acknowledged what I’d said and finally began a dialogue, but this time it was me who shied away from it. Sometimes we surprise ourselves, don’t we? I realised that I didn’t want to see her face when I told her I was going to follow in her and Dad’s footsteps. I wanted her approval, I had wanted it all my life, but wondered if I’d ever make her proud.

She’d been pleased for me and encouraging about my trip, which wasn’t like her. In the past she’d been keen to tell me how lonely she’d be if I so much as talked about going on holiday without her. But she was now so busy with her own life she’d stopped trying to police mine... and me hers. She touched my arm, like she was telling me it was okay, she was okay... and so was I. Mum had never been so easy, so warm and for the first time in my life I didn’t feel guilt about leaving her.

‘I’m sorry, love, but I have to go – Bjorn wants to do a sound check.’ I turned to see Mr Roberts in a blonde wig, an open-neck shirt and flairs.

‘Oh I’ll push off then Mum,’ I smiled, kissing her on the cheek.

‘What did you tell me to do?’

‘I said I’ll push off...’ I shouted.

‘Charming, the Kardashians don’t speak to their mother like that.’

‘No Mum, but their mother isn’t deaf as a post and too vain to wear a hearing aid,’ I laughed. She didn’t hear me.

As I drove away from Wisteria Lodge I had a warm feeling about Mum and her new friends – despite seeing at least ten things in black leather and lace that I needed to unsee.

A
little later I
went to say goodbye to Tony, who was mid brow treatment at the hospital when I arrived. Mandy was straddling him and her bedside manner was as I’d feared, not unlike her Beauty Therapist manner – the results were always good but pain wasn’t something she ever acknowledged. I’d heard her vajazzles were a work of art but so painful they could put a woman off sex for life.

‘Oh you are so going to get shagged,’ was her opening line as I walked in.

‘Is that because I’m so gorgeous?’ I joked. I’d been ‘fitted’ if that’s the term for contact lenses and this was my first day trying them out and I was amazed at how much better I looked without my glasses on. I’d never properly seen myself without my glasses... because I couldn’t.

‘Tony’s telling me you’re off to Spain, and the first thing you have to do when you get there is a Porn Star Martini, they are lush,’ Mandy was saying, holding her tweezers in the air. ‘Oh and if it’s anything like Kavos you had better have plenty of condoms and smuggle a bloody big bottle of vodka in your bag.’

‘That sounds like good advice,’ I lied, ‘but it’s not really that kind of trip... I’m going to learn to dance flamenco,’ I said brightly, doing a little stomp.

‘Well, you might be going to do that, but when you get there and see all those gorgeous Spanish lads you’ll be doing flamenco on their faces.’ She roared, laughing.

Here was something else for me to unsee – I was still recovering from Mum’s seventies night and Mandy was on overload. I had to sit down.

Poor Tony was lying down with his eyes closed while she tweezered vigorously at his brows, her guffawing causing the bed to rock and him to twitch violently.

‘Feeling any better, Tony?’ I asked, trying to get Mandy off topic and pulling my chair up to the bed for a better view of the torture. Hadn’t he been through enough? Did he really need the Guantanamo Bay eyebrow technique?

‘Oh love, I could be better... and this daft cow sitting on my smashed arm and ripping at my brows isn’t helping.’

‘Oh shut up. He’s got the hots for one of the nurses,’ Mandy added, applying thick brown dye to his brows.

‘Really? A male nurse?’

‘No... after being beaten up I have seen the error of my ways,’ he said sarcastically.

‘Sorry. I mean is the nurse gay?’ I asked, worried he may get his heart broken by falling for a straight man.

‘How do I know if he’s gay or not? He isn’t carrying a sign,’ he sighed. ‘I’ve told you before it’s one of the great tragedies of being gay, you never know until you’ve got their penis in your hand.’

‘It’s the same when you’re straight,’ Mandy sympathised with a knowing nod.

I nodded too, not quite sure what I was agreeing to.

‘Well, either way, it’s giving me something to take my mind off things,’ Tony said. ‘You know me – I will overanalyse and obsess over everything a cute guy does, just to see if he's gay or not. Even when he brings me the water jug I’m thinking is he making eye contact? Is that a rainbow in his trousers or is he just pleased to see me?’

‘Or is he playing with his dick?’ Mandy offered in all seriousness. She wasn’t one for subtleties or euphemisms.