Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams (8 page)

We were all mesmerised by his swaying torso and his glittering eyes and Mandy was now open-mouthed and winking at Toyah. Both girls’ heads were following his tight black trousers, while two older ladies were nudging each other and having a giggle. I suddenly wanted to giggle too and I thought ‘I like this. I like him.’ I didn’t feel any pressure, it felt like it might be fun and it certainly beat a vigorous session with Martha and her magic vagina.

Tony began by demonstrating a basic salsa step involving a move to the side and back, which we copied several times to his beat. ‘One two three,’ he was saying as we all did the steps, and I smiled because I remembered the moves so well, I’d watched my parents do them many times. Then the music picked up – a big band Latin sound building up to Ricky Martin singing Livin’ La Vida Loca, and I couldn’t keep still.

Tony held out his hand to me. I looked around, flattered but confused.

‘Lola... I mean Laura, step forward, I want you to demonstrate with me, you seem to be getting the hang of this.’

I walked towards him, our hands meeting mid-air we clasped them together as his other hand went swiftly through my other arm and placed it on the top of my shoulder. I put my arm up on his shoulder, our elbows now touching – he didn’t need to tell me anything else, it just felt right. He was tall and strong, very experienced and knew what he was doing which I found infectious. I felt like I could dance too – I was confident with him, like I used to be when I was little and I’d danced with my Dad.

It was a simple salsa step, but as the music picked up we were flying. This wasn’t like Zumba, for me it was so much deeper, the rhythm was somewhere in my chest and I was ready for more – so when Tony added another move, I did it too. My stomach was back on a rollercoaster, but it wasn’t that scary ride like before, it came from deep inside. I was elated, almost giddy, and so irrationally happy I thought I might burst. Tony’s legs were quick, his arms strong as he twirled me around and took my breath away. I tried not to think too much about what I was doing, my body abandoned my brain and I was in another world. I was vaguely aware of the open-mouthed surprise of my friends who were clearly as amazed as me at my fancy footwork.

We whizzed around as Ricky sang, keeping our feet tight, our legs firm and our hips loose and it was like I’d been dancing all my life. I let the music take me as we twirled around and the music swelled and we ended as the song ended, holding on to each other. I was breathless, my heart beating out of my chest with excursion, but also something else, an excitement and exhilaration I hadn’t felt for years. In that moment I understood what dancing had been to my parents. I wanted to cry because only now did I realise what they’d lost... because I’d found it.

T
he rest
of the class were clapping us and even the last of the Zumba girls were joining in the applause. I must have blushed because Carole shouted, ‘Don’t be shy Laura – you were bloody brilliant girl!’ Still holding me, Tony then asked everyone else to take hold of their partners and ‘just dance’.

‘What Lola and I did then was our dance – don’t be frightened to dance your own dance,’ he said over the music, ‘no one must ever be afraid to dance... don’t worry about how it looks and what other people think of you. Just feel how it feels.’

‘I’m not Lola... I’m Laura,’ I said as we whirled around some more. He pulled me closer, which felt good but very self-conscious.

‘You’re Lola on the dance floor,’ he said, quite seriously.

I tried not to look into his face – he was so handsome, with brown eyes like my father and the same dancer’s posture. I was transfixed and longed to let go and really dance for him. I wanted him to sweep me across the floor the way my father used to and felt just like that little girl wearing my mother’s too big dancing shoes. And I heard my dad’s voice; ‘You be Ginger Rodgers and I’ll be Fred Astaire!’

‘You’re really good...’ Tony said quietly into my hair as we waltzed. He pulled me tighter and there was no space between us. I could feel his torso pressed against mine, his hand on my lower back pulling me in – and his hips too close to the gaping hole in my leggings.

‘You’ve suddenly tensed up, are you okay?’ He said, looking puzzled.

‘Yes... it feels a bit... too close, I can feel your hips up against... me.’

‘Let go, Lola. It doesn’t matter how close we get, just go with the feeling you have to put your leg between mine.’

Now I felt extremely awkward and completely backed off. I was scared of this sudden intimacy with a man I didn’t know, he couldn’t possibly be enjoying this with
me
. Why hadn’t he picked beautiful but foul-mouthed Mandy instead?

‘I’m sorry, I’m just not comfortable with this.’ I smiled uneasily and, still dancing, I pulled away slightly to look at him.

‘Don’t worry I’m not remotely interested in you.’ He said this with such conviction I was quite offended. Okay so I wasn’t a supermodel like him, but he didn’t have to be so bloody honest.

‘Oh... I know... I just feel...’

‘Look, let me spell it out I don’t fancy you.’

‘Oh don’t worry, you just did. But thanks for making it extremely crystal clear,’ I said crossly.

He laughed; ‘No... what I mean is – we could both be naked with our hips together and I’d feel nothing,’ he smiled.

‘Just leave it will you? I get the picture, no need to keep banging on about how repulsive you find me.’

‘It’s not just you...’

‘Okay, you find all middle-aged women repulsive.’

‘No. I’m just not into
women
.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m dancing on the other side of the ballroom... not literally,’ he laughed.

‘Oh. You’re
gay
! I’m sorry. I just assumed, you’re so handsome and – well you don’t
seem
gay.’

‘Oh sorry, I forgot to bring my rainbow with me,’ he sighed, sweeping me masterfully across the room.

I don’t know why I didn’t realise sooner, but once I knew, I suddenly felt so much more relaxed. And in that chilly Dance Centre on a wet Monday night in October, Tony’s dancing was like a splash of sunshine.

We carried on dancing and for the first time in years I really felt like I could let go a little, and I stopped being so self-conscious and just gave myself to the music.

Tony wasn’t broad, but he was tall and unusually for me - I felt small and dainty, as I had with my dad, and I know it sounds stupid, but that night was just magical. I didn’t know what it was or where it would take me, but at the end of the night when Tony said he felt I had talent and wished I would come back to class, I said; ‘Try stopping me.’

I realised that night that it didn’t matter who was looking at me or what people thought. And even the fact that I had exposed my thighs to the whole of the Dance Centre didn’t bother me. I forgot about Bilton’s, my weight, my age – and yes, I even forgot about that sponge cake, which festered in my car boot for days.

T
he following Sunday morning
, I managed to do ‘FaceTime’ with Sophie. We texted regularly, but I was keen to confirm visually that she was still alive and in possession of all her limbs. My earlier ‘Face Timing’ attempts had involved me inadvertently calling the wrong number and demanding that the man who answered ‘give the phone to my daughter NOW!’ When he said his name was Nattapong and he had never met my daughter, I accused him of abduction and threatened him with ‘the might of British Embassy’, a phrase I’d heard in a film once. I don’t recall the exact conversation, but suffice to say the words ‘trafficking’ and ‘white slave trade’ were used by me as I demanded to speak to the leader of ‘the drugs gang’. Given that Nattapong was (as it turned out) an operator in a Bangkok telephone exchange this was perhaps a little over the top and when I realised the mistake my face went very hot and I put the phone down quickly.

So here I was chatting away with Sophie who was now in Phuket; ‘Are you okay? Do you have enough money?’ I asked her as soon as she came on the phone. I was trying not to sound anxious and uptight... which of course I was.

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘Are you okay for underwear? I can always send some pants out to you... there’s nothing worse than being short of pants.’

She giggled. ‘Mum, I’m fine for underwear...’ Her face was pixelating slightly but I was relieved to see she was all in one piece, hadn’t been kidnapped and hadn’t had her face pierced or tattooed. I could tick off my checklist and sleep that night.

‘I know this next question will annoy you, but I’m going to ask it anyway, Sophie,’ I said. Using her name like that might just give me some parental authority: ‘You didn’t carry anyone’s bags through customs did you?’

‘No, Mum.’

‘Cos last week a British woman was asked to carry a pot monkey through passport control... no one told her it was full of crystal maths. She’s now banged up in the Bangkok Hilton and no one can save her. She’s being robbed and ravished by Thai lesbians, and made to do all kinds of unnatural things with ping pong balls and prison guards and... ’

‘Mum, please... it’s crystal
meth
. And why do you always feel the need to mention ping pong balls?’

‘I don’t know, I saw it in a documentary once. I just want to make sure no one’s asked you to...’

‘No one’s asked me to carry a pot monkey,’ she monotoned. ‘And I haven’t been robbed or ravished by Thai lesbians or done anything with ping pong balls. Oh but hang on... there’s this porn film called ‘Ping-pong Pot Monkey Lesbian killers’ and I’m filming that next week with a man I met in a bar’.

‘Okay, okay very funny – I know I go on, but I worry about you. Wait until you have children,’ I said, provoking a whole new arena of worry in my own head about Sophie having unprotected sex and getting pregnant in Thailand.

I can be a bit of a nag where my daughter’s concerned, and I sometimes forget she is an independent woman with her own life. I blame it on being a single mum and the fact there was only ever me to worry about her.

‘Oh I miss you, love,’ I heard myself say.

‘I miss you too, Mum,’ came a tinny voice from my phone, and I allowed a second to marvel at technology. I hadn’t a clue how it worked, but this little phone enabled me to see and speak to my daughter, the other half of my heart, thousands of miles away. There were a few moments’ silence while I gathered myself together and tried not to cry, I missed her so much.

‘Do you have a busy week ahead?’ she asked, probably guessing I was upset. I felt awful – I didn’t want to worry her and make her feel bad, so I put on my brightest voice and smiled.

‘Yeah. Really busy. I’m working all week but I’m thinking of clearing up Nan’s house later... I’ve made a start but keep putting it off.’

‘I don’t blame you, Mum, there’s a hundred years’ worth of belongings in there – all piled up.’

I suddenly realised going down the ‘clearing attic’ route might confirm everything she thought about me having a little life, so I changed the subject.

‘Oh and I’m going to Zumba with Carole again.’

‘Zumba! Wow, Mum, that’s hardcore.’ I was secretly delighted that I’d managed to impress her – finally.

‘Yeah, well it’s not actually Zumba... I mean, Carole does the Zumba I... there’s this guy who wants me to join his dance class and...’

‘Brilliant. So you’ve met someone?’ She sounded really excited about this prospect.

‘Oh, no, it’s not like that, he’s just the teacher...’

‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed and Sophie was the last person I wanted to disappoint.

‘We’re doing salsa, tango... bit of everything really... like on Strictly Come Dancing,’ I said excitedly, trying in my own way to show her that my life was picking up.

‘Wow that sounds fab Mum. Isn’t ballroom dancing what Nan used to do?’

‘Yeah... I haven’t mentioned it to her, not sure how she’d take it. She’s a bit funny about the past, you know.’

‘Yeah. How is she?’

‘Oh she’s great. , Really happy in her posh home – no more phone calls in the middle of the night demanding I go and fluff her pillow,’ I was joking, but my mother had been almost that bad when she’d lived alone. ‘So Nan’s sorted and now you’re away, I’m getting my life back on track,’ I said, pointedly. I really did need to let it go, but I still felt a little resentment.

‘Fantastic. I think it will be really good for you to get out and live a bit, Mum.’ She’d obviously missed my dig, it wasn’t easy being subtle yet cutting over 7,000 miles and a million dodgy pixels. I should have been more open like my own mother, who gave it to everyone with both barrels.

‘Dancing felt wonderful, just whirling across that floor with a gorgeous, hunky man.’ I wanted to tell her all about it, but we were on limited time, our chats always felt so rushed.

‘Ooh you said he was just the teacher, sounds like more than that to me – get you cougar!’

‘I wish... he’s gorgeous... and gay,’ I laughed. ‘As he pointed out, I could stand there naked saying “take me, take me,” and he wouldn’t be interested.’

We both laughed at that.

‘But Sophie he can dance... oh god his hips are everywhere and I can’t wait to dance with him again, I feel young and light and...’

‘Oh Mum, that’s wonderful. He sounds lovely too.’

‘Yes I’m glad he’s not straight – I think I’d feel embarrassed dancing like that with a straight man. It can be very intimate.’

‘Yes, very sensual. Hey, and a weeknight too, Mum? You’ve changed in the last couple of months, you wouldn’t normally go anywhere especially when Silent Witness is on.

‘Yeah, well there’s more to life than sitting in front of the TV,’ I lied. It was on series link for me to enjoy at my leisure. I may have been trying to make my life more interesting – but I hadn’t gone completely mad.

‘So how are you sweetie?’

‘I’m good Mum... really good.’

‘Show me your birthmark,’ I demanded. I always did this to make sure it was Sophie and not an alien imposter (I’d watched too much TV).

‘Mum...’

‘I want to make sure it’s definitely you and not some Thai imposter who’s holding the real Sophie hostage in a Phuket sex ring.’

‘I can’t, Mum... the man who gave me the pot monkey says I must never show my birthmark...’

Sophie loved to tease me about these things, but you could never be too careful. I couldn’t see her face properly, it kept breaking up, and I was ready to call the British Embassy but then I heard her giggle.

‘Very funny, Sophie.’

‘Mum, chill it’s all good,’ she sighed, holding up her left arm and lifting her T-shirt to show me the small strawberry mark. I put my face closer to the screen and could just see it, which meant my heart could relax a little – my proof she was still alive and aliens hadn’t taken over her body. That cute little purply fruit-shaped mark on my daughter’s arm was my safety net.

‘Sophie... what about eating?’

‘Yes, we’re eating enough,’ she sighed, with a roll of her eyes.

‘We? Who’s we?’

‘Oh... yeah... me and Carl. He’s from the UK, we met a few days ago in Bangkok,’ she manoeuvred her phone to show me a young, scruffy-looking lad who seemed to be lying across her lap! He smiled widely into the camera.

‘Hi there, Mrs...’

Christ, I thought, he doesn’t even know her surname. I hoped to god she wasn’t sleeping with him, but the way he was sprawled across her, the body language was speaking for itself.

‘It’s beautiful here, Mum, there’s so much to do and see. There’s elephant trekking and later we’re going to the Loi Krathong Festival. It’s supposed to be amazing... floating lanterns sent out to sea...’

‘Sounds lovely.’ I couldn’t possibly think about elephants and festivals knowing Sophie was holed up with a stranger on the other side of the world.

I was a bit tongue-tied now I knew Carl was with us and feeling rather foolish recalling my earlier diatribe about dancing with a hunk and going red just thinking about it. Had I known this was a three-way conversation with a young man I didn’t know I would have tailored it to something more appropriate.

‘So... So what are you up to today, Mum?’ Sophie tried to fill the silence.

I didn’t feel it necessary to inform Carl and whoever else was languishing ‘off camera’ that I had big plans to remove my moustache and body hair. Nor did I want to share that I was going to spend the day working out some dance steps, then categorizing my CD collection.

‘Today? Oh, I will probably meet some friends...’ I said vaguely, trying to sound bohemian.

Sophie sort of smiled but I detected a hint of pixelated pity all the way from Phuket. She knew I was lying. Sundays were days for families and lovers, and apart from my mum (who had gone on a day trip to Southport), I didn’t have anyone to spend Sundays with.

‘Anyway, I’ll get off now, Mum. Keep tango-ing... you never know, you might find love on the dance floor? We’ll send you pictures of the festival later... Carl’s a photographer.’

‘Great... Is he still there?’ I hoped he’d gone because I wanted to warn her not to let him take any compromising photos. These days you couldn’t do anything without it ending up on the Internet and one night of passion could mean an eternity of online embarrassment. But she misunderstood and assumed I’d asked if he was still there because I wanted to speak to him. Next thing I know, I’m eye to eye with Carl on the face-time-phone-time-thing.

‘Hello Mrs... er...’

‘Oh... hi Carl. You’re there?’

‘Did you want me, Mrs... er...’

‘Yes. Hi... just wanted to say... bye.’ I wished Sophie wouldn’t do things like this. Young people today seemed to share everything online – even their mothers.

At this point Sophie managed to squeeze both their faces onto the shot (they were clearly intimate) and they both shouted ‘bye’.

I smiled and waved, feeling a little exposed and awkward in front of Carl, but I felt a frisson of pleasure to think my daughter was proud of me. I was proud of her too, she hadn’t hung around in the aftermath of her cancelled wedding, she’d moved on and was making a new life, having a new adventure. Seeing the way my daughter had handled her heartbreak inspired me, I wanted to follow in her footsteps, find a bigger life. And watching myself in the full length mirror as I walked through a tango, I dared to believe it was possible.