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My tenancy agreement is ending. The fixed period is up. According to Betty's solicitor friend, I don’t have a leg to stand on. He apologised he couldn’t be of more help. The landlord’s word that I could have the property for as long as I like means nothing. Now he’s selling. The developer has no obligation towards me or any of the previous tenants.

I sink to the floor and lean against the mirror that lines the wall. I look at the space that I call home. A space regularly filled with members of the community, my community.Members of all ages, ranging from four to eighty-four. Since I opened the dance studio two years ago, they’ve come.

“Hey.”

Samuel comes in and drops down next to me, pulling me into his side. I drop my head on his shoulder when he wraps his arm around me.

“We can fight this,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.

“No, according to the solicitor, we can’t.” I sigh, sitting up and hugging my knees. “It’s all lost.”

The sprung dance flooring, the custom-made mirrors and bars. The sound system. I completely remodelled the place when I moved in. My stomach churns as I consider the investment I’ve made into this building. An investment that is worthless once the developer comes in and tears it down. “We cannot move the flooring, and the mirrors are too big to store. The cost alone of storage would be enormous. All my hard work and effort gone,” I sigh.

“Since when did you become such a pessimist? This isn’t the April Wilson I know.” He mimics my position, resting his chin on his knees as he stares at me. “Have you tried speaking to the developer?”

I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes. “I’ve been sending emails every day this week. All I get is a holding message telling me someone will be in touch.”

“Hey, this isn’t you. You’re not someone who rolls over and gives up. You’re a fighter.”

I open my eyes and stare at my best friend. “Samuel, big developers aren’t interested in the little people like us. I’m inconsequential in their eyes. I must face it. My landlord has screwed me over, but that isn’t their problem. Frazer Development is a big business. They’re interested in lining their pockets and appeasing their shareholders and board members. They want their fancy apartments and boutique shops. Not some second-rate dance studio with a?—”

“Stop. There is nothing second-rate about your dance studio or your teaching. You’re a first-class dancer,” Samuel says.

I look away, unable to meet his optimistic gaze. That may be the case, but I’m obviously not a businesswoman. The worst part is, it’s my fault. After discovering the building, I acted impulsively without considering the outcome. Instead of giving me a five-year lease, my landlord talked me into accepting a rolling contract. Renewing last year went smoothly, so I didn’t give it much thought. I understand more and more local businesses have closed over the past two years, but my business is growing.

I swipe my cheek as the first tear falls. Samuel pulls me back into his arms and rocks me as I give in, and the floodgates open.

When I finally stop, he turns me to face him, his thumbs rubbing away the tear tracks. “Well, if they aren’t answering your emails, we take the argument to them. How many students do you have?”

“And families, probably two hundred now,” I say, my voice catching as I think of the fact a lot of the kids and teenagers use my studio as somewhere to go, keeping them off the streets. I offer a range of classes, from traditional ballet to street dance.

“Then we arrange a protest. Let’s create banners to make this development company aware of the community’s stake in this area. Make them listen.”

“I don’t know.”

If I’m honest, I’m unsure whether the families and kids will want to be involved.

“Well, if you don’t ask, beautiful, you don’t get. Ask them. See what they think. Do you think these developers really want to piss off the locals?”

I stare into my friend’s eyes before resting my forehead against his chest. Absorbing his strength.

“You’ve worked too hard to just let this go,” he says, his voice vibrating through his chest wall.

“I know. You’re right.” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding on tight as I absorb his strength. “I didn’t give up four years of my life and my dignity to work as an exotic dancer, only to have my asshole landlord destroy all I’ve worked for. That is not who I am.”

“That’s my girl,” Samuel says, giving me a squeeze.

He’s right. I fought hard for this place. I don’t have rich parents to fall back on. Being a foster kid, I’ve been financially independent since I turned eighteen, although I was luckier than most. My foster mum is a dance teacher. She has taught me everything I know. She is and always has been my greatest supporter, even when I was officially no longer her responsibility, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

“Okay. I’ll ask.”

He drops a kiss on my head and gives me a squeeze.

“We’ve got this,” he says. “You’re not on your own.”

“I’m so glad you’re home,” I say, not sure what I’d do if he was still travelling. But he’s right. It’s time to stand up and fight—for my studio, these kids, my community. Not let some big shot developer walk in here and destroy all I’ve built.

CHAPTER 5