Page 12 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

Monica

My case is open on the bed and I begin to pack. We set off for Paris tomorrow morning and I’m in two minds about the trip. I don’t want to be within stabbing distance of Ruby, but I do feel desperate to get away.

I haven’t yet had it out with Vince; biding my time until all my plans are in place.

Last weekend was the only time he had been at home since I uncovered the truth. He appeared in the kitchen, shirt sleeves rolled up and perspiration beading on his brow.

‘Monica, I left a device… a tablet… it’s here somewhere. Have you seen it? It’s a bit like James’s one.’

‘A tablet?’

‘It was in the lounge, I’m sure. There’s a lot of work stuff on it…’

I continued to clear the kitchen.

‘Or I could have left it in the bedroom? Monica?’

‘I need to get ready for Aerial Yoga.’

‘You don’t usually do classes on Friday evenings?’

‘I have just signed up to this one.’

‘Right… Well, if you come across it, I need to give it back to a colleague. It’s not mine, we… er… we switched them in error…’

I said nothing as I turned my back on him and left the room.

‘So… See you later?’ he shouted into the hall.

‘No,’ I call from the top of the stairs, where he cannot see my clenched fists mock-punching the banister. ‘I am calling in to see Clarissa afterwards. Do not wait up.’

‘Right. Er… have a good time.’

I turned up at my new class still seething but, just like with dance, the yoga proved amazingly therapeutic.

Soft music, yoga moves mid-air wrapped in a silky hammock.

My first reaction was almost, Ruby would love this , but I’m getting better at banishing any reference to my ex-friend from my mind.

After the yoga, I had a good heart-to-heart with Clarissa about Hazel – who now has to spend many of her evenings in bed – and I realised how, in the whole scheme of things, my problems were minor compared to hers.

Plus, unlike Clarissa and Hazel, I have the power to change things. And change things I will.

The next morning, Vince found me working at my sewing machine.

‘You got up early?’

I changed the thread on the bobbin without looking up.

‘You slept in the guest room?’

I rummaged for the scissors, picked up the bobbin thread with the needle cotton and pulled both ends through. Snip.

‘Was I snoring again?’

Placing the edges of the first top under the needle, I dropped the foot and started to stitch.

‘Monica, are you OK… you seem…’

‘I need to finish these costumes for Paris.’

‘Oh yes, next weekend. Look, I’m sorry I can’t be here to look after the twins. This conference is bad timing, but it was sprung on me last minute, so I have to show my face…’

I increased the speed of the machine.

Conference – Ha. And he even has the audacity to use the word sorry – not usually anywhere in his vocabulary.

‘Anyhow, I’m off to take James to his match. We could get a takeaway later? Maybe?’

I studiously ignored him as I clipped the thread and started to hem a pair of trousers.

‘Well, we can decide when we get home. Bye then.’

When I did not look up, he pecked the top of my head. As soon as I heard the front door close, I took my foot off the electric pedal. Damn. That will need to be unpicked.

I now hold up the trousers and examine the hem – satisfied with my invisible repair – before carefully folding the garment and placing it in the case.

In terms of my marriage, I’ve decided there is nothing left to unpick. It’s time to move on.

Yesterday, I opened two new bank accounts in my name and transferred lump sums from our joint accounts, taking half of each balance.

My salary – for what it is – will now be paid into my new current account, so I’m making progress.

Vince only checks the statements monthly.

By the time he realises what I’ve done, he’ll be packing his own bags.

My pink bowler hat beckons so I place it on my head and run my finger and thumb along the rim with the other fingers raised and my elbow high, checking the angles in the wardrobe mirror and giving a little shudder of excitement.

“Dancin’ Fool” is one of Clarissa’s quirkiest dances and the precision needed for each and every move is exacting.

When we are all in sync, the routine is fast and slick.

I lift my hat high into the air with a majestic sweep, Clarissa’s words echoing in my head, full circle up and pull back to the chest – elbows out – with a pulse .

Routines like this have to be spot on; the reason only Clarissa’s best dancers have been entered into the competition.

I pack my pyjamas into the centre of the hat to stop it getting crushed and make room to cushion it among the other clothes. My hand glances smooth metal. I smile. Vince’s tablet fits very neatly in between the layers.

My mobile rings and Annabelle’s name flashes up. A groan escapes my mouth before I reluctantly answer.

Annabelle doesn’t give me a chance to speak and I know I’m not going to like what she says as she’s using her best BBC voice, ‘Monica, thank goodness I have caught you. We have a last-minute alteration, my dear.’

I know what’s coming, so I say nothing.

‘A wedding that is only a week away. The bride has been given a cancellation, so she needs her dress altering this weekend.’

I shake my head, glaring at the phone.

‘Monica, are you there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Super. So when can you come in?’

‘Annabelle, I can’t do it. Remember? I’m off to Paris for three nights.’

‘Monica, we cannot let a bride down…’

‘Someone else will have to do it.’

‘But, Monica, you are my best seamstress…’

Seamstress – Ha. How about dress designer? I count to ten.

‘… So, I’m afraid you will have to cancel your trip.’

‘Sorry. Try Stitch in Time, the place on the high street.’

‘But… but they charge a fortune. And we pride ourselves on doing all our own alterations at A-Belle-Bride…’

‘No can-do, Annabelle.’

‘Really, Monica. After all I have done for you, I had hoped you would prioritise your job over this Paris jaunt.’

I slow my speech to make myself absolutely clear, ‘Annabelle, I have had this trip arranged for over four months. It is not a jaunt, but a dance competition and I have not taken any holiday in two years.’

‘My dear girl, barely any of the staff have had a holiday since the wedding business finally picked up. We’re still making up for our huge loss of sales during the pandemic. And on that point, you must remember I did pay you throughout the crisis when no one was ordering gowns.’

Annabelle waited for me to back down and thank her for everything she had done, but that was the old Monica. Today I wasn’t backing down for anyone.

‘Annabelle, can I remind you I worked throughout the pandemic not taking a day off. I worked from home when we had to close. I designed three new dresses for the business, sourced the materials, did the mock-ups and all three designs are now in high demand. The profits on a couple of these alone would cover my paltry salary.’

Silence.

‘Can I also remind you I have only been paid as a seamstress not a designer and for only half of the hours I have worked. Your name is on every one of my creations and my name has never been mentioned, not even in the awards article.’

‘Well, I cannot help what others write…’

‘No? I saw your interview in Wedding Cuts magazine. You were quoted as saying, “the whole idea for the floaty, festival Freedom dress came to me when I took a trip to the Peak District… ” Ring any bells?’

‘Well yes, but—’

‘It was my Freedom dress that won Bridal Dress of the Year. My trip to the Peak District. My inspiration. Annabelle, it is crystal clear you are passing off my designs as your own.’

‘My dear girl, the credit goes to the business.’

‘No, it goes to you.’

‘Monica, my dear… let us not get carried away…’

‘The recent success of A-Belle-Bride is almost entirely down to my skills. And quite frankly, I have had enough.’

Silence.

I can picture Annabelle’s mouth flapping as I clearly enunciate my final words, ‘So, no Annabelle. I will not be cancelling my trip. On my return from Paris, we can talk about the basis on which I might be persuaded to stay with A-Belle-Bride. If at all. But be assured, if there is the remotest chance I might stay with you, it will be on a new footing, or I will be taking my designs and my work elsewhere.’

Annabelle gives a sharp intake of breath and I end the call.

I look in the mirror. My face is glowing. I feel as energised as I do when I have performed a complex dance. I regard my reflection. Am I standing taller?

I bite back a grin, slightly in awe of this new me. It is like putting on an outfit of a style I have never worn. Surprisingly smart and sharply cut. It feels strangely new but a wonderfully flattering fit.

Joanne appears at the bedroom door and puts her hands on her hips.

‘What’s going on, Mum?’

‘Nothing, it was just Annabelle trying to get me to—’

‘No. I mean, what’s going on? James said you told him he can only have Will around to ours if he comes by himself. Why don’t you want Ruby coming here?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing to concern you. I just need some time away from Ruby. It’s not good to be in one another’s pockets.’

‘Right. I feel that way about some of my friends now and then. But she must have done something to upset you?’

‘Look, we’ve fallen out. That is all you need to know.’

‘It won’t stop us going to Glastonbury again, will it?’

‘Of course not. We can go with or without Ruby.’

‘And Will can come with us too, can’t he?’

‘I… I’m not sure. Look, I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment…’

‘That’s bloody obvious.’

‘Do not swear.’

I close the case and sit on the bed with a sigh. ‘Look, Joanne, I will tell you and your brother all about it, but not now. I need to get ready for Paris. Come here.’ She reluctantly sits next to me, and I give her a brief hug.