Page 22 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

Jean-Claude told me he was divorced; his sons lived with his ex-wife in London. A little white lie, I said I was also divorced, but I was picturing myself in just a few months’ time when my marriage to Vince is forever behind me.

‘Tell me, Monica, what do you do for a living?’

‘I am a wedding dress designer.’ This does not count as a lie, as I am the unnamed designer of A-Belle-Brides.

‘ Je ne le crois pas! I too am in haute couture. I have a chain of boutiques in France, including ze bridal wear.’

It was no surprise. I mean, he was so well dressed; his suit beautifully cut.

There was no stopping us after that. We talked fashion shows, catwalks, and seasonal changes.

He wanted to see my latest designs, so I showed him the award article on my phone.

I was almost dumbstruck when he said he was sure he had already seen my floaty festival winning gown in a French magazine, telling me how much he admired it.

Delighting in his compliment I was also tinged with annoyance at Annabelle.

Typical of her not to tell me about the French magazine.

Jean-Claude had then shown me a couple of pictures of his favourite creations and the journey flashed past. I could have gone on talking to him for hours. He was fascinated I was dancing in an amateur competition and wanted to know all about what dances we performed.

‘A mix of jazz, Fosse, Bollywood…’

‘Where is zis being held?’

‘The Opéra Bastille .’

‘I know it well.’

‘The finalists perform in front of the public on Sunday, so we are hoping to qualify tomorrow.’

‘ Bonne chance .’

Arriving at the Gare du Nord , he asked for my number, but I decided I should exercise some caution, so I hurriedly mumbled how nice it had been to meet him and he quickly pressed his card into my hand before I made a dash for the exit with my case.

Loud giggling from Bonnie and Cath brings me back to the present. They are in their element, laughing away on their large king-size bed.

‘Well, this’ll give us something to talk about when we get home.’ Bonnie beams and smiles as if we were a party of schoolgirls on a sleepover.

‘To be sure, I can’t remember when I last bunked up with a bunch of girlfriends.’ Cath is in an equally good mood as they start to put each other’s hair in rollers.

‘Reminds me of that programme where everyone has to sleep in the same house.’

‘You mean Big Brother ?’

‘No, that I’m A Celebrity Get Out of It.’

‘ I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here? ’ Ruby suggests.

‘Yes, that’s the one.’

‘Oh, it’s just like that,’ Ruby winks at Asha. ‘Except there’re no celebrities, no edible insects – although hold that thought until we’ve seen the breakfast – and definitely no Ant and Dec. Other than that, it’s just the ruddy same.’

‘Oh, Ruby, you are a scream.’ Bonnie snorts with laughter.

They must have had a good few drinks on the journey, including Ruby. They all seem far from tired.

Cath calls out, ‘Shh – ladies, listen. What’s that noise?’

The room goes quiet, and a buzzing can be heard coming from under the beds. Ruby grabs her case, throws it on the bed and lifts the lid. The buzzing noise gets louder.

‘What the?’ Ruby starts to rummage in the case.

‘It’s not one of those sex toys you showed us at your party the other year, is it?’ Bonnie peers across from her bed to see if she is right.

‘No, look.’ Ruby pulls out her electric toothbrush, which has switched itself on in the case. All the other ladies, well apart from Fay, squeal with laughter.

Bonnie, looking rather glassy-eyed, turns to Asha. ‘You came to that party, Asha. As an upright Indian lady, were you not shocked to see all those naughty sex aids?’

‘You forget, Bonnie, the Kama Sutra was written by an Indian.’

‘Was it? Who wrote that then?’

‘Vātsyāyana.’

‘Ha ha. Don’t expect me to remember that. I couldn’t pronounce it, let alone spell it.’ Bonnie howls with laughter bordering on hysterics.

I keep my head down and quietly check my phone for messages as the others gleefully chatter away.

Ruby is on the other side of the room and nowhere near me, thank heavens. We have barely spoken although she tried to engage with me while we waited for Ingrida at Passport Control in St Pancras.

‘Monica, please talk to me,’ she had begun.

I had merely stared at her.

‘You have to know we can’t go on like this. We’re mates, best friends. Six years have to count for something.’

I had maintained a stony silence.

‘Look, friends stick together through thick and thin. I get that you’re annoyed with me, I get that I hurt you, but you know it was unintentional and anyway, if we’re true friends we should forgive each other our silly mistakes…

’ Her speech was slightly slurred. ‘And also, in the whole sch… scheme of things, this was a ridiculously petty frigging reason to fall out…’

When I said nothing, she looked as if she was going to cry and then suddenly stamped her foot on the ground and shouted, ‘Fine. Have it your way. I’m sorry I’m not frigging perfect like you. I’m sorry I mess up all the time, and I’m really sorry you don’t appear to value our friendship…’

She had then stormed off to wait at the Eurostar gates and we’ve not so much as looked at each other since.

Ridiculously petty. The words sting. She really does have what my mother would call low morals if she thinks petty is an adequate word to describe her behaviour.

‘Ta da,’ Bonnie shouts, and my mind lurches back to the present.

Bonnie produces a large bottle of brandy from her case and suggests we all have a night cap.

Given the circumstances, I readily accept. Anything to send me to sleep quickly.

‘Have you had that wee bottle with you all the time?’ Cath asks before singing something about Brandy.

‘Oh, I don’t think I’ve heard of that song.’ Bonnie pulls a number of plastic shot glasses onto the bed.

‘“Brandy”… O-Jays.’

‘Well, there’s no need to be rude.’

‘What? It’s the name of the group, Bonnie. The O-Jays.’

Bonnie snorts with laughter. ‘Ha ha. And I thought you were blaspheming.’

Ruby laughs and glances at me, but I turn my head away.

Bonnie pours us each a measure.

‘The authorities would have confiscated that bottle at Manchester Airport you know.’ Fay waggles her finger. ‘You are not allowed liquids over one hundred mils in your hand luggage.’

‘Really? Oh, it’s a good job we came by train then. Here we are, Fay, one for you too. You deserve it as you managed to save the way.’

Fay opens her mouth but Ruby interrupts as she mimics Fay’s voice and says, ‘Save the day, Bonnie, not the way.’

Bonnie and Cath guffaw loudly and Fay looks taken aback.

I half expect Fay to turn on Ruby, but she appears to think better of it and accepts a shot of brandy with a curt ‘thank you.’

‘A toast, ladies,’ Cath raises her glass. ‘To dancing our best and beating Bold as Brass hands down.’

Asha lifts her bottle of water as the rest of us raise our glasses. ‘Or would that be feet down?’

‘Feet down. Cheers.’

I suddenly notice Ingrida’s bed is vacant.

‘Wait, where’s Ingrida?’ No one has seen her for a good ten minutes.

I go and listen at the bathroom door, and I hear her voice speaking in what must be Latvian.

I have no idea what she is saying, but even in this foreign language she sounds upset with whomever she is speaking to.

I hesitate but eventually knock on the bathroom door when the conversation has gone quiet.

‘Ingrida, are you OK?’

I open the door a chink and slowly push it wide to see her blinking back tears and staring at her phone.

‘Have you had bad news?’ I look at her phone. She hurriedly puts it in her dressing gown pocket.

‘ Ne , I… no, I have just realised I may not remember all the dance for Janine. I have not practise her position very much…’

I feel sure the problem is something connected to the phone call, but who am I to intrude? ‘Ingrida, you’re a lovely dancer, you’ll be fine. Please don’t worry about it.’

‘I need to practise more but it is too late…’

Asha, who must have been listening in at the door, pushes her way in the bathroom and immediately says, ‘It is never too late. Come on.’

She pulls Ingrida into the bedroom and pulls out her phone to select the music for our numbers.

‘Everyone on your feet or your beds. We are going to run through our numbers before bed so Ingrida can take Janine’s place.’

‘Oh Lor, we’d better have another drink first.’ Bonnie sloshes more brandy into each glass and we all knock it back.

The brandy has a welcome warming effect, and the comedy of our situation doesn’t escape me as I look around at us all dressed in an assortment of nighties and pyjamas, Bonnie and Cath with their hair in curlers.

The room is so full of beds there is really nowhere to dance other than on the beds.

As soon as the introduction starts, our feet begin to tap.

Even Fay smiles as she finds a small patch of floor and the rest of us hurriedly assume our starting positions on top of each mattress, where we all dance on the spot.

Our dance training takes over and we all move as one, albeit without crossing the room. At the end of our three numbers, we all flop onto our beds laughing.

The dance is cathartic and as I settle to sleep, I am full of hope. Not only will I soon be free of Vince, tomorrow we dance on a professional stage.