Page 28 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

Monica

I find myself getting more and more annoyed with Ruby.

She is laughing and joking with everyone as if she hasn’t a care in the world.

I’ve been watching her chummying up to Ingrida, Asha and even Fay.

She’s clearly determined to show me she doesn’t care a jot about our break-up, to the point of throwing it in my face.

I know it’s affecting my dance and I know I need to pull myself together. We’ve finished our run-through, so I grab my bag from the dressing room and go to the ladies – thankfully empty – for some peace and quiet.

My reflection in the mirror above the wash basin looks pinched so I fish out my make-up to dab a little concealer on my frown lines. I practise a smile. It does not seem natural. Then again, I’ve had little reason to smile in the last few weeks.

Staring into my eyes, I recall the other times in my life when I barely smiled.

There were several long sad years soon after I rushed into marriage to Vince, having found out I was pregnant.

I wondered then if I would ever smile again, but I came through it.

I did. And I owe so much to Clarissa for her help.

It was Clarissa who saved me after I lost my first baby.

I was drowning in the depths of despair until my psychiatrist recommended taking up an open university degree in fashion design and starting dance as a form of therapy.

The degree was hard work and took several years to complete, working late into the night, but the dance was sublime.

I had, after all, adored ballet in my childhood.

Clarissa’s inspiring choreography and gentle encouragement slowly brought purpose back into my life.

Nothing could replace the love of the baby I would never hold, but I found a rekindling of my love of music and dance as an art form.

Then the twins were born and although I love being their mum, I only feel truly alive when I’m lost in the performance of an amazing dance.

It allows me to express my deepest feelings without having to verbalise.

To me, it has become as essential as breathing.

Making a fist, I resolve to give the competition my all. It is the least I can do to repay Clarissa.

My phone rings and I retrieve it from my bag. A satisfied smile spreads across my face. Payback time for Vince.

The message from the dating app which I have now transferred to my phone is just what I’d hoped for.

Greta Grinder, who describes herself as a super-size lover – and judging from her picture she’s not lying – has responded and has agreed to meet Vince at 9.

30 p.m. tonight, providing she can have meatballs with plenty of sauce.

Yeuw. Although technically, she’ll be expecting Butch Cassidy – the new profile I’ve constructed for him.

I congratulate myself for working out how to make this hidden from view, so it’s not on Vince’s homepage.

He’d have to hunt to find it as it’s not obvious.

He’s never been great with IT so with a bit of luck, he’ll be oblivious to the new correspondence which I’ve diverted to my phone having added my number to the secret profile.

I quickly tap in Butch’s reply, ignoring the fact it is Ruby’s voice that enters my head with the phrase,

Can’t wait to get grinding with you, Greta. Look for me on the corner table to the right of the bar. I’ll be the one ordering the extra-large saveloy sausage with fries.

I know this is Vince’s seat of choice as I have seen his previous dates made from his Ben Johnson profile.

He will be under the impression he is meeting someone called Venus – set for 9 p.m. – in this Cock and Bull pub.

The bastard set this up this date a week ago, so knew full well he would not be around to look after the twins while I was in Paris. All that rubbish about a conference…

Another ping and I grin to see it is a message from Cindy-Just-Cindy – her photo shows a mass of blonde curls and the longest false eyelashes I have ever seen on her air-brushed face. She asks if she can bring her pooch.

I never go anywhere without poochy poochy pie, so I hope you love doggies, Butch.

Not a problem. Bring your adorable doggy, Cindy. I will be at the corner table waiting to pet you both.

I hit send with a flourish of satisfaction.

Pity Vince is allergic to dogs.

I check the other arrangements before smiling at my reflection, aglow with both the exertion of dance and a delicious new sense of gratification.

As Vince meets Venus, he will first be interrupted by Greta Grinder, then Cindy with her lap dog, followed by Titania with her ‘hidden talents’ – possibly something to do with the handcuffs and whips in her profile picture.

And then Bruce – who looks neither male nor female and declares he/she swings both ways – will enter the affray.

I’m glad I ticked the option of him/her bringing a few extras along for the ride.

‘What are you smiling about, Monica?’ Bonnie says as she and a couple of other ladies enter the toilets.

‘Oh nothing. I’m missing a bit of a bash back in the UK. Just imagining being a fly on the wall.’

‘Wishing you were there?’

‘Oh no. I’d much rather be here.’

Asha dashes in and makes a beeline for me.

‘Monica, you will never guess what has happened?’

‘What?’

‘Sheila’s group has turned up. They have been assigned to our dressing room.

Your face says it all, Monica. I know. It is horrendous.

They arrived shouting and swearing. They squashed all our costumes along the rail to fit theirs on.

They are loud, rude, and completely disruptive.

Apparently, the officials are deciding if they can still take part after their outburst during rehearsals.

I hope they cannot. Sheila is in a foul mood and Clarissa has had to go back to the hotel.

She was too upset to be in the same airspace as Sheila. ’

Before Asha can say more, Sheila herself and another woman burst into the ladies’, shrieking loudly to each other.

‘Thank fuck for that. I’m busting for a wee.’ Sheila’s eyes meet mine momentarily before she completely blanks me and rushes into the only free cubicle, slamming the door shut.

‘Hurry up, Sheila. I’m wetting myself here.’ Her large-busted friend cries out as she hops from foot to foot.

Sheila calls through the door, ‘I knew we shouldn’t have downed those bloody beers last night. They always make me pee for days.’ They both cackle.

Another cubicle becomes free, and the large-bosomed woman dives in. The pair continue to converse loudly from within their respective cubicles. Asha and I grimace.

‘Sheila, do you think they’ll let us dance after what happened?’

‘They’d bloody better had, Bridget. We didn’t come all this way not to compete. Besides, we have to beat those stuck-up bitches in Clarissa’s la-di-da group.’

I glare at the door. Sheila knows full well we’re here. She was in Clarissa’s dance group at the same time as me for a couple of years before she left. She’s what my mother would call common. The sort of woman who loves confrontation and only has two volumes, loud and deafening.

I begin to say, ‘We can hear you, Sheila,’ but the toilets flushing drown me out and Asha puts a hand on my arm and pulls me out through the door. Instead of turning towards our dressing room she leads me in the opposite direction down the corridor.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Monica, I need to have a word.’ The corridor widens, and she pulls me into an alcove away from the bustle of competitors going to and fro.

‘We have to get to the finals.’

‘Yes, that’d be amazing…’ I begin to say.

‘But, Monica, I have noticed… that is we have all noticed the terrible tension between you and Ruby and… well there is no easy way to say this, so I will just come right out with it. It is spoiling the dynamics. I have to be honest when I say neither of you is dancing your best. You, in particular, have always been the best dancer in the group. We need you to be on top form. So, you and Ruby have to put aside your differences. For the sake of the competition.’

I glaze over and say nothing. Asha has no idea.

‘I mean, seriously, Monica, what can Ruby have done that is so bad you won’t even look at her?’

Ruby suddenly appears behind Asha and before I can start past them, Ruby holds one hand in the air to stop me and stands the other side of Asha. She addresses Asha while staring at me.

‘I’ll tell you what I’ve done, Asha. I made a silly, stupid mistake.

I sent Monica a voice message in error. One meant for Max.

I would never deliberately hurt Monica’s feelings, not for the world, but she heard my stupid jokes, and she’s taken what I’d said to Max to heart.

She’s decided to turn her back on our six years of friendship without even a chance for me to apologise, and I do want to apologise. Monica, I’m so, so sorry.’

Ruby looks at me hopefully, her hands spread out.

Asha eagerly turns to me, nods, and awaits my response.

For a minute I’m dumbfounded and before I can open my mouth, Asha adds – with a degree of irritation – ‘See. Ruby is sorry. Whatever misunderstanding has happened, you can now put it behind you. We all make mistakes.’

‘Mistake?’ I clench my fists barely realising I’m shouting straight into Asha’s surprised face.

‘Misunderstanding? Forgive Ruby? You have no idea. What Ruby has done is unforgivable. I wonder if you’d forgive her if you’d found out she’d slept with your fiancé?

Quite deliberately and without a care in the world.

Not even a modicum of guilt. How would that make you feel?

Except Ruby hasn’t slept with your fiancé.

She’s slept with Vince. She’s committed adultery with my husband and has no doubt been gloating over the fact I hadn’t the slightest idea… ’

My words ring out down the corridors, and I’m vaguely aware of other dancers stopping to listen beyond Ruby’s gaping face.