Page 53 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

Ruby

Slow down, Ruby. He may not be here to talk. Quite the opposite. This could be a final goodbye. And if it is, it’s his loss.

There is no sign of anyone in the café, so I lean against the bar, my back to the seating area, determined I won’t be discovered scanning for his entrance.

The staff are busy preparing interval drinks, but one smiles and crosses to serve me.

I order a cold drink, staring out of the window at the darkening Paris sky as I wait.

There’s a band of tension flickering across my forehead.

A familiar voice calls from behind.

‘Ruby?’

I swing round. ‘Max, you came back.’

‘I wanted to speak to you before I left. I’m catching a flight soon. My taxi’s on the way.’

I glance down at his suitcase, and my stomach sinks as I force a smile.

‘I tried to get you on your phone…’

‘Yes, it’s…’

‘At the bottom of the River Seine, I know.’

‘How?’

‘Gnasher-Asha. She told me before the start of the show.’

‘Asha didn’t tell me she’d seen you. Mind, we were dead late getting back and only just got on the stage in time.’

‘“Dancin’ Fool” was brilliant, by the way. Clarissa snuck me in to watch it. The new dancer was amazing.’

The waitress delivers my drink and I take a sip as we stand, saying nothing.

‘Ruby, I… think we should make a date to talk, when you get back.’ Max’s phone buzzes and he looks at the screen before adding, ‘Ah. The taxi’s outside.’

‘Fine by me. But Max, I can tell you now, I am not apologising for anything that happened before we met. Believe it or not, I don’t do lies and deceit either.’

‘Right. Sorry, I must have sounded like a right judgemental prick.’

‘Just a bit.’

Max grabs the handle of his suitcase and I put my hand on top of his.

‘Wait. Are you on the late flight to Manchester?’

‘Yes.’

‘Max, two things. One, we can talk this over tonight if you’re willing? Because, as-it-happens-two… Monica needs to get back to the UK tonight if possible. Could you change your ticket to her name? I mean, that is…’

‘You want me to surrender my flight ticket to Monica? Saint Monica who has ignored you for the last two weeks and let me believe you were cheating on me while having an affair with her husband?’

I put my hands on my hips and start to say, ‘It’s OK, don’t bother…’ when I see his eyes are twinkling.

I shake my head and gently poke my finger into his chest in mock annoyance.

‘Yes. The same Monica who knows it all happened way before you came on the scene and who knows it was a right frigging mistake… the same Monica who, when she spoke to you, wanted to lash out at me… so making her not-quite-so-bloody-saintly…’

‘Right. That Monica. Well, good. And yes.’

‘You’ll give up your ticket?’

‘First, I need to check if I can transfer it. If so, I’ll have to go to the airport with her, it’s so close to the flight. Plus, we’d need to leave now. Ten minutes tops.’

‘Really? You’d do that for me… I mean Monica?’

‘Well, I’d then need to get home another way.’

‘You could use Monica’s Eurostar ticket. I’m sure we can pay an admin fee to sign it over to you. I mean, that’s if you were OK with spending the night here and travelling back with us tomorrow?’

‘Depends… I need to check my diary to see what’s on in the morning.’

Max rubs his forehead and scans his phone. He looks up with a shake of his head, then his face splits into a beaming smile as he says, ‘OK. Yes, I can return tomorrow, but I have one condition.’

‘Name it.’

‘We dine out by ourselves to talk and…’

‘And?’

‘And decide where we’re going to spend the night.’

I leap at him and press my lips against his. He kisses me back but has to pull away when his phone rings.

Max speaks to the taxi driver, ‘ Pouvez-vous attendre quelques minutes, s’il vous pla?t? Merci. ’ He then points me in the direction of the backstage area. ‘Taxi’s waiting. Go and get Saint Monica while I check it can be done. Go.’

‘Thank you,’ I shout as I dash back to the dressing room, unable to wipe the grin off my face.

Monica takes little persuading and we rush round, helping her change, passing her wipes to quickly remove her make-up and hastily packing her suitcase.

‘Why are you rushing back again?’ Bonnie asks.

‘Childcare arrangements,’ I say quickly before Monica can speak.

‘Yes. I need to get back. Oh no, I’ve left a good few things at the Charbon.’

‘Me too. Ingrida, can you and the others grab our stuff and bring it with you to the train station tomorrow?’

‘Where are you off to?’ Bonnie asks.

‘Ah, that would be telling.’ I wink.

‘ Ja . We can bring your things.’ Ingrida smiles.

After Max leaves for the airport with Monica, I sit with the other ladies watching the competition finalists on the dressing room screen. We had hoped to sit at the back of the auditorium but the show is now packed to the hilt after all the publicity.

In between the dances, we chat and laugh.

‘Are you OK now, Asha.’ Bonnie subconsciously pats her own stomach as Cath nudges her in the ribs.

‘Look, you may as well all know.’ Asha throws out her hands.

‘I am pregnant, but I must swear you all to secrecy. You have to promise you will not breathe a word to anyone. Not until I have told Ma and Baba. It is a good job I am wearing a sari for the wedding as I can wrap it looser so no one can tell. I have a few very traditional relatives who would be most shocked to know I even live with Jay let alone that I am expecting.’ Asha is surrounded by empty crisp packets and discarded bottles of sparkling water.

‘How exciting and let’s hope you’ve stopped being sick for your wedding.

’ Bonnie remarks as her phone buzzes. ‘Oh look, it’s Maureen again.

She wants to know what’s going on in Paris.

Apparently, the competition has made the local news.

Yes, really. The report featured Sheila’s costume malfunction, Fay’s broken leg, and what they called fierce rivalry between Bold as Brass and the DECKs.

DECKs? What can they mean? Oh dear, is that what our new name spells?

Goodness, it’s as well that second letter is an ‘e’ and not an ‘i’ or that would spell something much w… ’

‘Bonnie, what planet are you on?’ I shake my head as Bonnie turns back to the text message.

‘Anyway, Maureen says she may need my autograph when we get back. Ha ha. How funny. We could be famous.’

‘Is there any more news about Janine?’ I ask.

Bonnie sends a text to Maureen and reports her immediate reply.

‘Nothing on the TV news but Maureen saw an online bulletin that said it was, in fact, Sharon Young, Janine’s mother, who had died.

Janine has been charged with not reporting a death – is that really a criminal offence?

– but she has been allowed home. Poor girl. What can have happened?’

‘Well, clearly her mother died.’ Cath rolls her eyes to heaven.

‘Oh, you know what I mean.’

‘I think it is very sad her mother pass away and no one else know,’ Ingrida adds.

It is one of the few times Ingrida says anything. She took a call on her phone earlier, taking it into the ladies, and has retreated into herself since.

‘Oh look, Bold as Brass are next.’ Cath points to the screen.

We all stop to watch as Sheila’s women execute the “Roxanne” dance perfectly.

‘Damn. They were good,’ I comment. ‘I always loved that routine. Wonder what the judges thought?’

‘I expect the audience will be disappointed there were no costume disasters this time,’ Cath adds. ‘They must be getting a lot of applause, they’re still bowing and waving. Sheila will be lapping this up.’

Asha’s phone rings and she answers before handing it over to me. ‘Ruby, your son.’

I thank her and take the phone into the corridor as everyone has stopped talking to watch Edith’s group perform the “Fix You” routine.

‘Hi, Will. How are you? I missed your calls. Everything OK?’

‘Yep. Wanted to see if you’d left me money but Grandpa gave me some.’

‘And there’s me worried you’d had an accident. Did you get my messages?’

‘Yep.’

‘Has everything been OK with Grandpa staying?’

‘Yep.’

‘We danced well in the finals. Opened the show.’

‘Sweet.’

‘You’re doing it again.’

‘What?’

‘Talking in monosyllables.’

‘What do you want me to say? The house burnt down? Aliens landed? My biological father turned up to claim his long-lost son…’

My mouth dries up and I start to say, ‘Very funny…’ but it’s a fraction of a second too late and he instantly picks up on the delay.

‘Wait. Hello? I was going to say only kidding, but now I’m guessing that’s, like, a real possibility? I mean, you said…’

‘Will, we can’t talk now. When I get back.’

‘What… Are you for real, Mum? I mean, are you having some kind of mid-life crisis?’

‘What?’

‘Well, first you start seeing Max seriously when you’ve never been serious about any bloke in your life.

And then you and Monica fall out, and you rant on about hating your job.

Then you chuck your mobile in a river. And now you’re going to have a heart-to-heart with me about this anonymous sperm you used… ’

I have to smile. I thought my lad lacked intuition but that’s clearly not the case.

‘You know, Will, maybe I am having a mid-life crisis, but underpinning it is wanting the best for you…’

‘Not now, Mum, I’m off out with James. Catch ya.’

He hangs up and I smile to myself. He’s a good kid, on the whole.

*

At the end of the show, all the dance groups, in full costume, gather on the stage to hear the results. We stand in a large semicircle as we wait. There’s a drum roll as Frédéric steps forward and announces each set of winners.

‘ Mesdames et messieurs. Les résultats de L’Expression Paris. En troisième place, c’est le groupe, ’ – Frédéric leaves a long dramatic pause – ‘Bold as Brass qui a exécuté la danse “Roxanne”. ’