Page 21 of Slow Burn

I arrived at the studio early the next morning, mainly to avoid the chaos the house was in.

Mum and Dad were off on their luxurious-sounding cruise the following day, and there were flung-open suitcases and copious amounts of washing strewn across every surface, and my mum was in one of her agitated moods.

I’d learned over the years that it was best to stay out of her way completely at such times.

It felt good to be back in the familiarity of the studio, where I felt like my normal self again and was instantly reassured that everything was running smoothly, despite it no longer being my only priority.

I did a quick stock take, cashed up from the day before and ran through the bookings for the following week.

The stand-in teachers had done a great job of keeping things ticking over for the last few days, but there were little details that needed straightening out; bits of tidying they either hadn’t noticed needed doing or hadn’t had time to do.

And although I’d been keeping on top of my emails, there were still a plethora of new ones to reply to: enquiries about private lessons, mainly, as well as people wanting to join the waiting list for the kids’ classes.

I’d have a week’s reprieve now that the London performances were about to start – I could work in the studio during the day and head to the theatre for late afternoon, just employing additional teachers for an hour or so at the end of each day if I needed to.

Minutes before I was about to start my first lesson of the day, I got a strange text from Mum, asking when I had a break today because she needed to talk to me. I presumed it was just about the plans for while they were away, but whatever it was, her tone felt off.

I told myself it was probably because she was still in the middle of packing and I punched back a message.

I’ll be free at 12.

My second lesson of the day was with one of my favourite clients, Adrian.

He was a high-flying city banker who had always wanted to learn the waltz, and he’d come up with a plan to surprise his wife – who was a keen dancer herself – on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

An eager student, Adrian picked up the steps relatively easily, even if his delivery needed a little – okay, a ton of – work.

‘That was brilliant, Adrian. Your best yet,’ I said, running over to turn off the music.

Adrian beamed at me, sweat dripping down his face. He’d definitely got fitter since we’d been having our lessons, and apparently he’d dropped two whole collar sizes.

‘I’ve got the best teacher. How could I not improve?’ he said, taking a tissue out of his trouser pocket and wiping his face with it. ‘Right, I’d better get back to my desk before anyone notices I’ve taken a two-hour lunch,’ he said, grimacing.

I laughed. He worked from home a couple of days a week, which, apparently, had revolutionized his life. He now had no qualms about slacking off for an hour or two during the day – and if he made up the time and still got the job done, who cared?

I thought, perhaps recently, I’d come to the same conclusion myself.

I’d always felt like I needed to be involved in every aspect of the studio, making it my business to check and double-check everybody else’s work, because it was my responsibility to make sure everything was running smoothly.

But since performing had come back into my life, and I’d been sneaking off myself when I needed to, I’d realized that I didn’t need to micro-manage everything.

The other teachers had coped perfectly well without me and, sure, there might be the odd dirty mug littered around the place, and the bins might not have been emptied for a couple of days, but nothing terrible had happened.

The studio hadn’t fallen apart without me.

‘Let’s book your next session in,’ I said, heading for the reception desk and my computer. ‘Not long until your anniversary party!’

‘Don’t!’ said Adrian, leaning on the counter while I checked my diary. ‘I’m beginning to think this was all a really bad idea.’

I gave him a scolding look. ‘Your wife is going to be blown away when she sees what you can do. It’s just nerves getting the better of you. I one-hundred-percent believe you can pull this off and make your wife’s jaw drop in amazement.’

‘God, I hope so,’ said Adrian.

Behind him, the door opened and I looked up, surprised to see several members of my family piling into the studio – Mum, Dad and a pissed-off-looking Sedi.

Strange. I really hoped they weren’t planning to stay long because Gabriele was coming at one, and I needed them all to be out of here before he arrived.

‘Hi, guys,’ I said, wondering if I looked as confused as I felt. I could count the number of times all three of them had been in the studio at the same time on one hand.

I quickly booked Adrian in and told him I’d see him soon.

Mum turned on the charm, as she did so brilliantly, asking him how long he’d been dancing and how wonderful that he wanted to surprise his wife.

Adrian seemed enamoured with her on the spot, just like everyone was when she was at her most sociable.

I only hoped this indicated she was in a good mood – Mum’s bad ones were not to be messed with.

The bell above the door jangled as Adrian left and I came out from behind the desk. Sedi was already slumped in one of the armchairs looking fed up. Mum was casting her eagle eye over the studio, no doubt ensuring that I was keeping the place clean enough for her exceptionally high standards.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see all of you,’ I said, glancing at Dad.

If they were so stressed about packing, had they both needed to come? Maybe they just wanted to run through arrangements for when they were away on the cruise. Perhaps Sedi had volunteered to help out after all. I glanced at her – she didn’t exactly look happy to be here, so that seemed unlikely.

‘We’re hoping you can explain this,’ said Mum, standing right in front of me with an angry expression replacing the warm one she’d given Adrian a few seconds ago.

She passed her phone to me ominously. I looked down at the screen and my stomach dropped. Fuck. It was a message from her Italian friend, Lucia, who ran a high-end dancewear boutique in St John’s Wood.

Is this your daughter?! You didn’t tell us she was dancing with Gabriele Riccitelli!

Accompanying the message was a screenshot of a piece in the Metro , announcing Slow Burn and mentioning my name as well as Gabriele’s.

It wasn’t even a review – and stupidly I hadn’t even considered that my name might be mentioned in the papers before press night.

And I knew there wasn’t much crossover with the commercial dance world or the New York ballet scene, so I’d assumed Slow Burn wouldn’t be on my sisters’ radars, either.

This was my fault for not telling them sooner; I’d had plenty of opportunities.

I supposed this was what you got for avoiding difficult conversations.

Now I’d found myself in a situation that was going to be far more confrontational than it would have been if I’d been straight with them from the beginning.

‘Looks like you’ve been lying to us for months,’ said Sedi, sulkily.

‘Lying?’ I said, looking up in her direction. ‘What have I been lying about, exactly?’

‘About being in a show!’ hissed Mum. ‘What, did you audition for it? When did you get cast? A long time ago, I presume. Why didn’t you tell us?’

I could hardly get a word in edgeways with everyone screeching at me, could I?

‘We’re very disappointed in you,’ said Dad.

‘We trusted you to run this business to the best of your ability, but instead you have been going off and leaving it in the hands of – well, who , exactly? Whoever it was, they could have done anything. Taken anything. Now I’m going to have to go through the accounts to make sure there’s no money missing. ’

‘Wouldn’t it have been a good idea to look at the books anyway? Before you go away?’ I suggested, rather unwisely and a tad more snippily than I’d intended.

Dad gave me a look – I rarely talked back to him, but I was feeling cornered and maybe they did need to hear a few home truths about themselves, while we were at it.

He was a self-proclaimed financial director, but he hadn’t even noticed that there were three extra staff members on the payroll this month.

‘Anyway, I did try to tell you all at lunch the other day, but as usual, none of you would listen,’ I said, feeling anger swirl in my stomach, a sensation I usually tried my best to avoid. ‘And not one of you followed up with me about it afterwards.’

Mum tutted. ‘You’ve ruined our cruise. How can we go now, with the mess you’ve left us in?’

I groaned out loud.

‘Mum, you’re totally overreacting.’

‘Do not tell me I am overreacting! This is the business your father and I have slogged our guts out over for years. And you come in and you… you…’

‘ Run it for you?’ I said, knowing this would tip her over the edge, but not letting that stop me. If Mum thought she’d been heading up this business single-handedly, she was seriously deluded.

‘How dare you?!’ said Mum.

‘You’ve got some cheek,’ said Sedi.

Sedi . I’d have thought she’d have my back no matter what. So much for sisters sticking together.

‘How come you’re so wound up about all of this, anyway?’ I asked, turning on her, not getting it. She’d be off around the world soon anyway – why did she care what happened to the studio as long as she didn’t have to do anything with it?

‘No reason,’ she said, giving me a shady look.

‘I told Sedi that if you are incapable of running the studio, she will have to step in and do it for you,’ declared Mum.

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.

‘Mum, there’s no way Sedi is going to do that. Sure, it would be nice for her to help out more. But run it? Never. Anyway, teaching cover is all sorted.’

‘So you don’t think me capable?’ Sedi demanded to know.