Page 14 of Take the Lead

T here are approximately five seconds of peace between the moment I wake up and the moment I remember the horror of the previous evening. I lurch out of bed and reach for my phone to check if Merle has been in touch yet. He hasn’t.

I finally force myself to read some of the messages that are piling up from friends, family, some of my old work colleagues and even uni friends I haven’t heard from for months.

The early ones are all congratulatory, but they soon adopt more of a shocked tone, with a few questioning whether what they’re reading is true and others checking if I’m all right.

I’d optimistically allowed myself to think that maybe my parents might not have heard anything about it seeing as they’re down in France, but a message from my sister puts paid to that idea.

‘ Um, we were just googling you to see if you’re famous yet and we didn’t get quite what we were expecting. Mum’s on her third glass of wine. Call me? ’

Oh God, oh God, oh God. I’m going to need more than three glasses before I’m ready to have that conversation.

I scroll to the Fire Dancers chat and open it, dreading what the others might have written – and breathe a sigh of relief when I see there’s no judgement from them.

‘ Ha ha, no wonder you came out on top last night. ’ This is from Tammy. ‘ That’s one way to get the heat into your dancing. ’

‘ Woo! Go, girl! ’ Beth has added. ‘ I can’t believe you didn’t tell us, you sly devil. ’

‘ Yeah, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops. He’s lush! ’ Tammy has replied. ‘ I’m going to have to up my game next week to compete with that. ’

‘ Oh yes, I didn’t even think of that ,’ Beth says. ‘ Unfair advantage alert! Has it been going on all week? I can’t believe you kept it to yourself. ’

A little later she’s written, ‘ Hey, are you ignoring us? ’

‘ Yeah, let us know you’re okay ,’ Tammy has added. ‘ Saw the news this morning. What an arse. ’

I switch to the news feed and the trending story makes my heart sink. My prayers that a major world event would have grabbed everyone’s attention and pushed me into obscurity have not been answered, and the headline of the number one story is “ Dance Cheat Shown Door by Devastated Wife ”.

So it’s true. He really does have a wife.

My heart pounds as I open the link. I’m confronted by a picture of Merle looking all brooding in front of an elegant Georgian townhouse.

He looks like a model in a photoshoot with his perfect hair, stylish clothes and leather holdall by his feet.

There’s also a picture of his wife, whose name is apparently Sofiya.

She’s wearing big sunglasses that hide half her face but she’s a similar build to me, just with light blonde hair rather than red.

Despite the piece firmly suggesting Sofiya has kicked him out of their marital home, Merle is quoted as saying, “ My wife and I have decided to take a bit of time away from each other, but we’re going to work through this.

I’ve made a terrible mistake, but I love my wife very much and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to her so we can be the team we’ve always been.

We’re not going to let one silly mistake ruin everything. ”

His words cut through me like a knife. A silly mistake? If it was such a mistake why did he keep coming back for more?

A flash of rage courses through me. That this man, who’s seen every inch of my naked body, who’s touched me and kissed me everywhere and let me believe there was plenty more of that to come, has been married the whole time. The whole time! No wonder he always had to rush off after training.

And just as quickly I’m back to thinking how stupid I’ve been, and fretting about what people are going to think of me now.

Someone that gorgeous? Of course he wouldn’t be single.

So how did I not see this coming? I’ll probably be branded an idiot or an evil homewrecker.

Possibly both. It makes me want to never leave the flat again.

My misery deepens when an email marked urgent pops up from Shane Mitchell at Channel 6, summoning me for a crisis talk tomorrow morning. It feels like I’m being hit by blow after blow.

I drag myself out of bed to go and find Lucy in the kitchen. ‘They want me in at Channel 6 first thing tomorrow,’ I tell her. ‘I guess they’re going to drop me from the show after all.’

‘Do you really think they’d do that?’

‘Haven’t you seen the news this morning?’ I hand her my phone.

‘Oh,’ she says, sinking into the chair opposite mine as she skims the article. ‘So it was true. Bugger. But you didn’t know, so you haven’t done anything wrong. If anything, it’s Merle they should be getting rid of, right?’

If only.

‘I’d be much easier to replace than he would,’ I sigh. ‘The stupid thing is, I didn’t want to do the show in the first place, but now I think they’re going to get rid of me, I don’t want to go. Not like this, anyway.’

I’d just started feeling like I was getting my mojo back after weeks of despondency. I don’t want to say goodbye to it now.

I start welling up again and Lucy reaches over to give my hand a comforting squeeze. ‘Have you heard from Merle yet?’ she asks, her voice full of sympathy.

I shake my head and look away, determined not to cry.

‘I’m sorry, Kate. I feel like it’s all my fault for getting you into this in the first place.’

‘Don’t be daft – you couldn’t have predicted this would come out of it.’

‘I’m still sorry though,’ she sighs.

‘I just wish I knew who took those bloody photos.’ I cross my arms and stare out of the window. ‘I’d bloody kill them. All I can think about is all the people who … they’ll be looking at my face when they’re talking to me, but it’s those pictures they’ll really be seeing. It makes me feel ill.’

‘You don’t have to deal with it today,’ she soothes. ‘We can just chill out here and I’ll get Aiden to bring a takeaway over later, if you like.’

‘Yeah, that’d be good.’ I offer up a weak smile. ‘Thank you, Luce.’

‘I know it feels really shitty right now, but you will move past this,’ she says gently.

I so want her to be right, but right now I can’t share her conviction. How does anyone get over something like this?

‘And if you are cut from the show tomorrow, at least you won’t have to deal with everyone there,’ she adds, in a sweet attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Every cloud, and all that.’

After that, she allows me to wallow. We spend the rest of the day curled up on opposite ends of the sofa watching films. Or sitting in front of films, I should say – they definitely don’t have my full attention.

My mind keeps drifting to those online stories, the email from Shane and that image of Merle’s wife.

I know I should hate Merle, but my heart also aches when I think about how differently things could have worked out.

It’s the first time since Ed that I’ve been excited about someone, that I’ve opened myself up to the idea of getting close to someone again.

I hadn’t even realised how much I wanted that.

Or how hard I’d been avoiding it since Ed, so I couldn’t get hurt again.

I can’t believe I’ve managed to get it so wrong again.

Why couldn’t Merle just have been one of the good guys? Like Aiden, who, bless him, arrives early with not just pizzas, but wine, chocolate and ice cream, too – everything a girl needs for this kind of crisis. And he doesn’t bat an eyelid about the fact that I haven’t even bothered getting dressed.

My mind is still turning everything over on repeat when I finally crawl back under my duvet. Did Merle really not give me a single clue he was married in the whole week we spent together? Was it really such a surprise that someone as attractive as him had been snapped up already?

But I wasn’t looking for it, so I didn’t see it coming. I was too dazzled by the fact that someone as hot as him was actually into me and busy daydreaming about all the amazing things we could do together. Even if all we actually did together was rehearse and have sex.

I find myself wondering if sex will ever be that good again – whether there’s anyone out there who’ll be able to make me feel like he did, but who’d be there for me in all the other ways too.

And if that man does exist, will I ever find him?

Or will he run a mile when he realises I’m that girl in the pictures on the bloody internet?

I push my hands into my hair and dig my fingers into my scalp, hoping that massaging it might stop my mind racing, but I can’t stop wondering how long it will be before the world forgets about those photos. How I wish I could turn back the clock and start the last seven days again.