Miss Manners (21 page)

‘
What about Susan Boyle?’ I said. ‘Didn’t she do a pretty decent version of the song on
Britain’s Got Talent
?’

‘
I prefer Elaine Paige’s version,’ Eve insisted, walking over to the CD player then switching it on.

Well, I preferred Susan Boyle
’s version. And I’m sure her cat Pebbles did too.

‘
Now, one of the cornerstones of learning to sing is knowing how to breathe correctly and how to control your breathing. And good breathing requires good posture. So, I want you to lie flat on your backs.’

Yes, at last, I can finally get some rest
, I thought to myself excitedly.

‘
Place your hands on your waist,’ Eve continued, ‘fingers pointing towards your belly button. Focus on filling up your stomach from the bottom to the top, taking a slow, deep breath. You should feel your stomach rise and your hands being raised gently up and outward until your chest expands. Now, breathe out slowly to a count of five.’
I didn’t catch the rest of what Eve was saying, because I was daydreaming about Henry. Again. What was wrong with me?
Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them
. That was always my mantra. Now it seemed to be,
Boys are tasty. Spread chocolate all over them
.

T
he luxury of lying down didn’t last very long. Soon enough, we were back up on our feet and attempting vocal exercises.

‘
I want you to remember the following,’ Eve said, drawing squiggles on the whiteboard. ‘One, breathe during natural pauses; two, keep your chin level; three, keep your knees loose; four, keep your head up; five, keep your shoulders sloping and relaxed; six, keep your toes pointed forward with your weight on your heels and soles; seven, keep the front of your neck loose – don’t stretch it; eight, keep abdominal muscles relaxed; nine, keep your back muscles relaxed; ten, avoid lifting your shoulders or puffing out your chest.’ Eve suddenly smiled like the Joker, which I found a little scary. ‘And, finally, relax and smile.’
Once we’d practised each step, Eve turned towards us with what appeared to be a plan.

‘
I think you’re ready to record. I want to hear each of you sing “I Dreamed a Dream” over a backing soundtrack, which I will record then review after each performance.’

Oh, great!
My worst nightmare was about to come true. Singing in front of a room full of people to a song I always see dogs howling to on YouTube. And even worse – listening to myself sing on playback. And the only thing worse than listening to myself sing on playback is the smell of a gorilla’s cage, which always triggers involuntary retching. Believe me, it’s disgusting. If you ever find yourself at London Zoo, make sure you stay well away from the gorilla section.

After each girl howled an agonising rendition of the song, it was finally my turn to rip it apart. This was my moment. Oh, how I understood Martine McCutcheon then.

I took a deep breath, then opened my mouth.

I have never heard the sound a duck makes when it
’s being attacked by a fox, but I imagine it’s similar to the noise I made that day. If it had been a Looney Tunes cartoon, I’m sure the glass would have shattered into smithereens. And in the words of Sylvester the Cat, ‘Sufferin’ succotash!’ I didn’t even do the dogs howling on YouTube justice.

Eve turned to me.
‘Shouting is NOT singing,’ she scolded.

I hadn’t
realised I was shouting. It was a bit like Tara, who’s probably lost some hearing faculties from dancing next to nightclub speakers over the years, on the phone. She always shouts as though she’s standing next to an amp.

‘
You’re singing like you’re shouting at someone across the street who’s breaking into your car,’ Eve announced, gesturing at an invisible car.

‘
I don’t have a car,’ I replied.

Eve raised an eyebrow.
‘Shouting is not singing,’ she repeated.

Okay, so here
’s what I’ve managed to learn today so far:

1)
      
Less is more. Think minimalism not maximisation.

2)
     
Surrealism is not Impressionism.

3)
     
All cows eat grass.

4)
    
Richard Curtis/Molière did not write
Twelfth Night
.

5)
     
Shouting is NOT singing.

23

Two Left Feet

Oh, and here’s another thing I can add to my list:

6)
     
I have two left feet.

After singing class (which probably resulted in Eve having to get a hearing aid), we moved on to dancing. That’s right, dancing.

‘
Duke Newberry, international dance champion and baroque dance teacher, will be teaching us how to dance,’ Brie sing-songed.

‘
Dance!?’ I shrieked, as though I was five and she’d said, ‘Poo.’

The problem is
, I look like a haemorrhaging goat when I dance. Up until about the age of sixteen, I used to do the Bean Jump, which, as the name suggests, consisted of jumping up and down to the music like a jumping bean. Eventually I gave up, realising just how unattractive it was.

Duke, who was a tall, chinless man in his late thirties, sucked his tummy in and looked at me as though I w
ere a rapidly declining share price.

‘
Yes, dance,’ Brie repeated. ‘But, of course, as he is an international dance champion, I shall now hand you over to Duke.’ Brie stretched her face, then exited the room.

‘
Yes, hallo garls,’ Duke chimed, reminding me of Franck Eggelhoffer in
Father of the Bride
. ‘Yes, in keeping with the Venetian theme of tonight’s masquerade ball, we shall be learning how to dance the minuet, yes, which was the most fashionable dance in the late eighteenth
-
century ballroom. It was danced in the baroque, or ‘noble’ style, yes, which was introduced to Britain by Charles II.’

Oh
great, a lesson in the history of dancing. I mean, come on. I couldn’t even dance to ‘Cotton-eyed Joe’, let alone the Minuet.

‘
But, of course,’ Duke continued, ‘as the minuet is a dance that requires two people, yes, you shall need a dance partner.’

A
ll the girls erupted into giggles, as if they’d just inhaled laughing gas. As Brie re-entered the room, she was trailed by a line of twelve chisel-faced, besuited, shiny-teethed guys.

‘
Girls,’ Brie chimed, ‘say hello to your dance partners for tonight. And, of course, for the Miss Manners contest tomorrow. These fine young gentlemen are twelve of London’s most eligible bachelors.’

Pinkie had dated every single one of them (apart from Brian Fairfax, of course), which must
have felt really awkward for her, seeing as she was standing in the same room as eleven of her exes.

I immediately spotted Brian
in the middle of the line; he was staring directly at me as if I were a piece of cooked chicken. So, being the ever graceful socialite that I now was, I sneered at him.

‘
Now, garls, please select your partners,’ Duke ordered.

Oh man, this was
a nightmare. It reminded me of picking teams for sports in school and how my name was always the last to get called out. Except, in this case I wouldn’t have minded because Brian was headed straight towards me. I knew I shouldn’t have sneered at him. Maybe if I had just smiled, he would have gone away.

‘
Hello, delicious,’ he sniffed, which almost brought bile to my mouth. ‘Care to dance?’

‘
No, not really,’ was the answer in my head. But the answer that actually came out was, ‘Do I have a choice?’

Pinkie looked over at me viciously
, as if to say, ‘Keep your hands off my man.’

Obvious
ly Brian was her next conquest, although things didn’t seem to be going according to her plan.

Pinkie was coupled with
her ex-beau, Wentworth Miller, who was Bachelor #10 in her Little Pink Book. Although she’d dumped him, he still seemed to harbour feelings for her. Pinkie didn’t look happy. And when Wentworth attempted to greet her, she sauntered over towards Brian.

‘
Hello, Brian. Care to dance?’ Pinkie asked, pulling an unattractive forced grin that made her look like a constipated OAP with IBS.

‘
No, thank you,’ Brian said, not rising to the bait. ‘I already have a dance partner.’ He then looked at me in a way that made me want to run out of the room. Pinkie narrowed her eyes at me, crossed her arms, then sauntered off sulkily.

I was stuck with Mr I-love-myself-too-much-to-notice-anyone-but-myself. But as far as I was concerned, Pinkie and Brian
were a pretty good match. Both arrogant. Both vain. Both fame-hungry.

‘
Now, the minuet, yes, is a rhythmic baroque dance, with a gentle rising and falling movement in each bar of music, yes, and is in three-quarter time.’ Duke’s hands mimicked the ebb and flow of ocean waves. ‘It’s about symmetry, order and harmony, yes.’

If I hear another
‘Yes’, I’ll scream
, I thought to myself.

‘
As there are more than a hundred different steps to the minuet, I shall be teaching you the most popular version based on eighteenth-century Feuillet notation. Now,’ Duke continued, ‘Step One: face your partner. The man bows to the woman, and the woman curtsies to the man at the same time.’

No way was I about to curtsy to a bigoted, narcissistic player. I curtsy to nobody, not even the Queen.

Duke walked towards me, snivel-nosed and watery-eyed. ‘You are not curtsying. Why are you not curtsying?’

I looked up at Duke, who was hovering over me like some bi
rd of prey. ‘Backache?’ I offered.

‘
Yes,’ Duke said with a disbelieving sniff. ‘Well, let’s hope it’s better by tomorrow, yes?’

Duke stared at me expectantly and I soon realised this wasn
’t a rhetorical question.

I was tempted to say
‘No’, just to break the pattern, but instead ended up saying, ‘Yes.’

‘
Okay,’ Duke continued, twirling around. ‘Now, Step Two: facing forward, the lady places her left hand on the gentleman’s right hand.’

Brian extended his right hand, which I wanted to slap. But, controlling myself, I managed to place a finger on top of his hand.

‘Step Three: using the right foot to start, both partners take small steps, right foot, then left foot, then the right foot again, yes. Point the left toes, then tap them three times.’

All the girls, especially Pinkie, looked dazed and confused. Actually, Pinkie looked extremely disgruntled and
awkward, what with Wentworth attempting to convince her that she’d made a big mistake by dumping him. But Pinkie wasn’t having any of it.

Meanwhile, as this wasn
’t an opportunity to demonstrate my ‘Big Fish Little Fish’ dance, I wiggled like a maggot near Brian, who looked at me as if I were a freshly produced turd.

‘
Step Four: repeat the step sequence in Step Three, three times,’ Duke sing-songed.

Considering how I found this about as easy as shearing a sheep, I was struggling. I could barely remember Step
One, let alone Step Three.

‘
Step Five: face your partner again and curtsy or bow.’

‘
Mmm, what’s that smell?’ Brian sniffed, moving in closer.

‘
It’s called Go Away,’ I replied in disgust.

‘
Gosh, you’re great. You’re such a challenge,’ he said predatorily. ‘Come on, surely you can’t resist my charms for that much longer?’

Instead of curtsying at the end of the dance, I bowed, which, in retrospect, was a
big mistake. Because as soon as I threw my head back, I headbutted Brian in the nose. This made me laugh. I don’t have a ladylike laugh. In fact, my laugh is dirtier than my room.

Brian hopp
ed around in agony, hyperventilating and holding his nose. So I stopped laughing.

Pinkie took this as an opportune moment to saunter over to Brian. Her fawning over Brian was really starting to make me feel queasy.

‘Oh, darling, what’s happened?’ Pinkie consoled, like an over-protective mother. Brian didn’t answer. He simply ran out of the room, trailed closely by Pinkie.

Great, so now I had to dance with Wentworth.

Duke clapped his hands. ‘Girls, we must continue. No time to waste, yes. Now, Step Six: turn in the opposite direction and repeat steps Three, Four and Five.’

‘
Serendipity,’ whispered Wentworth, winking at me sleazily. He reminded me of Pépé le Pew.

Eventually, after a couple of dance numbers, Pinkie and Brian returned from their honeymoon.

‘Okay, back to your original partners, please,’ Duke ordered, signalling towards Pinkie and Brian.

Wentworth trotted merrily towards Pinkie, who looked disgusted, and Brian trudged
begrudgingly towards me. At least now I knew that headbutting a guy was a good deterrent.

‘
Now, for the next part of the dance, you will be alternating between different partners,’ Duke announced.

Or, in Pinkie
’s case, ex-partners. As you can imagine, the next forty-five minutes felt as though I was a heavily wrapped parcel in a game of Pass the Parcel.

‘
And remember, yes,’ Duke continued, ‘the judges will be looking at the musical quality, movement quality, style, leg lines and body lines. So make sure your movement is as fluid as possible, yes. First, let’s look at the change step as you shift from one direction to another.’

As I attempted the change step, I tripped over my feet and, had it not been for my hands sprawled out in front of me, I would have almost certainly landed on my face.

‘Aaah!’ I screamed, because I am a girl and that’s what girls do.

Obviously Brian wasn
’t the gentleman he was made out to be, considering he didn’t bother to help me up. In fact, the cretin thought it was a good idea to laugh along with the rest of the girls. I clenched my bottom furiously.

I couldn
’t wait for the dance lesson to end. Eventually it did, which was a happy time indeed, not least because my feet were killing me.

Brie stood up and clapped for what was probably the final time.
‘Right, well, I’m afraid we’ve come towards the end of our final day here at the academy. But all good things come to an end, as they say. So, I would like to extend a huge thank you to all the teachers today, and, indeed, throughout the week. All the teachers, will, of course, be present at the contest tomorrow evening to aid the judges in their final decisions. So, now, I would like you all to give a huge round of applause for their time. It’s been a great pleasure, really.’

Brie pulled a face usually reserved for a new-born puppy, then lolled her head to one side gratefully. The teachers smiled back, mirroring her facial expressions.

‘And, of course,’ she continued, ‘I have thoroughly enjoyed going on the journey with you. It’s been an unforgettable experience.’ Then, she walked over and handed each of us a folder, marked ‘A Guide to Miss Manners’ on the front cover. ‘I have compiled a booklet for you all summing up the week’s lessons. But, before I let you go, I want you to take a look at the Miss Manners running order on page one of your booklet, which provides you with information on what you will be expected to take part in tomorrow.’

I turned to page
one and stared at what seemed to be a never-ending list.