Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams (13 page)

‘Do you like my dress?’ I asked, refusing to let her negativity affect me and stopping her elaborating further on my ‘curviness’.

‘Yes it’s very nice, you look lovely,’ she said, looking up from Kate Middleton and suddenly smiling.

I was taken aback, even when pushed, it wasn’t like Mum to compliment me – I must have looked quite good.

As I’d lost a little weight, I’d bought a new dress. I hadn’t even admitted it to myself, but I’d bought it with Cameron in mind. I’d seen new photos of him on Facebook at yet another party and he looked good. So I bought the pink and blue floral dress which showed off my emerging waistline but wasn’t too low cut or too short. I liked it so much and I planned to ask Tony to take a picture of me wearing it so I could casually post it on Facebook in the hope Cameron might see it.

So given that Mum was smiling when she saw me in my dress, I reckoned she was in a good mood and I decided it might be a good time to mention Dad’s letter. There would never be a good time to confront my mum about secrets in her marriage, so I had decided just to go for it. After a cup of tea and some polite small talk, I broached it, easing in gently: ‘Mum... when I emptied your attic I found some lovely dresses.’

‘Oh good – I’m glad you found them. They were beautiful, very expensive at the time.’

I was relieved, this was a good start, in the past Mum would have shut me down at the mere mention of dancing dresses.

‘Yes – I found other stuff too Mum... memories, one or two things of Dad’s... a letter.’

‘What did you say love? You’re feeling better?’

‘No Mum – a letter, I found a letter in the attic, from Dad.’ I shouted, knowing she sometimes used her deafness to avoid having difficult conversations. And this seemed to be one of those occasions.

‘Do you remember Dad sending you a letter?’ I asked loudly.

She looked up at me and for a second I thought she might give me an answer; . ‘Oh... oh you’re wearing your glasses,’ she put her hand to her mouth like I was wearing a Halloween mask.

‘Yes – I always wear glasses, I have done for years.’

‘Oh but not with that lovely dress... you’re spoiling it. You should get some of those nice blue eyes like Janice.’

I gave up on the letter. There was no point, whenever I tried to talk to her about the past she just shut me down with a veiled insult or pretended she was deaf. Janice was my slim and pretty cousin who also happened to be a bank manager, married to a surgeon. Just hearing the name ‘Janice’ made me feel fat, ugly, poor and unsuccessfully single.

‘Okay, I’ll get nice blue eyes, a good job and a husband just like Janice’s if you wear a hearing aid.’

‘Lemonade?’

‘Yes, Mother – lemonade,’ I sighed, defeatedly adjusting my glasses.

I only ever took them off for dancing and Tony said I looked so much better without them, he said I was Lola without my glasses. Perhaps Mum had a point and I should think about wearing contact lenses - ‘nice blue eyes’ like Janice?

We were so very different, Mum and I. She’d always been a free spirit in her own way, living a life on the road with Dad, never imposing rules on herself or others. And now I wondered what else she’d been doing, what other rules might she have broken in her marriage? And would she ever reveal the truth? I remember when she was younger catching the admiring glances from men other than my father. Thinking about Dad’s letter made me realise it would have been easy for a woman like Mum to have an affair. Perhaps she craved the attention? Perhaps Dad was busy at work and didn’t have the time or energy for her? She’d always been pretty high maintenance.

I on the other hand wasn’t high maintenance because I was the overweight, uptight daughter. It occurred to me that despite my caring and being there for her, ultimately I had just been another disappointment in Mum’s life.

‘Cheryl Cole takes her mother to all her awards ceremonies,’ she was saying. ‘Took her on holiday to a five star hotel in the Maldives, she did.’

‘Well, when I next win an international award for singing and stay in a five star hotel in the Maldives I’ll be sure to take you with me,’ I said. Christ it was hard enough competing with cousin Janice, now I had bloody Cheryl Cole or Hernandez Versini to live up to. Perhaps I should just get a massive rose tattooed on my arse and be done with it.

O
ne evening
when we were in the dance centre, training, another class came in and started watching us. Tony seemed to feed off the audience and the more they clapped, the more experimental he became. He was a showman, but I hated an audience and I could feel myself stiffen as more people gathered around. When (at my insistence) we stopped for a bottle of water, I could see my usually patient mentor was irritated. ‘What’s wrong with you Laura, you’re all over the place.’ Addressing me as Laura was a sign of how annoyed he was.

‘Tony I can’t... not with everyone looking at me.’

‘You CAN. You’ve stood at the side of the dance floor all your life like a bloody wallflower, just watching everyone else dance past you – now it’s your turn girl, so get off your arse and out there. Pretend we’re alone, just you and me and the stars... dance like nobody’s watching.’

I’d heard the phrase before, and hadn’t really thought about it – but now it spoke to me.

We went back and danced some more, and with everyone gathered round, Tony ‘threw’ me to the floor. Then he ‘dragged’ me along, which was as much of a surprise to me as the ‘audience’, but within seconds I was with him, we were organic, and I just knew what he was trying to achieve and went with it. Then as he lifted me, I held out my arms like a bird, sure of myself, confident my body and my mind could take me anywhere I wanted to go. And in my head we were alone in a huge, empty ballroom, just me, Tony and the glitterball. A sea of shiny floor, an ocean of music – and nobody watching.

‘That was more like it,’ he said later as we got changed. ‘You’ve cracked the technical aspect, that’s the easy bit – now you have to perform, Lola!’

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant – I thought I’d been ‘performing’ on the dance floor for months. But pretending no one was watching had helped me through the fear of facing an audience, worrying what they thought of me.

I’d finally realised it didn’t matter what people thought about my dancing, it didn’t matter if I won a competition or lost it – what mattered was it made me happy. And what made me happy was my daughter, my dancing and my dreams.

That evening, Sophie called me to tell me she and Carl were extending their visas.

‘I’m happy that you’re so happy you want to stay,’ I said, surprised at my own reaction. This news would have sent me into paroxysms of grief and worry six months before. But now I had my own, much bigger life, and I was able to let Sophie go, encourage her to chase her dreams and not see death and danger round every corner.

‘Oh Mum I was worried about telling you. Thanks for being so understanding.’

‘It’s great that you’re having such a good time... you needed this opportunity to move on, love,’ I said.

I could see her nodding on the screen.

‘And what about you, Mum? Anything happened with that old boyfriend?’

‘No,’ I said, feeling a little foolish... I’m sure she thought I should be sleeping with him by now.

‘Oh Mum, why don’t you just go for it? What are you doing messing about on Facebook when you could be with him for real? Why not arrange a meeting, nothing too heavy, just a few drinks or... whatever?’

‘It’s okay as it is,’ I said, though I wasn’t convinced.

‘Well... what exactly is it?’

‘Old friends... just chatting.’

‘Well that sext you sent to Carl was more than just friends chatting... you can’t fool me, I know it was meant for your old boyfriend. I can’t believe you haven’t gone any further and tried to get together. Mum, you need to be a bit more... random.’

I went slightly pink at the mention of my sext mistakenly sent to Carl, but she had a point. I was all about courage and confidence these days, so why wasn’t I applying it to my non-existent love life? Yes I had the dancing, but wouldn’t it be even more exciting now to add a bit of romance, sex even? After all Tony had been telling me for ages that all I needed was a hot night with a passionate man...or a passionate night with a hot man. I’d take either.

I came off the phone with mixed feelings, but after a couple of glasses of wine and a need to impress my daughter with my ‘randomness’ (whatever that was), I called Cameron on his mobile. We’d never gone beyond texting, so this felt like a big move, escalating our online intimacy into something real. My mouth was dry as I held the phone to my face – which was hot.

I heard the phone click and jumped in straightaway before I chickened out: ‘Hi... it’s me...’ I started, then his answer phone kicked in. I was so nervous but the wine had given me more courage than perhaps was wise.

‘What about we stop this texting thing and actually get together?’ I said. ‘We could meet up and have a few drinks and a laugh? I understand if you’d rather not, but it might be nice to meet up after all this time?’

I waited and waited but he didn’t call back, so I went to bed with the phone under my pillow just in case.

T
he next day
I told Carole what I’d done and she raised her eyebrows over the large, cold pork chop she was eating.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I just think it’s time to say “yes”, to stop making excuses... and like Sophie said, it can’t go on forever just texting and talking on Facebook.’

‘I suppose you’re right...’

‘Along with the Paso Doble, I think about him all the time.’

‘I think about food all the time,’ she said, tossing the pork chop bone back onto her empty plate like Henry VIII.

‘Atkins?’ I asked.

‘Yeah... I had high hopes for this, Mary in Home Electricals lost 3 stone, but there’s only so much red meat a woman can take. I found myself in the kitchen at three o’clock this morning with my mouth around a huge piece of rare steak, blood dripping everywhere – it’s all getting a bit “Rosemary’s Baby”. Imagine if one of the kids had walked in on me alone in the dark ripping at flesh like a deranged caveman? It doesn’t bear thinking about. Nothing else for it, I’ll have to come off the Atkins – I mean, the human body can’t live without carbs... it’s... it’s
inhuman
.’

‘Cake?’ I said, knowing where this was going and getting up to go to the counter.

‘Yeah... okay, I’ll keep you company with a slice of cake. Chocolate fudge,’ she said calling after me, ‘with thick cream... God knows I need the calcium.’

L
ater that day
I received a text from Cameron. ‘Meeting up sounds good, but I work in the evening (he was an accountant, he probably took work home) so it’s difficult to go out at night.’

I was disappointed, but I understood. ‘It’s ok,’ I texted. ‘I work nights too – perhaps you could come to my house after work one evening? It doesn’t matter if it’s late. It’s not like I don’t know you – unless you’re a serial killer accountant now?’

‘Ha ha, yes, that sounds good.’

‘Tomorrow night?’ I texted, feeling very daring and... random. Wait until I tell Sophie about this.

‘Yes. Tomorrow is good.’

I was delighted, his immediate response was a good sign so I texted my address and he said he would be over about ten after he’d finished work. Then I sat back and thought about the possibility of actually meeting him, what we’d say, what he’d think of me now – and I wanted to text back and say ‘forget it.’ I was so nervous, but at the same time glad Lola had kicked in somewhere and I’d found the courage to ask him to meet – and that he’d said yes. He’d obviously just been waiting for me to make the first move. Now I had to start planning tomorrow evening, my outfit, the setting and Oh god the lighting – after almost thirty years I would need very dim lighting.

T
he following evening
I planned to leave dance training slightly earlier than usual so I could get ready for Cameron. He’d only seen photos of me, and they were only the ones where I looked good and not like me at all – so I had to make an effort so he wasn’t disappointed when he saw me in the flesh.

As always I’d been lost in the dance, stayed longer than I meant to and came straight out of a vigorous Paso Doble and screamed when I realised the time. Not one to be outdone by drama, Tony screamed too and ushered me out of the door saying, ‘Go... go like the wind to your rampant lover,’ in a very loud voice which caused a few ripples in the waiting ‘Advanced Zumba Class’.

Arriving home at 9.30 I’d left myself only half an hour to get ready and to set the scene. I wanted Cameron to find me attractive, but I also wanted to impress him, to show him I’d grown up and had a successful life since he last saw me. He knew I danced but he also knew I worked at Bilton’s so I wanted to present him with an artsy interior. I didn’t want him to see the home of a supermarket checkout girl, I wanted him to see a woman at one with art, nature and herself. So I tidied the house and put a large piece of driftwood in front of the fire to hide the fact it was ugly and electric - and at the same time to impress on him my oneness with nature. I’d also prepared a small tray of smoked salmon canapés and dipped strawberries in chocolate, which I hoped wouldn’t be too over the top. I would make out like this was my usual snack of choice and nothing special. I’d even bought some scented candles from Homeware and dotted them around the living room. I closed the curtains, lit the candles and took the food and drink out of the fridge, placing it carefully on the coffee table.

I then ran upstairs, two at a time, to slap on make-up and slip into something gorgeous. I wanted his first sight of me after all these years to be one he wouldn’t forget – in a good way. So that day, between finishing work and going to dance training, I’d popped into town and I’d spotted what my mother would call ‘loungewear’, in chocolate silk. They were like posh pyjamas really and I could see myself greeting Cameron in these, thinking they would give just the right message, available, but not in your face.

So there I was in chocolate silk by candlelight, the dipped strawberries and my body, ripe and ready to hand to him on a plate. I put some music on, forgetting that Tony had been round the night before and downloaded Wham, ‘I’m your Man’, which sent me into a panic because that wouldn’t play well with the cava and candlelight. I was going for mature and sophisticated and the lyrics ’If you’re gonna do it do it right - right? Do it with me’ were not going to be my opening number. So I frantically searched through Tony’s gay anthems, ‘YMCA,’ no, It’s Raining Men,’ no, ‘Relax,’ absolutely not - then I found some Dido and was calm again.

I stood for a while, not wanting to crease the silk. It was almost ten and he’d be here any minute so there was no point sitting down. After a few minutes I leaned on the sofa like a mannequin, keeping all my limbs straight, but despite a newly strengthened core I couldn’t last for long in that position. At 10.13 I shifted the ice bucket a little to the left and stood back... at 10.21 I moved the glasses slightly to the right and spread the napkins out like a fan. I took a strawberry and stood back eating it, the bitter sweet fruit meeting the gooey chocolate was a deeply moving experience and I had to stop a moment and take it in. Then I saw it was 10.39 and my heart started to feel heavy and anxious. At 10.53 I arranged everything as it had been before I had moved things. I just wanted everything to be perfect, but it was now 11.01, and he was over an hour late and the cava would be warm and the strawberries would be gone because I was peckish and slightly anxious, not a good combo.

At 11.07 I checked my phone again. Perhaps he’d texted me to say he was running late? But there was nothing. I checked Facebook quickly, hoping he didn’t turn up now to see me through the window, my bespectacled face lit by harsh phone light, screwed up and scrolling his timeline like a crazed stalker. But there were no clues on Facebook so I took another strawberry and rearranged the smoked salmon. It was only nineteen minutes past, he would be here in a minute... or two. At 11.32 as I finished off the last strawberry, I couldn’t shake off the thought that he might not turn up. No, I’d give him a bit longer, he might have been held up at work – and I had all night.

By two a.m. I was tired, fed up and I’d run out of excuses for him. I didn’t text him, what was the point? Perhaps he never intended to come over? Perhaps he just got a cheap thrill out of contacting old girlfriends and making lewd suggestions?

And as I emptied the last of the cava and scoffed the final smoked salmon canapé I faced the fact that he wasn’t coming and that all men ever do is let you down.