Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams (24 page)

E
very detail was vivid
, it had been raining and the air was fresh and damp when we arrived at The Winter Gardens in Blackpool on the evening of May 12
^th
1980. The atmosphere was electric, excited chatter competing with Doris Day’s voice singing ‘Perhaps, Perhaps’. We’d been to the competition before, but Mum and Dad had never won anything and finally were in with a chance with their rumba. People had called it ‘show-stopping’, I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it sounded good and I was carried along on the fever of winning. I remember sticking my thumbs up to them both as the dance started and saying a little prayer asking God to let them win as the competing couples flooded onto the dance floor in a wave of colour and glitter. A young couple flew onto the floor, they had such verve and energy – looking back, I imagine it was simply their youth, but I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Despite Mum and Dad being on the floor, I was compelled to watch this couple, and I have wondered so many times since if Dad had waved to me and I hadn’t waved back. The girl was wearing sparkly, fluorescent green like a refreshing splash of Corona limeade, their fire and passion fizzed onto the dance floor. They were called John and Francesca, but I knew Mum didn’t like them – perhaps she was jealous, the new hot talent, taking over when her own star was fading, her passion barely cooled? I’ve always felt guilty because I was so mesmerised by John and Francesca it was a while before I realised something was happening at the other side of the dance floor. By then it was too late – the music stopped and all I remember is hearing the word ‘ambulance’.

Within minutes everyone had stopped dancing. The organisers were calling for all dancers to clear the floor until the entire area was empty except for Mum and Dad. They were directly under the glitterball, Mum was slumped over Dad just like at the end of their dance, but there was panic in her eyes and Dad lay there, motionless. I was ten years old and my greatest fear was my father dying. And here it was, pure horror laid before me surrounded by sequins and spangles under the disco ball.

The shock was so strong, so physical, that I couldn’t move my feet to go to them and the next thing I saw was my dad being lowered onto a stretcher as Mum howled like an animal at his side.

It was a massive heart attack.

A
rriving
at the hallowed portals of The Winter Gardens started my stomach churning. The sight of that big, majestic arched building brought everything back and walking inside I was overcome with memories, ghosts from the past danced through me in ballroom gowns. I tasted the sugary lemonade I always drank while watching Mum and Dad. I particularly loved watching their paso doble. He was her matador, swirling her around the dance floor, she his submissive scarlet cloak. She relied on him, trusted him and with him she moved with such grace and elegance. Their dance partnership was, like their life partnership, based on love, mutual respect and trust. The intensity and happiness of their love revealed every time they danced.

Now it was my turn to dance here, the place where my father took his last steps. I’d often wondered if I should come here to exorcise the ghosts, but I hadn’t been ready until now.

I must have gone very quiet, as Tony took me gently by the elbow and guided me in. ‘Come on, Lola, you can do it,’ he said from the side of his mouth. For all his flamboyance and drama, Tony was astute – he could always sense my mood, my feelings and he treated me with such gentleness.

The entrance hall was busy and I looked up into the dome of the rotunda and lost myself as I had all those years ago. ‘I used to twirl around here until I was dizzy,’ I said to Tony.

‘Mmm that’s nice, dear, but we don’t want you going all dizzy now, do we? It’s okay to do that when you’re five, but at forty-five it looks just a little bit creepy.’

‘I’m forty-four,’ I said.

‘Whatever you say, Lola.’

People were walking quickly, some running, late dancers, I thought, recalling the stress of the last-minute arrivals, my mother’s panicked voice, ‘Do you have the paperwork? Are you sure you locked the car, Ken?’

Music was vibrating through the Victorian stone and I could sense the build-up as we walked into the Empress Ballroom. A cold waft of air greeted me as I went through the doors into the huge, shiny-floored space. I took in the barrel-vaulted ceiling, the ornate balconies and the sheer lavishness of the surroundings. ‘I used to pretend I was a princess and this was where I lived,’ I smiled.

Tony squeezed my arm. ‘You okay – your highness?’

I wasn’t sure, but nodded and put my arm through his as he led me to the dancers’ changing area.

Hearing the music and watching the dancers glide onto the floor made me feel sick. With each step, each rustle of silk, each turn of the head, I was thrust back in time, reliving every moment of my last visit here.

I
n all the
madness and hysteria I was aware of Dad’s body being taken out on a stretcher – I knew he was dead because his face was covered and I’d seen that on TV. He was taken to a local hospital and Mum and I were ferried to the morgue there by taxi – organised by the competition sponsors. It was all such a mess, such a confusing time – I felt like I’d been put in a washing machine and it was just going round and round, I heard sound, saw colours, but none of it made any sense. A post-mortem was carried out (Dad died so suddenly it was apparently a legal requirement) and as Mum couldn’t bear to leave him, the dance organisers put us up in a guest house for a couple of days. Throughout this time Mum lay on her bed holding one of his shirts, reeking of his aftershave and sobbing. Whenever I smell Paco Rabanne I think of that time and it takes me straight back In the weeks after his death. I’d walk into the house and smell the warm, aromatic scent, convinced he’d returned, only to have my hopes dashed every time.

I remember a woman coming to our room to ask if there was anyone she could call for us. Mum couldn’t speak to anyone so it was left to me to answer and I said, ‘No... there’s no-one else... just us, the three musketeers.’ Except now, there were just two musketeers.

I
felt
a tear spring to my eye. ‘I wish my Dad was here,’ I said.

‘Mmm I meant to talk to you about that.’

‘What, my dad being here?’ I said.

‘No love... I’m not Psychic Sally in drag... though I would love that woman’s gift. No, the good news is your mum’s coming. I invited her, she’s bringing her friend. Mandy’s driving them... ’

‘Mum? Driving with Mandy for the dancing... oh no.’

‘I know... but I figured it was worth it for her to see you dance. If Mandy ends up driving into a wall, they’ve had a good life.’

‘I didn’t mean that – I just mean, oh thank you, but I wish you hadn’t told me – I’ll be even more nervous knowing Mum’s out there.’

I was delighted and scared that Mum would be in the audience. In some ways she was my harshest critic in life but she was the woman I wanted most to impress. To make her proud was everything to me. I just hoped that being back here wouldn’t be too distressing for her. It had been the worst night of our lives and I hoped Mum was now strong enough to face the ghosts of our past.

I
was just coming
off the phone to Sophie who’d called to wish me good luck all the way from Chile when Tony announced our stylist’s imminent arrival.

‘Oh just get your arse moving girl, Mandy’s left your mum and her friend in the cafe and she’s on her way backstage ready to transform us. She’s brought three-hundred cans of hairspray, a ton of body glitter and eighty gallons of fake tan. And that’s just for me,’ Tony was saying.

I laughed. Too much. I was very fragile, close to tears, trembling and more scared and nervous than I’d ever been in my life. And now Mandy ‘Guantanamo’ Johnson was here with her beauty ‘weapons’ to waterboard me and my hair before backcombing it into oblivion, turning me orange and slathering me in glitter. I had faced one of the biggest traumas of my life head on and was about to dance in front of hundreds of people for the first time. I felt physically sick with nerves and a pummelling from Mandy would probably just about finish me off.

The festival was due to start mid-afternoon and Tony and I were on the running order at the very end to do the flamenco. Tony was pleased, ‘They’ve given us the finale, Lola, they have high hopes!’

I wished I could share his joy, but I just wanted to vomit. I’d never been so nervous and my only consolation was that if we were last on everyone might have gone home by then.

We stayed backstage and tried to practise in the little spaces we could find, but eventually gave up when Mandy arrived to ‘transform’ us. She was brandishing what looked like surgical equipment and threatening Tony with a ‘manscape’ – my eyes watered at the mere thought.

‘You should have seen me last night,’ was her opening gambit, ‘I was off my tits on Porn Star Martinis.’

‘I hope you’ve sobered up enough to do my brows,’ Tony said, clutching his forehead.

‘Shut up and lie back,’ she commanded, almost mounting him to get at his precious brows.

Within seconds she was on him and had whipped out her weapons of choice from a huge holdall.

After half an hour of screaming, Tony’s brows were done and he was released from Mandy’s grip to go and live his life.

‘Your turn,’ Mandy said coming at me with big tweezers. I don’t remember much after that, I think my body shut down to protect me from the horror. I came round looking like I’d been dropped in a vat of orange dye, everything glittered, and my eye make-up. I worried I’d end up resembling a ‘glittering drag queen’, but as I looked in the mirror, I could see what Tony meant about Mandy’s talent. Her contouring had made my face look younger and slimmer and under ballroom lights I would look pretty damn good. And I thought to myself – how many women my age get to dress up and wear glamorous make-up like this? I’d felt like a child in the dressing-up box – it was the first time I’d ever worn a long dress and the first time I’d ever worn body glitter – and do you know what, it felt fabulous.