Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams (25 page)

‘You will cop tonight,’ was Mandy’s prediction as she jammed a final set of fake lashes onto my eyelids.

‘Thanks Mandy,’ I coughed as she ‘finished me off’ with a truckload of hairspray. I just hoped there weren’t any candles or smokers within a twenty mile radius of me – one sniff of a naked flame and I’d go up like bonfire night.

‘No prob, Laura.’ Then she leaned in, ‘Just a bit of advice, take those eyelashes off before you snog anyone or get really pissed,’ she said this with a serious face and a wink, like she was imparting a long-hidden beauty secret.

‘Er... thanks, I will.’

Then I climbed into that scarlet gown. I caught myself in the mirror and realised with a jolt that I looked like the dancers in the gypsy caves. I might have been Spanish with my long, dark hair coiled up, adorned with a scarlet flower. My body looked shapely but slim and my scarlet lips and loop earrings added even more drama. I loved myself, and as we heard our names called to say we were on next, I walked trance-like to the dance floor – I was Lola, and even though my eyebrows throbbed and my heart was beating so hard I thought it might leap from my chest – I felt amazing. I was still in a trance-like state as Tony led me out onto the floor. I was taut with nerves and scared that Mum was in the audience and worried how she’d feel seeing me dance for the first time. I hoped she would love me in her never-worn dress.

I stood on the floor, light facets from the glitterball shining in my face, Tony holding my hand, he was trembling and so was I. Then the music started and despite Tony going into our opening positions, I couldn’t move, I was stiff with nerves and worry and all the old fears were flooding back, clouding my head and my feet. My upper lip was dripping in sweat and I really thought I was going to be sick.

Then a sound like rolling thunder, feet stomping on the ground, applause and Tony in my ear; ‘Lola... you can do this. Just dance like nobody’s watching.’

I felt the throb coming from the darkness, beyond the sea outside, and the gypsy in me awoke – ‘Come on Lola, it’s show time.’

And we danced to the tears of the flamenco guitar telling stories of lost love, hot nights and all the pain and joy of being human.

I danced for Mum and Dad, for everything they’d been through, the joy of their love and the pain of their loss. I danced for the brother I never knew, the fun we never had, the bond we never shared. And as the flamenco guitar spilled my tears onto the dance floor, I mourned for the true love I’d never found, the bride I would never be, but the joy of being a mother, of being loved and finally loving myself.

At the final stomp, Tony was on his knees at my feet looking up, we had both danced the dance of our lives and all I could think was, I want to do it again. The music stopped, we both stood in our final positions like a tableau, the dust particles rising like tiny stars, the glitterball refracting light through the ballroom and the deep silence. I looked ahead, I couldn’t look at Tony, I didn’t know what to do next. We kept our pose, my scarlet dress ruffling around me, my heart beating out of my chest.

I glanced over my shoulder, smiling at the audience now on their feet clapping, whistling, shouting, and I spotted, at the back of the ballroom, an elderly lady and gentleman dancing to the closing strains of the flamenco guitar. Mum and Mr Roberts. Tony had seen them too and began clapping and shouting, ‘Mags, you go girl!’ All eyes turned to watch them and when she wiggled her bottom, clicked her fingers, stomped her feet and shouted ‘Olé,’ I wanted to weep. I felt so sad for the lost years, the grief that had overwhelmed us and stopped us both from dancing, from sharing something special to losing ourselves – and finding ourselves again. The whole room was clapping along with their dance and my feisty mother was dancing flamenco, just as she and Dad had dreamed of doing so many years ago.

I thought the roof would come off the building. The roars of approval, the screams of expectation and delight were so loud I couldn’t believe how many people must be there shouting for ‘more, more, more.’ As the stomping flamenco feet in the audience got louder and louder, I looked at Tony.

He stepped forward, I could see this had really taken it out of him.

‘Can someone turn the lights up,’ he said out into the black abyss and within seconds the house lights were on and we could see our audience.

‘I want to thank my partner... Laura. In the past year she has learned to dance, and in August she headed out to Granada in Spain where she learned the Flamenco. She left the UK as an ordinary woman with an extra ordinary talent – and she returned with Flamenco in her blood and a fiery gypsy girl in her steps... I give you Lola!’

He handed me the mic, started to clap me and walked away, the audience followed suit, roaring and stomping. Tears sprung to my eyes and I smiled and nodded, I was standing in front of hundreds of people and they were clapping me... us. I dragged Tony back and waited for the audience to fall into silence.

‘Thank you all so much, I can’t believe all that clapping was just for me!’ I started, and everyone laughed. ‘I may have learned Flamenco in Spain, but Tony was the one who started my journey,’ I said looking at him seriously. ‘He is the most talented dancer, teacher and partner - when I say ‘I can’t,’ Tony always tells me I can,’ and in doing so he has freed Lola...’ I looked at him; ‘thank you from the depths of her fiery heart.’ He smiled at me, and unable to make a quip or a comedy remark was unable to hide the tears in his eyes. I turned from Tony to look out at the audience where I knew Mum would be; ‘I’d like to also say a special thank you, to the woman I watched dancing through my childhood, the dancer who glided across this ballroom, under this glitterball,’ I looked up at the twinkly orb. ‘This is the woman who gave me the gift of the dance. Thank you Mum.’ I clapped my mum and the audience clapped her and the nice lighting man shone a spotlight on her and she stood up and did a few little steps and took a great, big sweeping bow.

‘Love you Mum,’ I shouted and enunciated from the stage and amazingly she seemed to have heard, ‘Love you too, Laura... encore!’

With this, the crowd roared again and Tony and I stepped up to give them one last dance. He pushed me forward, ‘This one’s just you – go girl,’ and he left me alone and headed off into the audience. ‘Keep the lights up,’ he shouted. ‘In Granada everyone dances Flamenco together... so get on your feet.’ I looked out helplessly, trying to see Tony, to make him come back and dance with me, and when I saw him I gestured with my hand for him to return to the floor. But he shook his head, several people got to their feet and I stood alone, for the first time without Tony, wondering if I could do this on my own in front of so many people.

Then the guitar started, and I felt the rhythm in my chest, moving up through my body, filling my veins with duende. The passion rose in me like a huge, crashing wave and I raised both my arms and started to dance. And I was suddenly on the kitchen table dancing, I was holding my mother’s hands in that first foxtrot in the living room. And I was riding the Big Dipper, next to my dad, the night before he danced his last dance on this floor. Then I was in the gypsy caves in Granada, dancing under the moon and stars. And despite there being hundreds of people around – it was just me and the dance. Like no one was watching.

At the end, I stood proud, arms in the air, I had given everything and was exhausted, but still holding my pose. I did that final, solo flamenco for me, proving to myself how independent, strong, and beautiful I could be on my own. And I hoped with all my heart that in the audience there might be a woman like I used to be – a supermarket checkout girl of a certain age, who thought it was too late to change her life, until tonight.

And I looked out into the darkness, lit by a sea of faces, and saw my mother, tiny, frail, tears running down her cheeks. And there in Blackpool Winter Gardens, home of international ballroom dancing where my world had once stopped – I knew my life had begun again.

L
ater that night
, exhausted and happy I lay in bed going over and over the night, like the steps of a dance, each moment charged with emotion – some good, some bad. Dancing with Tony had been a revelation. From that first moment he took me in his arms on that cold evening, he’d made me feel like that little girl again, dancing in Mum’s too big, strappy shoes with my dad. I’d step forward, feeling like a princess and he’d place one arm on my back, the other holding my hand in the air and he would lead. It was the perfect moment crystallised in my mind and my heart – it had always been there pulling me through bad days and offering me a glimmer of light at the end of a dark tunnel. It’s what I’d been searching for all my life, the safety and happiness of that moment. And I’d never found it, until now.

I had found what I needed in dance, in the applause, the emotional challenge and the satisfaction – and me. I also had Tony, who was in some ways my soul mate and the man I’d been looking for all my life.

The following day I told Tony, I wanted him to know how important he was to me and what an impact he’d made on my life.

‘Aah, you’ve made me go all teary,’ he sighed, putting his arm round me. ‘I feel the same way, but don’t get any ideas... I’m still not coming over to the dark side, Lola, let’s keep things firmly above the waist.’

T
he Monday morning
after the festival was pure hell. It had been bad enough going back to the checkout and the chatter after two weeks in Spain, but after that Saturday night in Blackpool it was almost impossible. Arriving back at work, I was greeted in the staff room by cheers, so many of my friends had watched me online. ‘Who’d have thought you could move like that? At your age?’ One of the younger team members remarked.

‘Yeah you’re no spring chicken, but bloody hell, you can move,’ Security Mike added, he was never one to mince his words.

But once the congratulations and speculations about my age (just forty-five) and weight (none of your business!) had been aired, it was time to take my position on my checkout. It felt like such an anti-climax and I sat there all morning in a daze. My head was still in Blackpool, my feet were dancing flamenco and I couldn’t go back to this. But what choice did I have?

At lunchtime I put a gloopy, neon-orange ready meal in the canteen microwave and ate it dreaming of tapas and a crisp Rioja overlooking the Alhambra. Then I wallowed in the sheer joy of the previous Saturday night, hearing the applause, mentally taking my bows... seeing Mum’s face, glowing with pride. The sound of clapping morphed into something else and I realised my phone was buzzing, so I abandoned the gloopy lunch and answered it.

‘Lola... I’ve been trying to reach you...’ It was Tony.

‘Oh I’m sorry. I had my phone off, I’m at work, it’s not allowed at the checkout. I was going to call you later, I’ve had a hell of a morning.’

‘Me too.’

‘Oh are you okay?’ he sounded out of breath.

‘Yeah... you have to come to the dance centre, you should see the...’

At that point another call came through.

‘Oh Tony, hang on I have to answer it – it’s Sophie.’

‘Mum? What the hell is going on?’

‘Oh... Oh God, I haven’t sexted Carl again have I?’ Earlier Carole had texted me a photo of David Beckham with no top on and I’d texted back; ‘Oh what I’d give for half an hour with that firm taut body – naked!’ Carole and Carl began with C – I went cold... once was a mistake, but twice would be creepy.

‘Mum, you’re all over the internet.’

‘But it was Carole’s photo, honestly, I wasn’t asking for half an hour with Carl’s naked body.’

‘Mum, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’m not sure I want to, but what
I’m
talking about is you, on YouTube doing the flamenco. Mum, it’s wild... I had no idea. You are fabulous.’

‘You Tube? Me? I’ll have to get off, Sophie, I’ll call you back... Oh – you’re okay, aren’t you?’

‘There are a couple of masked gunmen here threatening me, but other than that and the man-eating leopards I’m fine.’

‘Good, glad you’re okay.’

I got straight back on to Tony.

‘YouTube?’ I shouted.

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ he shouted back. ‘It’s gone crazy out there... Lola. The queue for tonight’s class is going round the bloody corner. That’s why I’ve been trying to call you.’

‘That’s wonderful, but I don’t understand how I’m even on YouTube?’

‘Well, you know those students who I asked to video us? They uploaded it and we’ve already had 300,00 hits since it went on at lunchtime. You’re being hailed as the sizzling senorita from Brum... no one can believe you’re not Spanish. And the fact you’re in your forties has just blown everyone’s mind. You’ve gone viral, my love,’ he squealed.

‘Wow. I’ve never been viral before... hey, and what’s the big deal that someone in their forties is dancing?’

‘Well, you are very old,’ he laughed, ‘but it’s not that you’re just dancing... you’re phenomenal, Lola. Anyway, stop fishing for compliments, you vain bitch, and get ready for your close-up. The local paper have called me to ask for photos and a video for the website, the
Daily Mail
want to feature you in an article about “the middle-aged Mum from the midlands”, and... oh yes, “This Morning” are doing a “glamorous granny” special and want you in the studio trussed up in frills and eyeliner on Thursday at eight a.m.’

‘But I’m not a granny!’

‘Who cares... it’s national TV coverage, I’d tell them you are a vampire if it means getting that kind of exposure. I feel like your bloody agent. Ha, and the best bit...everyone thinks I’m your young lover,’ he added. ‘At this rate I’ll be running classes every day,’ he said. ‘Lola... I’m not messing about. I’m giving up the day job.’

‘Wow... really?’

‘You’ll have to give up Bilton’s too, our bloody dream of dancing for a living just came true.’

‘Oh... well, it’s not quite that simple... perhaps we need to see...’

And he put the phone down on me. I was a bit surprised, but then today was turning into a day of surprises. I checked the time, shit, I was late back on my checkout, so I ran down the stairs and sprinted across the shop floor.

I’d only been at my checkout for a few minutes when there was a commotion in the queue, someone was trying to push in. I looked beyond the grumpy faces, the shouts of abuse and the grappling hands (no one likes a queue jumper at the checkout) to see Tony.

‘What are you doing? If Julie sees you I’ll be...’

‘Sacked? Good, because there’s a job waiting. I have queues forming to take my dance class and I need you, now.’

‘Tony I can’t... perhaps in a few months when...’

‘Oh here we go again. Tomorrow, next week, in a few months...’ he was shouting. The queue was silent, everyone was transfixed by the drama unfolding. ‘I can’t do this without you... well I could, but it wouldn’t be half as much fun, and besides, you’re the pull. Women all want what you’ve got, don’t you laydeez?’ he addressed my stunned customers. ‘You and I can make this work... we can do personal appearances, dance performances and teach classes. This is your longed-for escape from the checkout, not many people get this, it’s once in a lifetime, babe.’

‘Go with him, love,’ someone shouted from the back of the queue, assuming it was a marriage proposal. ‘Say yes!’ shouted an old lady clutching a basket full of cat food.

Tony stuck his thumb up in agreement. ‘You see, everyone wants to see you escape, do it. Buried alive... that’s what you’ll be if you stay.’

‘You don’t get it, Tony. Dancing is everything, but in order to dance I have to work. If I gave up my job tomorrow to help you with classes and do the odd show, I wouldn’t be able to pay my mortgage. I’m not like you – I have a daughter to consider.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘There you go again, putting someone else before your own needs... or using them as an excuse perhaps?’ he was leaning on the checkout, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised.

‘She’s not “someone else”, she’s my child.’

‘Yes a twenty-four-year-old child who is doing mighty fine standing on her own two feet. She doesn’t need you at the school gate any more, Laura – so stop using her and your mother as an excuse for not taking risks. I know it’s not been easy, love, but now you have a choice, because neither of them are relying on you – guess what, they got up and out and left you behind... so start moving. I want us to start our own dance school,’ he said. ‘I have some money and... shit, I handed my notice in about three hours ago.’

‘Oh God, Tony, are you sure you did the right thing?’

‘I’ve never been more sure. It’s what I always wanted and if I don’t do it now...’

‘Go on, put him out of his misery...’ someone piped up.

‘Marry him, just say yes so we can get served,’ another voice yelled.

Tony and I laughed to each other, and with that he stepped to the side of my checkout and opened it up with a bow. ‘Remember that scene in an Officer and a Gentleman where Richard Gere carries Debra Winger out of that factory to a better life?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Watch me.’ With that, he stepped behind the checkout and with a gentlemanly flourish and to the delight of the queue, he scooped me up in his arms. I tried to protest but I was laughing too much, and as he carried me through Bilton’s towards the exit, I stopped trying to resist. Everyone was looking, my queue was clapping and shouting, which seemed to have a ripple effect as we walked through and the rest of the store became aware of what was happening – like a Mexican wave through Bilton’s people started cheering and stamping their feet. I waved to an open-mouthed Julie as we swept past Electricals, Carole was eating doughnuts in Baked Goods and she stopped eating to shout, ‘Go Lola!’ And I felt my heart somewhere in my throat, I was shaking with fear and excitement about what I was about to do. And I swear somewhere I heard the sound of ‘Love lift us up where we belong’, as I was taken away from one life to another... the one I’d always wanted.

L
ater that night
I turned on my computer and watched the YouTube video of me that everyone was talking about. Then I saw myself, and I could almost understand what all the fuss was about – I was a good dancer, I really looked the part too in Mum’s red dress.

I thought about how proud and amazed my dad would have been if he’d seen me dance. Lack of money, time, geography and freedom all pile up, burying our dreams until they die with us. But I still had Sophie’s wedding money sitting in my bank... I’d wanted it for a rainy day, but who wants to stand in the rain? I had a dancing school to run and a life to live.

Okay so if I used the money to put towards opening the school, I wouldn’t have any savings, no nest egg to fall back on. I’d be living like my sad – and who knows, I may die like my dad, on the dance floor, under that glitterball... but better that way than on the checkout at Bilton’s.