The Ballroom Class (9 page)

Katie and Jo Fielding had met at antenatal class, had an illicit cappuccino afterwards, and been good mates from then on. Hannah and Molly were both nearly five, and Jo’s baby, Rowan, was a few months older than Jack. But whereas Katie had gone back to work soon after Jack arrived, Greg’s well-paid IT consultancy meant that Jo could afford to pack in her job at the estate agency and be a full-time mum. As it was, Ross now saw more of Jo than Katie did, with playgroups and school runs, but she looked forward to their rushed lunches and Friday nights. She always got a laugh with Jo.

Katie could have done without the hostess duties that Friday, with her new project starting to stack up overtime, but the chance to get some friendly adult company was something she’d move mountains for.

‘Sorry I’m so behind with dinner,’ she apologised for the third time, struggling to get the elastic band off the chicken’s scaly legs so she could ram some lemon up its cavity. A hugely expensive, organic unwaxed lemon, purchased eight minutes previously from the nearest cornershop. ‘Ross used the last lemon to make pancakes for madam – Hannah’s a vegetarian now, apparently – but he didn’t tell me until I’d got in from work and started preparing the food,
after
I’d cleaned up the pancake mess, so I had to rush out again while he was bathing them and—’

Jo put a hand on Katie’s arm. ‘Katie. Calm down. There’s no rush.’ She topped up the wine glass next to the chopping board. ‘The kids are in bed, the wine’s on the table, the husbands are talking about  . . . something, and there’s no babysitter to run home at midnight. I don’t want you to get wound up about supper – I don’t
care
what time it’s done. You and I are going to have a glass of wine and
relax
.’

Katie gave the lemon a final cross thrust and banged the chicken in the tin.

‘Or do I have to put something in your drink?’ asked Jo. ‘I will. I’ve got some Medised in my handbag, you know.’

Katie managed a wry smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said, running her hands under the tap. ‘It’s just work. I’ve been moved onto a big new project, town regeneration? It’s going to be good for me, but every time I leave the office for ten minutes, they seem to arrange another meeting.’

‘Leave the office in the office,’ said Jo, firmly. ‘You’re at home. With your friends, and your husband.’

Katie took a large mouthful of wine. ‘Oh God,’ she said, staring helplessly at the chicken, lying in the tin with its legs splayed lasciviously, as if it was about to have a smear test. ‘Where’s the elastic band to tie it back up again? And I forgot to weigh it. How long would you give that? Roughly?’

‘Here,’ said Jo, handing her the bottle of wine, as she searched through the jumbled kitchen drawers for string. ‘Let me.’

The string would find Jo, thought Katie. She was like that these days: a domesticity magnet. Jo was one of those women who made complete sense as a domestic goddess, but without ever making a big deal about it. She didn’t need to. Everything about motherhood seemed to suit her. Jo hadn’t lost her baby weight after Rowan, despite promising to come with Katie to the Yummy Mummy Bums and Tummy class at the sports centre, but she actually looked better than she had done in her skinny, suited, estate agent days. Now she wore lots of flowing skirts and soft smocks, and had the sort of hips that babies fitted onto instinctively, moulding themselves into her cosy shape. Jo exuded good sense and kindness like a chocolatey perfume, and was completely oblivious to how attractive it made her. There was something about her you just wanted to touch.

Katie’s stomach was flatter but she still envied Jo. Keeping two steps ahead of Eddie Harding had helped her squeeze back into her old suits, but she knew she looked about five years older these days as a result.

‘Now, you said, when you went back to work, that you weren’t going to let it drive you mad,’ Jo reminded her. ‘Ah, there’s the string, excellent!’

Katie hesitated, then sighed apologetically. ‘It’s not work, so much as  . . .’ She stopped herself, not wanting to let her negativity spoil the evening. ‘I suppose it’s feeling autumn starting to set in. I really felt it parking the car just now. It’s bloody cold out there.’

As she spoke, a gust of wind whipped around the house, rustling leaves across the little yard and flicking the first drops of rain against the window. The long Indian summer had finally finished, and now the crispness of autumn bit into the air.

‘I
love
this time of year,’ said Jo, pushing back her long curly brown hair into a clip to keep it out of her round face while she ground pepper and sprinkled salt on the chicken. A few curls escaped, and she tucked them behind her ear absent-mindedly. ‘You can wrap up warm, so no one can see your spare tyre, there’s always an excuse for hot chocolate, and Molly’s happy to play in the leaves for
hours
.’

‘Yeah, but you want to try doing site inspections when it’s lashing with rain,’ said Katie. ‘Sorry! Sorry. OK, I’ve stopped now. No more work.’

She took another sip of wine. With the chicken ready for the oven and still no sound from the kids upstairs, she felt softness begin to creep around her edges.

‘I love your kitchen,’ said Jo, unexpectedly. ‘It’s so homely and warm.’

‘Are you insane?’ Katie boggled her eyes. Ross was supposed to have blitzed the house before the Fieldings came round, but as usual he’d spent the afternoon making everything even more chaotic, dressing up with Hannah. ‘Do you not
see
grime? Or bodged DIY?’

‘Seriously, Katie, Greg took the kids’ potato prints off the fridge. He said it would ruin the finish. Ruin the finish! With a cleaner three times a week!’

Katie didn’t think that was anything to complain about, compared with Ross’s constantly broken promises about housework – Greg had, after all, paid for the total refit of the kitchen – but she smiled anyway.

Jo bent down to put the chicken in the oven, and when she stood up her face was serious.

‘But listen, while we’re in here on our own,’ she said, ‘what’s going on? How are things with you and Ross? I thought there was a bit of an atmosphere when we arrived.’ She gave Katie a concerned look, searching her guarded expression for clues. ‘It’s not just about the lemon, is it?’

‘Yes. And no.’ Katie struggled. ‘The lemon is just  . . . typical.’

‘Come on, tell me. I’m not stupid, I can see there’s something wrong between the two of you.’

She looked up at Jo’s open, caring face, and suddenly felt an overwhelming need to get rid of the guilt and misery and resentment that had built up inside her, week after week. Katie’s mum wasn’t the sort of woman who encouraged unburdening, to or from her daughter; Katie couldn’t ring her now to confess, even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t. More than that, telling someone there were problems would make it official.

‘You’re allowed not to be perfect,’ Jo added. ‘None of us is.’

Her tone was so close to the comforting, practical one Peter the counsellor used that something in Katie broke.

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Things aren’t great right now. I mean, we’re not actually fighting or anything, and there’s no way I’d do that in front of the kids, but  . . .’

‘Get it off your chest,’ said Jo.

So Katie told her, a thinned-down, abridged version of how Ross’s martyred, asexual dependency was driving her mad. She didn’t mean to go as far as telling her about the counselling sessions, but somehow, on the tide of confession, it all slipped out, and as she spoke a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders at the same time as a new depression hit her.

‘. . .  And I’m mean to him because I’m tired, but I’m tired because I work a full day in the office, then come home and have to put the washing on, because Ross only remembers to wash the kids’ stuff, and make some supper, because he’d just have cereal if it was up to him, and make sure the phone doesn’t get cut off, because the bill’s not been paid on time because
he
doesn’t pay bills – he doesn’t have time. He doesn’t care about making
me
happy, just the children. And I really, really miss the kids.’ Katie topped up her own wine glass. ‘I miss Jack. I miss putting him to bed. I don’t get to see him do new things, I just
hear
about them. Ross gets to look after the children, and I get to look after Ross. Which wasn’t the deal.’

‘I know,’ said Jo, sympathetically. ‘You both sound under so much pressure. But you and Ross are a
great
couple. You really work with each other.’

‘So everyone says.’ Katie stared blankly out of the window towards the swing in the garden.
Everyone
didn’t have to live with Ross – the whiny, needy, selfish husband, not the ‘everyone’s mate’ Dad-of-Hannah-and-Jack. She shook herself. ‘Anyway. We’ve started ballroom dancing classes – homework, by the counsellor – so never let it be said I didn’t try.’

‘And did you enjoy it?’ asked Jo.

‘If I’m honest?’

‘Katie, when are you
not
brutally honest? Well, did you?’

‘Not really.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, I suppose I wanted Ross to sweep me off my feet, and for everything to be magically made better, but  . . .’ She smiled wryly, though she didn’t feel there was much to smile about. ‘We’re rubbish at dancing, Jo. Ross kept stamping on my toes, I kept pulling him around, apparently, and the teacher’s got it in for me, I swear to you. She loved Ross, of course. He gave her his “my wife pushes me about” look, and she couldn’t do enough for him.’

Jo ignored that. ‘But you’re going again?’

‘Yes, we’re signed up for the full course.’ Katie pretended to look horrified. ‘If we don’t kill each other first. I mean, we weren’t the worst ones there, thank God, but Ross is hopeless at leading. I don’t think he really enjoyed it much.’

‘No, he loved it!’ insisted Jo. ‘He said he had a great time, and you and he had a bit of a laugh afterwards. I think he— What?’

Katie stared at her, an unexplained feeling spreading through her stomach. Resentment that Ross now spoke to Jo more often than she did? Annoyance that Ross was lying? ‘How do you know?’

‘Oh, he just mentioned it when I saw him at playgroup yesterday,’ said Jo. ‘And before you say anything, I didn’t bring it up –
he
did. Now, he wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t quite enjoyed it, would he?’

‘Did he say why we’d gone?’

Jo shook her head, dislodging another springy curl. ‘Not at all. He just said it had been a fun evening.’

‘Jo, will you do me a favour?’ pleaded Katie. ‘Will you and Greg come next week? For moral support?’

‘Course we will!’ She smiled and Katie felt a bit warmer inside. Then Jo’s forehead creased. ‘I’ll definitely come – and I’ll tell Greg, but he’s working away from home a lot at the moment, so I’m not entirely sure what time he’ll be back. He was away in Birmingham two nights this week.’ She brightened up with an effort. ‘But yes, count us in.’

Katie privately thought Greg’s business success wasn’t something for Jo to be getting stressy about. He supported them all, played tennis regularly, and wore proper shirts with cufflinks and ties that he could loosen sexily at the end of the day. Katie could forgive a few late nights for all that.

‘Well, when there’s just one of you working you never feel like you
can
stop chasing up business,’ said Katie. ‘It won’t be because he doesn’t
want
to spend time with the three of you. It’ll be because he wants to make sure you can go to Disneyland again in the spring. You do have the best holidays, you lot.’

‘I know. I know,’ said Jo. ‘Shouldn’t complain! Anyway, dancing. Yes. We’ll be there next week.’

‘You have to wear something suitably glitzy “to get you in the mood”,’ said Katie. ‘And be prepared for some very personal observations about the size of your feet.’

‘Really?’ Jo looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure I’ve got much that’s not maternity wear. I’ll have to go shopping. Want to come? How about tomorrow?’

‘Can’t,’ said Katie, with a rueful twitch of her mouth. ‘I told Hannah I’d take her to that indoor playground that’s opening in Stratton tomorrow. I’ve promised.’

Katie made a lot of promises to Hannah, to make up for not being there for spontaneous treats. Keeping them took every spare ounce of effort and time, but she was determined.

‘Sunday, then?’

‘Jo, I just don’t think I’ve got time,’ she sighed. ‘It’s like I said, work’s mad. I’ve got to fit in some paperwork this weekend too, along with getting the shopping in, and I get so little mum time as it is.’

Jo thought hard. ‘Hmm. Well, how about we all go to the shopping village on Sunday morning – Ross can do the big shop with the kids, because I
know
Hannah loves supermarkets, and you and I can whiz off to the outlet mall? Then we can go for milkshakes while Ross gets an hour or two off to himself? Come on, we can kill three birds with one stone – you can get Hannah and Ross’s birthday presents, something for you to wear, plus we can sort out their surprise at the same time?’ Jo grinned. ‘Multi-tasking!’

Katie put down her wine glass and squeezed her eyes. The birthday surprise: a trip to Center Parks during half-term, so Hannah could swim and Ross could  . . . do something that didn’t involve looking after the kids. Trail biking. Nothing, even. That’s what had been at the back of her mind today. ‘I haven’t even thought about that yet.’