A Step In Time (12 page)

I preened, just a tiny bit.

‘But you’re right about the steps,’ she said. ‘You seem to have a lot of trouble remembering what to do with your arms and legs.’

‘It’s doing different things with them I find tricky,’ I said. ‘All that opposite arm and leg stuff. It feels so wrong.’

Cora laughed.

‘Walk up to the window and back again,’ she said.

I wrinkled my nose up.

‘Walk?’ I said. ‘Just walk?’

‘Just walk,’ Cora said. ‘Go on.’

Feeling a bit silly I walked over the window, then back to Cora.

She nodded in satisfaction.

‘Now do it again, and tell me what you’re doing with your arms and legs.’

I walked again, realising I was swinging the opposite arm to the leg I was stepping on.’

‘Oh, my God,’ I said in delight. ‘It’s like walking.’

Cora grinned.

‘See?’ she said. ‘It’s not all that complicated.’

She came over to me and took my hands. I wasn’t tall, but she was tiny. I could see the top of her scalp, showing through her fine white hair. Her hands were lined, but her nails were painted bright coral pink and she wore an enormous diamond ring on her middle finger. Her ring finger was bare.

‘I think that what you’re doing is a mixture of not thinking enough, and thinking too much,’ she said.

‘Well, that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever,’ I said.

Cora chuckled.

‘When you’re playing a scene, are you thinking about it as Amy or are you thinking like … what’s your character’s name?’

‘Betsy,’ I said.

‘Betsy,’ Cora said. ‘When you’re saying those lines, are you thinking about what you’re going to have for dinner, or what you’re going to wear to a party?’

I chewed my lip thoughtfully, trying to remember.

‘I’m thinking as Betsy,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t be able to do it if I was thinking as Amy being Betsy. I’d forget what I was meant to say next …’

‘That’s what you need to do when you’re dancing,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you thinking about anything other than the steps.’

‘I don’t,’ I said.

She raised her eyebrows.

‘Really?’

‘Well, I try,’ I said.

‘Trust me, Amy,’ she said. ‘You need to think about the steps and only the steps. Then you’ll be a dancer.’

‘Okay,’ I said doubtfully. ‘I’ll try.’

‘Don’t try,’ Cora said. ‘I’m not interested in trying. Just dance. Put that music on again and show me.’

Chapter Twenty-One

I danced all morning. Cora made me go over the same bits again and again. She made me shout the steps out while I was dancing so I couldn’t think about anything else. She made me sit down and listen to the music and say the steps aloud at the right time, and then stand up and dance them, too. By midday I was exhausted but exhilarated – I felt like I’d actually achieved something – and I was slightly disappointed when Cora said that was enough for the day.

‘Really?’ I said. ‘But we’ve only done the first bit of the dance.’

‘I’m going for lunch and then to play bridge with some friends,’ Cora said, giving me a wink. ‘We don’t play much bridge, I must be honest. In fact, I’ve never quite grasped the rules. But we have a good chat and a few drinks.’

‘Sounds like Phil’s book club,’ I said, gathering up my phone and speakers. ‘I once had to go and rescue him from some very odd club in Soho where he’d somehow ended up after a heated discussion about
The Hunger Games
.’

I turned to Cora and spontaneously kissed her on her soft, lined cheek.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

She waved me off as though it was nothing.

‘Let’s catch up again over the weekend,’ she said.

I felt slightly out of sorts as I went back to my flat through Cora’s garden and my little yard. Like I’d been reset or recharged. My mind seemed clear for the first time since I’d gone down the steps into that club and seen Matty kissing Kayleigh. It was like a fog had lifted.

It was still really warm and I was sweating after all that dancing. I was fit – I went to the gym a lot and I ran whenever I got a chance – but dancing was using muscles I wasn’t used to using.

I downed a glass of water, then poured another and stood in the open-plan kitchen looking round the flat. It didn’t really look like home.

‘I need to sort this out,’ I said to myself. I wiped my sweaty brow. ‘After a shower.’

I showered and pulled on some denim shorts, a bright-pink strappy top and some Havaianas; then, clad in my sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat, I picked up my bag and headed out to explore Clapham.

Which was very nice, actually. There were all sorts of interesting little shops, nice delis, cool bars, and a health food cafe where I stopped for an amazing lunch of the nicest Greek salad I’d tasted, outside of Greece. It was really the first time I’d eaten properly since everything happened. I always completely lost my appetite when I was stressed. But I’d found I was suddenly starving hungry. I even bought some food to make dinner. I’d not even turned on the cooker in my flat so far, surviving on mostly bananas with black coffee and the occasional cup of tea.

In a brilliant bric-a-brac shop, under a railway arch, I found a framed drawing of a flamenco dancer. Her head was turned away and she had a flower in her dark hair. Her skirt was full of ruffles and it was flying up as she moved to show her feet, which were just a blur. On a whim, I decided to buy it.

‘She looks a bit like you,’ the man behind the counter said, as he wrapped it up in brown paper for me. ‘Can you dance like that?’

I laughed.

‘I wish,’ I said, handing over my cash. ‘Maybe one day.’

Back home, I spent the afternoon happily arranging my flat. I unpacked all my shopping, arranged my (meagre) possessions in my bedroom and the living room, and propped my flamenco picture on the mantelpiece because obviously I didn’t have a hammer, or a drill, or any of the other things you needed to put up a picture. I grilled some chicken for dinner and ate it with salad and houmous – it was so hot I couldn’t bear to eat anything else, really – while I was watching old clips of
Strictly Stars Dancing
on YouTube and – would you believe – taking notes.

Later in the evening, I heard Cora moving about upstairs, so I grabbed a cold bottle of rose wine from the fridge and went to see her. She was in her kitchen, bustling about, and she smiled widely when she saw me knocking on her open back door.

‘Amy,’ she said in delight. ‘Come in.’

‘I brought you this,’ I said. ‘To say thank you for my dance lesson today.’

‘There is no need for thanks,’ Cora said. ‘Teaching dancing is my great joy. But I will accept this wine on condition you stay and drink it with me.’

‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘Aren’t you tired after your bridge session?’

‘It was fairly restrained today,’ Cora said. ‘My friend Hazel has her son and his family staying so she had to leave early, and then we were a player short.’

‘In that case, I’d love to,’ I said. ‘Shall we sit outside? It’s still so warm.’

We sat at the table in the garden. The air was muggy and the sky was beginning to darken as though a storm was brewing, but for now it was still warm enough to enjoy the evening.

I told Cora about the picture I’d found, and how I’d spent the day.

‘It’s so strange,’ I said. ‘I feel like spending the morning with you has recharged my batteries.’ I took a swig of wine and narrowed my eyes at her. ‘Are you a witch?’

Cora laughed.

‘It’s not me who’s made you feel better,’ she said. ‘It’s dancing.’

I was sceptical.

‘You think?’

‘I know,’ Cora said. ‘My friend Audrey and I always said we could dance away our misery. It never fails.’

‘That makes no sense,’ I said.

‘Oh, it does.’ Cora looked serious. ‘I’ve done quite a lot of reading about it and I taught some dance therapy classes for a while. It’s a bit like meditation, or what I believe they call mindfulness nowadays.’

I raised my eyebrows, still unconvinced, but Cora went on.

‘When you dance you have to concentrate completely on what you’re doing,’ she said. ‘You learned that today. So it takes you out of yourself. Gives you a rest from your misery and lets you heal.’

I nodded slowly. This was beginning to make sense.

‘Does it work for other things apart from misery?’ I said, refilling our glasses. ‘Like failure and humiliation.’

‘Trust me,’ Cora said. ‘It works for everything.’

She gave me a sly glance.

‘You youngsters thing you’ve got the monopoly on heartbreak,’ she said. ‘But you didn’t invent it. Believe me, I know a few things about humiliation and broken hearts.’

She looked distant for a moment and I reached over the table and took her hand.

‘What happened to you?’ I asked. ‘Did you lose someone?’

Cora smiled weakly.

‘It was a very long time ago,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you all the sorry details one day.’

‘Was it in the war?’ I asked, trying to work out how old Cora would have been back then.

‘Another time,’ Cora said. ‘So tell me, have you heard from that ex-boyfriend of yours?’

I gave up. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

‘I’ve not heard anything,’ I said. ‘But I’m okay about that.’

‘You don’t want him back?’

I shook my head.

‘No, I really don’t think I do,’ I said. ‘ He was cheating on me for months and everyone knew about it. And he knew I was on my way to meet him that night so why did he choose that moment to start snogging a starlet? I can’t help wondering if he set the whole thing up just for publicity, which is horrible but the sort of thing he would do. To be honest, I’m exhausted by this whole celebrity thing …’

I paused.

‘Patrick thinks I’m shallow and superficial,’ I said.

Cora shrugged.

‘Just because you like to look nice it doesn’t mean you’re shallow,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have to stop wearing make-up to ensure people take you seriously.’

I grinned.

‘That’s exactly what I think,’ I said. ‘Still smarts a bit that he thinks that of me, though.’

Cora eyed me thoughtfully.

‘It’s very important to get along with your dance partner,’ she said. ‘We need to work on that, too.’

‘Good luck with that,’ I said. ‘He hates me.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain battering against my bedroom window and my phone buzzing frantically on the bedside table.

I felt for it in the half-light and groaned when I saw Babs on the screen.

‘Morning,’ I growled. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s nine o’clock,’ Babs trilled. ‘And I want to know what you’re playing at? No press attention, my arse.

I sat up, suddenly wide-awake and filled with dread.

‘What?’ I said. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Get your iPad, look at the
PostOnline
and call me back,’ Babs said.

‘Babs …’ I began, but she’d hung up.

Feeling sick – and regretting the last glass of wine I’d had with Cora before I finally headed to bed at midnight – I slid out of bed and padded into the lounge to find my iPad. The
PostOnline
was bookmarked but the homepage was a story about benefit cheats. I sat on the sofa, balanced my iPad on my knee and phoned Babs.

‘What?’ I demanded when she answered.

‘Top story, TV and showbiz,’ she said.

I hit the tab at the top with my forefinger and waited for the page to load.

‘Got it?’ said Babs.

‘Got it,’ I said, looking as my face filled the screen. It was a photo of me coming out of the junk shop in Clapham the day before. I was clutching my brown-paper-wrapped parcel under one arm, grinning like a loon, and squinting slightly in the sun. My sunglasses – my trusty disguise – were propped on top of my head, and my hat – trusty disguise number two – was in my hand. It had been dark inside the shop and I’d had to take them off to see properly. More fool me for not putting them back on before I went back out onto the street.

But, I thought, looking at the picture critically. I didn’t look bad. My legs were long, smooth and brown in my denim shorts. My arms were toned. My hair was a bit messy but hardly a disaster. And I was smiling.

‘Moving on,’ the article read. ‘Shamed soap star Amy Lavender showed she was moving on with her life after being dumped by her boyfriend, reality TV star Matty Hall. Fresh-faced Amy, who’s currently rehearsing for the new series of
Strictly Stars Dancing
, was spotted showing off her lean pins in tiny Daisy Duke shorts as she shopped for furniture in an antiques store in South London …’

I was a bit annoyed that I hadn’t seen anyone taking a photo – and that the press were still interested in me – but I had to admit, as showbiz gossip went, it wasn’t all bad. I said as much to Babs.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘You look amazing. Gorgeous. Happy. Healthy. We should make the most of this.’

‘We should?’

‘I’m wondering if this might make Matty want you back,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘If he sees you looking fabulous, not missing him at all, it might make him see what he’s lost.’

‘Babs,’ I said, in a warning tone, which she completely ignored.

‘It was clever of you to be photographed like this. Like you’re over him already.’

‘I’m not over him,’ I said, sulkily. ‘At least, I’m not over the humiliation of it all. I just wanted to go shopping.’

‘ Well, whatever you wanted, it could be the thing that gets Matty back,’ Babs said.

‘I don’t know if I want him back.’

‘I think you’re better together,’ Babs said. ‘You’re a brand. Like the Beckhams.’

‘What if I don’t want to be a brand?’ I said. ‘What if I just want to be an actress?’

But Babs was on a roll now.

‘There’s a film premiere tonight,’ she said. ‘. Lots of celebs and I’m told Matty and his crew are all going.’

‘So?’ I said.

‘So you’re going, too. I want us to capitalise on this attention.’

‘Oh, Babs,’ I whined. ‘It’s raining. And I don’t want the attention. And I really don’t want to see Matty.

‘You need to get out and about if you want casting directors to remember you,’ she said. ‘This dancing thing won’t last for ever, and you’ll be auditioning again soon. I need people to see you, Amy.’