A Step In Time (18 page)

Mr Warner’s office was in a Soho side street, close to several theatres, and it was a mess.

‘My secretary left me to go and work in the War Office,’ he told us, apologising for the chaos.

An idea struck me.

‘I can’t dance at the moment, but I could sort this out,’ I said suddenly, looking at the piles of paper balancing on the dusty typewriter in the corner. ‘Let me come and work for you.’

Mr Warner looked dubious, but Audrey, who’d been perching on the side of his desk, leapt to her feet.

‘Cora’s very organised,’ she said. ‘She’s clever and she loves theatre.’

She lowered her voice and leaned towards Mr Warner.

‘War widow,’ she whispered as I pretended not to hear. ‘It’s very sad. She needs the money. You’d be doing a good thing.’

‘What about that?’ Mr Warner said, nodding at my stomach.

Audrey waved her hand as though my baby was a teeny tiny inconvenience that we could deal with much later.

‘It’s fine,’ she said.

‘All right,’ Mr Warner said. ‘Start tomorrow. And Audrey? You need to be at the Vaudeville at five o’clock for your audition. Do not be late.’

And that was it. The war was over and our new lives began.

Chapter Thirty-One

‘So Cora never even tried to find him?’ Patrick said, his brow furrowed. ‘That’s too sad.’

‘Her friend tried.’ I opened a can of Diet Coke and slurped gratefully – autumn was just around the corner now but the rehearsal studio was still too warm. ‘But when she found out he’d gone AWOL, she just gave up.’

Patrick stretched out his legs. We were sitting on the floor in the studio, with our backs against the wall, eating lunch. It wasn’t the most comfortable of spots, I had to admit, though I was sitting on a yoga mat I’d found in a cupboard, which took the edge off the hard floor.

‘Here, sit on some of this,’ I said, shuffling along to give Patrick some room. He shimmied onto the mat gratefully.

‘Oh, that’s better,’ he said. We were very close together now. I could feel the blond hairs on his bare brown legs tickling my skin and the firmness of his muscled thigh against mine. His arm was pressed against my shoulder and I could smell his shampoo. It wasn’t at all unpleasant. In fact, it was a very nice feeling. A very, very nice feeling …

‘I could find out,’ Patrick said.

I blinked at him, feeling myself blush at the thoughts I’d been having two seconds before.

‘Find out what?’ I said, confused. I stood up so I wasn’t touching him any more and gathered up our rubbish.

Patrick grinned at me.

‘Your head’s in the clouds today,’ he said. ‘I could find out if this Donnie went AWOL.’

‘Could you really?’ I said. ‘How on earth would you do that?’

Patrick held his hand out to me and I helped him up, enjoying the grip of his fingers on mine … stop it, Amy, I told myself.

‘I told you I’m a history nerd, right,’ he said. ‘I’ve done quite a lot of research into the war and I know where to look. He was a GI, right?’

‘That’s what Cora says,’ I said. I danced a few steps of our American smooth just to check I was remembering them right.

‘That’s better,’ Patrick said, watching in approval. ‘So if he was a GI and he went AWOL it’ll be recorded somewhere. Right, let’s start from the beginning.’

He went over to the iPod and pressed play. We were dancing to ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ this time and I was loving every minute of the American smooth. I felt like a classical Hollywood star. Cora may not have wanted to watch the DVDs I’d bought, but I’d watched every single one, gobbling them up one after the other. I watched Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Doris Day, then I watched Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn, Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant – I watched them all. Sometimes I watched them on my own and sometimes Patrick joined me, pointing out moves in the dances that we could use and admiring their technique. I watched the acting, realising again how much I loved it and how much I still had to learn.

I didn’t ask Cora to join me, though. Her story had been so upsetting that I didn’t want to rake it all up again. She was obviously still hurt by Donnie’s betrayal, even though seventy years had passed.

‘She said it was the not knowing that hurt her so much,’ I told Patrick later as we walked home. ‘That she had trusted him completely and believed in everything he’d said. She said even if he’d left her a note saying he was leaving she would have felt better.’

‘Closure,’ Patrick said. ‘That would have given her closure.’

‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘I’m not so sure. I knew exactly what Matty meant when he kissed that girl in front of me. And throwing all my clothes out of the window is about as closed as closure can get. Didn’t make it any easier, though.’

‘It would have,’ Patrick pointed out. ‘If this Babs hadn’t stuck her nose in and forced you to open the closure.’

I giggled.

‘Now you’re not making any sense at all,’ I said. But he was right. Matty’s betrayal had been so huge, so absolute, that a definite line had been drawn under our relationship. In real life, I’d have grieved, and then I’d have moved on. But in my crazy, public, dictated-by-Babs life, I’d grieved and then, just when I was starting to feel better, gone back for more humiliation.

Somehow I didn’t want to discuss Matty with Patrick, though.

‘So do you think you can find out if Donnie went AWOL?’ I said. ‘And give Cora some closure?’

‘I can definitely find him,’ Patrick said. ‘I’ve got a feeling the US Army shot deserters, though. So it might not be a happy ending.’

‘I think at this stage it doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘As long as there’s an ending.’

We’d arranged to spend the evening together watching
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
, so Patrick came into the flat with me. While I had a shower, he made dinner. Then he had a shower and we took our plates of Caesar salad, sat on the sofa and ate in companionable silence.

While I put the DVD on, Patrick pulled his laptop out of his bag.

‘I reckon I can make a start on finding him now,’ he said. He connected to my Wi-Fi, jotted down the name Donald Jackson on the back of his hand, and began poring over various websites while I watched the film.

It had been a long day and I was tired. I’d thought I was fit before I started dancing, but training for hours every day was really taking it out of me. On the plus side, though, I’d never looked so toned and lithe. My fellow competitors all said the same – they’d all shed pounds, toned up, and our regular fake-tan sessions made us glow. It was like dancing was the magic ingredient we’d all been looking for to change our lives for the better.

I shifted on the sofa to get more comfortable, my eyes growing heavy. Patrick glanced at me.

‘Come here,’ he said, ‘You look worn out.’

I rested my head on his shoulder and he put his arm around me, arranging himself so he could keep typing. I was warm and safe and – I suddenly realised – happier than I’d been for weeks. Months perhaps. I closed my eyes as Marilyn sang about diamonds being a girl’s best friend.

‘She’s wrong,’ I muttered. ‘Diamonds mean nothing.’

Patrick chuckled.

‘I thought every girl wanted diamonds,’ he said.

‘Not me,’ I said. ‘And not Cora, either. She just wanted Donnie. She didn’t care about being rich or having a fancy wedding. She said all her friends collected their clothing coupons so she could have a dress.’

‘That’s sweet,’ Patrick said.

‘Matty bought me all sorts,’ I said, opening my eyes. ‘Shoes, mostly. But also dresses, jewellery, holidays. Some of it he got for free but it came with conditions. I had this ridiculous watch that he insisted I wore whenever we were likely to be photographed.’

‘Which was every time you went out,’ Patrick said. He’d stopped looking at the laptop and was looking at me instead.

‘Oh, not every time,’ I said, even though it pretty much was. I knew Patrick would think the reality of my life with Matty was shallow and meaningless, and I didn’t want him to know all the details.

‘But he gave me all that stuff and it didn’t mean anything because he was sleeping with other women,’ I carried on. ‘It was like he was decorating a Christmas tree with glittery baubles, but the Christmas tree itself was all dead and dried up.’

‘Whoa, all righty there, Socrates,’ said Patrick, giving me a cheeky grin. ‘That’s a bit deep.’

I laughed.

‘I mean we were playing a part,’ I said. ‘It was just like I was being Betsy at work and Amy Lavender at home, but I never got to be me.’

‘Do you miss her,’ Patrick asked, his blue eyes studying my face so intently, I felt uncomfortable.

‘Betsy?’ I said. ‘I do, actually. I miss her a lot. I liked her, even if she was always in trouble.’

‘Not Betsy,’ Patrick said. ‘Amy Lavender. The old Amy Lavender. The fake Amy Lavender.’

‘Oh, her?’ I said, dismissively. ‘I don’t miss her one tiny bit.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ I was firm. ‘This is me, the real me. And frightening as it is to put myself out there, I think people like me.’

‘I definitely like this one better than the other one,’ Patrick said. He gave me a slow smile that made my stomach flip over. Oh, dear, I thought. Oh, dear.

‘What about the douchebag, though?’ Patrick said, oblivious to all the feelings I was feeling. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be getting back with him?’

I blinked at him.

‘The douchebag,’ he repeated. ‘Matty. Aren’t you supposed to be rekindling that flame?’

‘Ah, I’ll speak to Babs,’ I said, deciding in that second to be more assertive with my agent. ‘We’ll come up with a new plan.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

Babs, however, had plans of her own.

‘Just phoning to wish you good luck for tonight,’ she trilled down the phone as I sat in the make-up chair at
Strictly Stars Dancing
that Saturday night. ‘You’ll be brilliant.’

‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I really don’t want to let Patrick down. He’s worked really hard, and so has Cora.’

Cora had shown real determination as regards making me a dancer. She was in the audience tonight with Natasha. I wanted to make her proud of me and I was determined to dance as well as I could.

I had the most beautiful dress to wear – it was long and backless with a beaded bodice and a super-swishy skirt. I was discovering there were many good things about taking part in
Strictly Stars Dancing
, and the costumes were definitely up there among the best.

‘So it should all work out beautifully,’ Babs was saying. I’d completely missed what it was she was saying.

‘Beautifully,’ I agreed, watching the make-up artist spray-fix glitter to my cheekbones.

Babs laughed.

‘I must say I thought you’d argue,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad you’ve come round to my way of thinking.’

Hold on, what had I just agreed to?

‘Must dash, darling,’ Babs said. ‘Mwah!’

She hung up and I stared at the phone, wondering what she was planning. But then the make-up artist asked me to shut my eyes so she could put my false eyelashes on, and Marianne, the newsreader, started asking me about our dance, and I was caught up in the whirl that was show night on
Strictly Stars Dancing
.

The evening went by so fast, I felt dizzy. Just like last week it was a mixture of adrenaline, nerves, joy – every emotion. This time we were dancing last which was not fun as we had to stand and watch every other competitor doing their thing, feeling our nerves building until they were almost unbearable. But finally it was our turn.

‘Ready?’ Patrick whispered, as the band struck up ‘Fly Me to the Moon. ‘Let’s go.’

The dance went perfectly. I loved every second of it. I was Ginger Rogers, Doris Day and Marilyn Monroe all rolled into one. My heart was pounding and my cheeks were glowing. I was breathless and excited and just having so much fun.

As the dance ended, the audience exploded into applause and lots of them stood up. I was so thrilled I bounced up and down on my toes and Patrick gave me a huge bear hug.

‘Come here,’ said Melissa leading me over to the judges. ‘What a way to finish the show. That was wonderful.’

‘Oh, I loved it, I loved it,’ I said.

‘And you’ve got a special person in the audience tonight, haven’t you, Amy,’ Melissa said.

I beamed at her.

‘I have,’ I said, I turned round, searching for Cora, who I knew was sitting close to the band – I’d seen her when I’d come onto the dance floor and she’d given me a wink. But the presenter took my arm and turned me the other way.

‘He’s over there,’ she said, conspiratorially. ‘And doesn’t he look proud?’

Confused, I looked over to where she pointed. Matty was sitting in the front row of the audience, clapping wildly. As I caught his eye, he blew me a kiss and the audience went crazy, whooping and shouting.

I froze, clutching Patrick’s arm. So that’s what Babs had told me. Why hadn’t I listened?

‘Keep smiling,’ Patrick said into my ear. ‘Keep smiling and it’ll all be over soon.’

So I brought out fake Amy Lavender. Smiling like a loon as the judges said nice things, none of which I listened to, and grinning as we got our (brilliant, actually) scores. And then I sneaked backstage and phoned Babs to shout at her, while she gushed at how fabulous it all was.

‘I don’t want to see him,’ I said. ‘I’m not speaking to him. Not now.’

‘You don’t have to, doll,’ she said. ‘Your face when you saw him says enough. It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow. And it’s online already. Everyone wants you back together. You’re going to be even bigger than you were before.’

‘Baaaaaabs,’ I wailed. ‘I don’t want him back. He’s a douchebag.’

‘He’s a what?’ Babs said.

‘That’s what Patrick calls him,’ I said. ‘He’s right. He is a douchebag. He cheated on me, Babs.’

‘He may have cheated on you,’ she said. ‘But he also helped create the Amy Lavender brand and you nearly destroyed that when you punched that little slut he was kissing. Matty is useful to us. Do you think you’d have got on
Strictly Stars Dancing
without being Matty’s ex?’

‘Maybe not,’ I said.

‘Definitely not,’ Babs snapped. ‘Listen, you guys are great together. You’re super-cute, super-photogenic, and he’s promised to give up all the other women. I’ll get you a holiday for after this dancing is over and you can go away, get some sun, have a bit of time together. You’ll soon see that you’re made for each other.’