Strictly My Husband: It's funny, it's romantic and it's got dancing - what's not to love! (5 page)

Laura humphed and then turned to open the dishwasher. ‘She probably is,’ she replied, crashing forks into the cutlery holder. ‘If she was in someone else’s house.’

Hannah smiled. ‘Not staying for long though, is she?’

‘A month I believe,’ said Laura, straightening up and slamming the dishwasher door shut. ‘Although I haven’t actually had the chance to discuss it with my husband yet. He’s been slightly preoccupied since he got home.’

‘She’s just a girl,’ said Hannah.

‘Precisely. In my house, at my husband’s request. Doesn’t that strike you as just not right?’

‘He’s only being kind. She had nowhere to go, right?’

‘Being kind?’ exploded Laura. ‘You offer kindness to people who are
suffering, the poor, the needy, people who haven’t got what you’ve got; you don’t offer kindness to someone like that,’ she raged, pointing towards the dining room. ‘You take immediate dislike to them because they are prettier, thinner, and younger than you are. And you ask them to move away from you as far as possible. Not move into your bloody spare room and watch as your husband fawns all over them. It’s wrong to be kind to someone as beautiful as that. Just wrong.’

‘Tom’s not like that,’ said Hannah.

‘He’s pouring her wine!’

‘So?’

‘Without her asking?’ Laura exclaimed. ‘You do that for your wife, not a stranger.’

‘I think you’re being paranoid. It’s just wine.’

Maybe she was. Maybe she was overreacting. She looked at Hannah. Jerry was always like this. He was forever openly flirting with whichever female came to hand and yet it never seemed to bother Hannah. His effusive flattery and sweet-talking had knocked some much-needed confidence into her when she’d been a cripplingly shy teenager. Now she didn’t seem to mind that even though they were married he didn’t reserve his compliments just for her.

‘Don’t rise to it,’ advised Hannah. ‘You’ll create a problem that doesn’t even exist. She’ll be gone soon and that will be that. All back to normal.’

‘I’m overthinking it, aren’t I?’ said Laura.

‘Yes,’ said Hannah. ‘That analytical brain of yours has added one plus one, and made forty-eight.’

‘OK.’ Laura tried to slow down her rapid breathing. ‘I can do this; you’re right. Just let it blow over. I‘ll put some more white in the fridge, shall I?’

‘Good idea. I’ll see you back in there, OK?’ She gave Laura a reassuring smile and then headed back into the dining room.

Laura put two more bottles in the fridge, took a deep breath and returned to the next room where somehow the dynamic had totally changed since she’d left. Jerry and Hannah were moving glasses at speed across the table. Carly was shifting chairs out of the way and putting them to the side of the room. Will was sitting still, looking slightly concerned at the hive of activity
going on around him, and Tom was nowhere to be seen, until he poked his head out from underneath the table.

‘What are you doing under there?’ asked Laura.

‘I’m trying to drop the leaf, but it won’t budge.’

‘What are you doing that for?’

‘Carly’s going to show everyone how to do the cha-cha-cha.’

‘Why?’ demanded Laura, throwing Hannah a panicked look.

‘Because Jerry’s never done it.’

Laura dropped to her knees and put her head under the tablecloth out of sight of the others. ‘Do you really think that’s wise?’ she hissed.

‘It’s OK,’ replied Tom, still feeling his way round the bottom of the table, trying to find something that would move and cause collapse. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I know what Jerry’s like. He’ll be all over her. She’s going to demonstrate with Will. There it is. Oops, sorry.’

‘Ow,’ exclaimed Laura as the table leaf dropped on her head. She crawled out backwards, rubbing the back of her head, to see Carly standing with Will in her arms. Or rather Carly standing with a worried-looking Will in her arms. He shot her a pleading look. How could Tom be such an idiot? This was Will’s idea of hell. Will wasn’t at all like Tom. At two years older he was an altogether quieter, more practical man, who liked to make things work with his hands, not create beautiful shapes across a dance floor with a vamp-like creature. If Will was ever a contestant on
Strictly Come Dancing
his partner would definitely be forced to make him do the comedy routines where lack of dancing talent was covered up by ridiculous costumes and crazy stunts.

‘The first thing we need to do is get the posture right,’ announced Carly, pulling Will’s arms into position before leaving him stranded. The rolled-up sleeves of his checked shirt didn’t suit the elegant, clean stance Carly was trying to achieve; neither did the beard and rugged boots. She walked all the way round him, studying his frame. ‘Get that tush in,’ she warned, tapping him lightly on the backside of his jeans, to Jerry’s roar of approval. ‘We need those buttocks high.’

‘Friday nights are never going to be the same again, are they?’ Jerry said to Laura, laughing.

‘Possibly not,’ replied Laura, looking at Will’s horrified face. His right
arm looked awkward, suspended high in mid-air as Carly returned to face him. She grabbed his left elbow, lifting it horizontal to his shoulder. ‘You need to keep this arm up here,’ she demanded.

‘Too high,’ Tom cried, having emerged from under the table. ‘More like this. Let me show you.’ He pushed Will to one side and effortlessly formed an elegant shape with his arms and upper body.

Carly smiled. ‘Perfect.’

‘My mum taught me,’ Tom told her. ‘She loved to dance, but Will was never interested. He was too busy taking stuff apart and putting it back together again.’

‘Well, maybe I can get him interested now?’ Carly searched over her shoulder to see where he was. But Will had spotted his escape route and darted to the other side of the room where he was sitting next to Hannah with his arms firmly crossed.

‘Come on, mate,’ said Tom, ‘you might enjoy it!’

‘No.’ Will shook his head. ‘It’s not going to work. Dancing with me is no fun, believe me,’ he told Carly. ‘I leave all that to Tom. I’ll put you a light fitting up or dispose of any dead fish you might have hanging around but don’t ask me to dance. I
don’t do
dancing.’

‘Not even with me?’ she asked, painting on a sugary smile.

‘Not anyone,’ he said firmly.

‘Well’ – she turned her head back to Tom – ‘I shall just have to make do with you then, won’t I? Shall we?’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ He paused to take in the beat of the music and then effortlessly began to twirl Carly around the makeshift, minute dance floor.

‘Bravo, bravo. My turn next,’ shouted Jerry as they spun again and again. Hannah was talking to Will, no doubt about some work thing; Laura couldn’t catch her eye. Was she legitimately allowed to be paranoid yet? Her husband was now dancing with the lodger. Surely that meant this had gone far enough? She kept a fixed grin on her face as the twirling went on and on, trying to look as though she didn’t have a care in the world. The song finished and Tom double-dipped Carly as their dance came to an end. Jerry was on his feet applauding wildly.

‘I’ve got it,’ he said as the dancing duo straightened up. ‘I’ve just
remembered who you remind me of, Carly.’

‘You mean Ginger Rogers?’ asked Carly coyly, fluffing her hair.

‘No, Natalie. Doesn’t she remind you of Natalie, Tom?’

Tom visibly froze and Hannah and Will stopped their quiet muttering. Laura stared open-mouthed at Jerry.

‘She’s got the mannerisms and everything,’ continued Jerry. ‘She’s the image of her, don’t you think?’

‘Who’s Natalie?’ asked Carly.

‘Tom’s ex-fiancée,’ replied Jerry.

Chapter Four

Tom

‘Can I come in?’ Tom whispered through the closed bathroom door.

No answer.

‘Hannah said I should come up and see if you are all right?’ He pressed his fingers against the frosted glass and it gave way. He pushed harder and peered inside. Laura was perched on the edge of the bath, her head bent low, hair falling in a curtain over her face. He looked at the toilet longingly. He was bursting to go. He’d not been all night and he’d drunk at least a bottle of wine.

‘I’m really sorry, love,’ he apologised. ‘But I’ve really got to go.’ As he walked over to the toilet he heard a sniff behind him. A big sniff, then another, then another. He glanced over his shoulder. Laura’s head was still bent low but her shoulders were now rhythmically heaving and she was showing all the signs of being in full-on crying mode. Oh hell, thought Tom. Now what do I do? He had to go; he was beyond having a choice in the matter and would just have to get it over with as quickly as possible.

‘Are you OK?’ he shouted once he was in position and had his back turned to her.

No answer.

He looked over his shoulder. She was still crying.

‘Please tell me why you are crying?’ he asked. She shrugged, her head still bent low.

‘Oh shit,’ he exclaimed, his concentration having lapsed. He looked down; he’d forgotten to lift the loo seat. This was turning into a logistical nightmare. Now he had to finish his business and wipe the loo seat and then tend to his wife. Or should he finish and find out what was the matter with Laura straight away? No, Laura might shout at him for not raising the loo seat in the first place and would definitely have a go at him for not wiping it.

Put Laura first, he decided, tucking himself away. Deal with the loo seat later. He turned and walked over to Laura and perched beside her.

She sniffed. ‘Don’t forget to wipe the seat.’

‘OK,’ he said stiffly. He got up and grabbed some paper. He knew he’d get it wrong.

‘So what’s up?’ he asked after all toilet duties had been taken care of. The hair curtain remained so he couldn’t see her face. She shrugged.

‘Come on,’ he said, putting an arm around her. ‘You need to tell me.’

She raised her head to look at him, her eyes rimmed red. ‘It’s just . . . it’s just . . .’ she began before breaking down again.

Tom felt his heart sink. It usually started with an ‘it’s just’ which would rapidly morph into a recitation of his misdemeanours that she’d been brooding over for the last six months. Things he’d done which he didn’t even remember, never mind recognise as something he should be apologising for at some unspecified date in the future. He wished that Laura would sometimes just say exactly what she was thinking there and then rather than using her brilliant analytical brain to over-examine every detail time and again. Unfortunately she tended towards storing her findings until she got to breaking point when the slightest thing would push her over the edge and months’ worth of data on his failings would come out in a massive rush.

He racked his brains as to what might have tipped her over this time. Had there been a tense moment that he’d missed? Something he’d forgotten to do that she finally wanted to bring out into the open now she was fortified by copious amounts of red wine? She had been knocking them back tonight, he’d noticed. More so than normal. He stared at the overflowing washing basket opposite them, his Batman pants strewn on the floor. He really liked his Batman pants, he thought idly.

‘Is it something I’ve done?’ he asked, deciding to take the direct approach so they could return to the party downstairs before dawn arrived.

Laura shook her head. But he wasn’t fooled. He knew at this point in the proceedings, before she managed to overcome her distress and spit out what the problem was, that she would go through the blaming-herself phase. Only after that would the path be clear to make way for the blaming him phase

‘It’s not you,’ she finally managed to mutter. ‘I’m just being silly.’

‘Silly about what?’ he asked patiently.

She shrugged before the tears came again. He stayed quiet, putting his
arm around her, waiting for the mandatory second lot of tears to fade.

He reached forward and got her some loo roll when she appeared to be calming down. She blew her nose and he held out his hand to take her snotty tissue. She smiled weakly at him. He tossed it towards the toilet and missed. He got up and picked it up and put it in the toilet. Even he knew discussion would not begin with a damp piece of toilet roll on the floor. He sat down again and took her hand and waited.

‘It’s just . . .’ she said again. ‘I’m sorry, I’m useless when I cry, aren’t I? I just can’t get my words out.’

True, he thought.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Take your time.’

‘I’m just not very happy with Carly being here,’ she finally managed to get out.

‘But why?’ he replied; he was amazed – in fact quite relieved. So he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was Carly who had upset her. Yet he was confused: ‘Has she said something to you?’ he asked. She seemed so sweet. He was sure she couldn’t say anything to upset anyone.

‘No, no, of course not,’ said Laura. ‘It’s just you never asked. You know, if she could stay.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I really am. I was going to tell you – I really was – when I had the idea but then I realised I’d forgotten my phone.’

‘Forgotten your phone,’ said Laura simultaneously.

‘Yes, that’s right, and I can never remember your mobile off the top of my head. I’m sorry, Laura. Really I am.’

‘OK.’ Laura nodded, tearfully.

‘You don’t mind though, do you?’ he asked. ‘We’d talked about getting a lodger for a bit again, hadn’t we? I thought this would be perfect as it’s not for long.’

Laura looked back at him with red glistening eyes.

‘I should have asked first, I get that.’ That had been his error, he realised. He should have made sure he called her before landing back on the doorstep and surprising her. She didn’t like surprises. ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. He felt her relax against him and reach her arms around his neck.

‘Come downstairs and dance with me,’ he said pulling back slightly and giving her a smile. ‘I think we’re ready to go public with our tango, don’t you?’

‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘No way.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not after . . . I’m not as good as . . . No, I just can’t, not now.’

Tom sighed. Laura was a lot better than she thought she was and he liked dancing with her. It felt different to dancing with anyone else.