Strictly My Husband: It's funny, it's romantic and it's got dancing - what's not to love! (7 page)

‘Well,’ Laura began, wondering what to share. ‘It was different, wasn’t
it? Having an added guest at our usual Friday-night gathering.’

Will shrugged his shoulders. He was a functional speaker. He mostly used words to make useful things happen, not to express emotions or – heaven forbid – for idle tittle-tattle.

‘What did you think of Carly?’ she asked when he made no further comment.

Will looked at her in confusion as if it was ridiculous to be asking his opinion on such a thing.

‘She was all right, I suppose,’ he said eventually, ‘if you like that sort of thing.’

Laura nodded, her brow furrowed as though he had imparted some strange wisdom. ‘So you didn’t like her?’ she pressed.

‘No, I didn’t say that,’ said Will. He glanced at Hannah as if seeking guidance. But Hannah chose to make matters worse.

‘So you do like her then?’ she asked.

‘No, no,’ replied Will, looking trapped as he glanced between both women. ‘She seemed perfectly nice but . . . but . . . not really my cup of tea. You know, a bit young and, er, too
dancey
for me.’

‘You see,’ said Laura to Hannah. ‘Should have married an electrician.’

Chapter Six

Hannah

‘Coffee?’ Hannah asked Will a few minutes later when Laura had finally gone.

‘Sure.’ He looked away, tapping into his computer.

‘Sorry about the inquisition,’ said Hannah. ‘It’s just that Laura has got herself into a bit of a tizz about Carly. Thinks Tom’s going to end up running off with her or something. I was trying to get her to see that just because she’s a dancer that doesn’t mean all men will instantly fall at her feet.’

‘Fine.’ He shrugged, without looking at her.

Hannah studied his stony face. She was worried they may have upset him somehow. Will wasn’t really one for displaying his emotions so when he did you knew it was serious.

‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you,’ she continued. ‘Who you might or might not be attracted to is really none of my business.’

‘It’s fine, seriously,’ he replied, turning to look at her.

He didn’t look fine. He looked troubled. He looked like he was about to say something. She waited. Perhaps he needed to get something off his chest.

‘There is s . . . someone,’ he finally stuttered.

‘Well, that’s brilliant,’ said Hannah, feeling relieved. To be honest they’d all been wondering about him. He didn’t seem to have had a girlfriend for ages. ‘Why didn’t you say? But you don’t have to tell me. I understand if you want to keep her to yourself.’

‘But it’s never going to happen,’ he continued, shaking his head and looking away.

‘Why?’ Hannah asked. Will was a good-looking, likable man. She’d never understood why someone hadn’t snapped him up long ago.

He swallowed hard. ‘It just won’t,’ he said.

‘Have you said anything to her?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘I can’t.’

‘But you should. Have some confidence. What have you got to lose?’

Will didn’t say anything, just stared back at her. Clearly whatever he
was thinking he felt he couldn’t share with her.

‘Just tell her,’ she urged. ‘Go on, go home and give her a call or text her or whatever you do these days. But not until we’ve sorted this spreadsheet, mind. You don’t get off that easily.’

He gave her one last lingering look and then laughed. She was relieved to see his troubled expression disappear. Whoever this girl was she must be something special.

Chapter Seven

Laura

‘Are you coming? It’s starting,’ Laura bellowed from her seat on the sofa in the lounge. She caught sight of the pink carnations on the mantelpiece that Tom had greeted her with after she’d been to see Hannah that morning. She sighed and for the first time since last night’s arrival she felt herself relax.

‘I should have rung and asked you first,’ he’d said, thrusting the flowers into her hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Carnations were her least favourite flower but she knew it was the thought that counted.

‘Thanks,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘I took Carly to the station,’ he said gravely. ‘Rehearsals start on Tuesday so I told her we’d see her on Monday. She insisted on paying the rent in advance.’ He handed over a wad of notes from his back pocket.

She swallowed, taken aback at how much money there appeared to be.

‘I’ll put it in the baby fund,’ she said, looking at the cash in her hand.

‘Good idea,’ he enthused. ‘Maybe by the time Carly has gone, we might be able to start thinking about what we need to buy with that fund?’

She looked back up at him. His smile was utterly devastating. ‘I really hope so,’ she said, gazing at him.

‘So do I,’ he replied, softly.

‘Really?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ he said, putting his arms around her and pulling her in close. ‘I can’t wait,’ he said into her hair. ‘I really can’t. But in the meantime I’m very happy to keep practising.’

She grinned and some of the tension that had built up over the last twenty-four hours drained out of her. Maybe it was going to be all right. Maybe she was worrying about nothing. She breathed in his warm familiar smell and then pulled away.

‘Chinese tonight?’ she asked.

He laughed. ‘You read my mind,’ he replied.

By early evening, the two of them were crammed on the sofa eating off plates on their knees as the usual ritual of watching Saturday night telly with a takeway unfolded. The familiar theme tune struck up and she glanced over at Tom feeling content, something she would not have predicted a few hours earlier.

‘Do we have everything to hand?’ asked Tom glancing around. ‘Food, wine, my favourite lady beside me and dancing on the telly.’

‘I believe everything is in place.’ Laura grinned happily. ‘Can’t believe we are in week four already,’ she added, waving a chopstick at the TV as all the stars of
Strictly Come Dancing
popped up on the screen during the opening credits. ‘I really feel for Chris Whatshisname, don’t you? You’d be gutted if you went out in week one. Everyone’s forgotten him already.’

‘I’d be ashamed,’ replied Tom. ‘He deserves to be forgotten. And as for Patrick – he’d better be in the dance-off this week. His jive was just embarrassing. I want to see him gone before the Halloween show starts.’

‘Oh no,’ cried Laura. ‘I’d forgotten your show clashes with
Strictly
.’

‘It’s only two weekends but you will record it, won’t you, and promise not to watch it without me?’

‘Will you miss my hugely insightful commentary if I don’t watch it with you?’ she asked.

‘You mean your opinions on the outfits and who’s had Botox?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Of course I would. Now shhh, Darcey Bussell is speaking.’

Laura listened to Darcey’s expectations for the evening before looking down to help herself to more food.

‘Damn,’ she exclaimed. She’d dropped sweet and sour sauce on her lap. ‘That’s going to stain. Did you bring the kitchen roll in?’

‘Sorry, no,’ replied Tom, without taking his eyes off the screen.

‘Won’t be a sec,’ she muttered, easing herself off the sofa to go and find a cloth.

By the time she had come back the first couple were already dancing. She picked up her plate and wedged herself back on to the sofa.

‘Can you pass me the wine?’ asked Laura, noticing her empty glass.

‘Just a minute,’ said Tom, mesmerised by the dancers on screen.

Laura shooed away the memory of Tom topping up Carly’s glass without being asked to the night before. She leant forward to grab some more prawn crackers before Tom absent-mindedly polished them off.

‘She let her top line fall halfway through,’ said Tom, shaking his head as the couple on screen took their bows. ‘And she forgot all about her heel leads, don’t you think?’ He looked over as Laura held up her wine glass expectantly.

‘Sorry,’ he said, reaching down his side of the sofa and handing her the bottle, forcing her to precariously balance her plate on her knee whilst pouring wine into her glass.

‘Did
you
notice her heel leads?’ he asked again.

She nodded, taking a gulp of wine. She hadn’t noticed the heel leads but she’d had time to note that, in her opinion, the split up the thigh of the woman’s dress was perhaps inappropriate for someone of her age.

They both shouted out their scores as the judges gave their verdict. Laura awarded a safe seven, which seemed to be in line with the critics on screen as well as the one sitting next to her in her living room.

‘Yeah, it’s Selina next,’ said Tom, as the ex-Olympic athlete posed on the dance floor with the very handsome professional dancer, Besnik from Albania. ‘I reckon Selina should nail a tango. She’s a natural.’

‘Just like me, eh?’ muttered Laura, taking another glug of wine.

‘Just like you,’ agreed Tom, flashing her his dimples.

Laura glowed and picked up a spare rib as they both fell into silence watching the pair go through their routine. To Laura’s untrained eye they looked spectacular as they proudly strutted around the dance floor, changing direction with quick clean steps; she marvelled at how anyone could make their bodies move together that way. In a final impassioned movement Besnik flung Selina across the floor and she slid to a halt in front of the judges, casting them a victorious glare.

‘Wow,’ said Tom, putting his plate on the floor and standing up to applaud the couple. ‘That was close to perfection.’

Laura watched as Besnik stalked across the floor to take Selina’s hand
and pull her to feet. They maintained their dance faces to take a bow and then broke into rapturous beams in response to the standing ovation erupting around them in the studio.

‘They are so sleeping together,’ said Laura, wiping her sticky fingers on a piece of kitchen towel.

Tom sat down and picked up his food. ‘Do you think so? You always say that. They’re just doing a job.’

‘A job that requires them to touch each other all the time,’ replied Laura raising her eyebrows.

‘You don’t
have
to be shagging to dance like that. It's just part of the performance.’

Laura turned back to the screen to watch Selina and Besnik as they embraced, kissing and hugging, twirling round and round, never taking their eyes or their hands off each other. If you’d seen a newlywed bride and groom look as happy or as in love you would have done well.

‘So you don’t think they have feelings for one another?’ asked Laura.

‘Probably not.’

‘Probably?’

‘Well, I can’t be sure, can I, but just because you dance together doesn’t mean it’s going to lead to anything.’

‘But it does though, doesn’t it, quite often?’

‘Occasionally, I guess.’

‘How often is occasionally?’ asked Laura. ‘Let’s take your department, for example. How many of your performers arrive single and then end up dating a fellow performer. I bet it’s high, right? Like over fifty per cent?’

‘I don’t know.’ Tom shrugged. ‘They’re all at it as far as I can tell, to be honest.’

‘All at it?’

He shrugged again, digging his chopsticks into some chow mein. ‘They’re all young and good-looking, aren’t they? Bound to happen.’

‘And they get to spend all day every day touching each other’s bodies,’ added Laura.

Tom looked baffled. ‘It’s not like some orgy down there every day.’

‘So how many times did it happen to you?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘You falling for someone you danced with?’

He stuffed some chow mein in his mouth halfway through her question. Laura kept looking at him until his mouth was empty and he could give a response.

‘A few times,’ he said, reaching forward to grab his wine and taking a big gulp.

‘A few?’

He shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

She looked away. She’d only ever been aware of Natalie in his past. It had never crossed her mind that of course he must have had girlfriends before her.

‘In fact all my girlfriends have been dancers apart from you. You saved me!’ He grinned. ‘Thank the Lord,’ he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Then he caught sight of the TV screen again. ‘Oh my God, Patrick’s on. Let’s see how much he can screw it up this week.’

Laura stared at him for a moment before putting her plate down on the coffee table, no longer hungry.

Chapter Eight

Tom

Tom leant forward and banged his head on the boardroom table.

‘Tom!’ exclaimed Hazel. ‘What is the matter?’

Tom slowly raised his head and gazed into Hazel Gough’s eyes. She was wearing eye shadow. He should have known their fifty-five-year-old, people-hating, undiplomatic, indiscreet and yet head of Human Resources only ever wore eye shadow when she knew she had a presenting slot during the regular Monday-morning management meeting. He thought enduring the usual pointless debate about the state of the previous week’s visitor numbers (including a twenty-minute discussion about why the north-west coach market was in decline) was bad enough. But a meeting when HR was given licence to blind the entire management team with a slew of unnecessary paperwork they had dreamt up to prevent anyone from being able to get on with their real jobs was sheer torture.

Hazel’s eyes were still boring into him and he realised he had to respond.

He looked around the room for a glimmer of revolt, a sense of camaraderie, or just any sign of support that it would be acceptable to tell Hazel exactly what the problem was. But the General Manager was also giving him a disapproving glare. Head of Operations was flicking through some paperwork mentally rehearsing his response to whatever complaints might have been caused by his team that week. The Head of Food and Beverages was tapping her pen on the table keen to get it over with so she could go and work out how on earth she was going to open all her units given the huge amount of absences that had called in that morning. Only his mate Sam, Head of Technical Services, was grinning at him whilst fiddling with his radio, itching to get a call that he was urgently needed on park so he could escape the tedium of Hazel.

‘Do you need some air?’ asked Hazel tersely.

‘Yeeeees,’ exclaimed Tom, just stopping short of doing a fist pump.

‘Bastard,’ he heard Sam mutter under his breath.