26. Carl
26. Carl
The inside of the community centre is every bit as run-down as the outside. The wood-chip paper on the walls is stained with tobacco, and a strong smell of disinfectant grips the back of my throat.
But it’s warm and bright. Jenni is practically doing somersaults with happiness, and it’s hard not to let her excitement rub off on me.
‘This is gonna be a pure belta,’ she says, beaming at me.
Her stepmother, Eileen – the ex-cruise ship dancer, and our teacher for the day – nods her unnaturally bronze-coloured face in my direction, then opens the door to the hall.
‘Right, then,’ she says in an accent that sounds just like Jenni’s. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’
I sneak a glance at Sarah. She looks every bit as terrified as me. She seems tired too, now that I look more closely at her, with that faraway expression on her face. It’s the one she used to have in Afghanistan when she was worried about something – usually Danny.
Danny.
Has something happened?
I feel guilty all of a sudden for not ringing her after that weekend at Jenni and Cherub’s. I did think about it – just to check if they were both okay. But then I told myself I’d embarrassed Sarah enough with the near kiss. The last thing I wanted to do was to overstep again and make her feel even more uncomfortable.
‘Showtime!’ Eileen cries, dramatically flinging her leopard-print fur coat on to the stage behind her. ‘The dance I’m going to teach you is to a song called “Young At Heart”.’ She is staring right at me as she starts demonstrating the moves.
Her leg is going backwards and forwards, then she’s stomping her heel on the floor and clapping like she’s doing some sort of Irish jig. She does it again, and I swear her legs are made of elastic. Then she turns to face us.
‘Easy!’ she cries. ‘That’s all there is to it!’
I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.
A deafening blast of music bursts out of the speakers. I look over my shoulder to smile at Sarah. But then Eileen starts belting out instructions like a sergeant major and I don’t have time to worry about Sarah any more as I frantically try to imitate what she’s doing.
At first everything I do is wrong. I use my right leg when it should be my left, and by the time I realize and make the switch Eileen is using her left leg again. Everything is too fast, my arms are waving madly, and my feet feel like they’re trying to dance through setting cement.
Jenni and Cherub look like they’ve done this a million times before. They actually look like they’re enjoying themselves.
But then I see Sarah. She has stopped dancing and is bent over, her hands clutching her knees.
‘No,’ she says. ‘No, I can’t. I’ll never be able to do this.’
‘For pity’s sake,’ says Eileen, coming to stand between us. ‘You two are hopeless.’
I like the sound of ‘you two’. Knowing Sarah is struggling as much as me makes me relax. We’re in this together.
‘Breathe deeply,’ barks Eileen.
I do as I’m told, taking great lung-filling gulps of air.
‘Now, watch me. It’s all in the way you carry your upper body.’
At this I look at Sarah who is trying not to laugh.
Exasperated, Eileen shows us the steps again, and we repeat them …
And repeat them …
And repeat them …
Until it clicks.
My clumsy legs seem to be dancing on their own.
And suddenly I feel a lightness of step that I haven’t felt since we touched down in Afghanistan.