Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
APRIL
M y hand shakes as I re-read the letter.
This can’t be right.
I heard about the development, but our building is occupied, with several businesses running out of it. I look at the date.
Shit!
This is dated over a week ago. The bloody post office.
I glance at the clock. I have half an hour before my first students are due to arrive. Pulling on my jacket, I head out of the front door and into Mable’s Cafe next door. Several ladies are already there, drinking tea and eating cake. They look over and grin.
“Morning, Ms April. Oh, dear ladies, it looks like we’ve been caught,” Alice says, grinning.
She’s a white-haired lady in her early eighties and one of my regulars.
“Don’t worry, Alice. I’ve seen nothing,” I say, plastering a smile and going to the back.
I knock on the kitchen door. “Hi, Don, Betty.”
I step through and into their tiny yet immaculate kitchen .
“April,” Betty says, rushing forward and pulling me in for a hug. “What can we get you? Don’t you have a class?”
I pause, absorbing Betty’s hug, letting it sink into my weary bones. She pulls back, gripping my upper arms, her brow wrinkling.
“What’s up?” she asks, her tone motherly.
Two years ago, they were the ones who first greeted me when I moved in. Their little cafe and my dance studio have thrived together. My dancers fill their tables before and after class.
I pull the letter out of my back pocket and watch resignation and understanding flash across her face.
“I wondered whether you’d received one too,” she says, pulling me further into the kitchen and manoeuvring me onto a stool.
“Don. Customers,” she says over her shoulder to her husband, who is listening, while wiping down and clearing away from the sandwiches he’s been preparing.
“On it, dear,” he says, gently squeezing my shoulder as he passes.
“I don’t… what…” I stumble, not sure what I’m trying to say.
Betty sighs and leans against the counter.
“I don’t know what to say, either,” she says. “Apparently, the landlord is within his rights, even with a contract, to sell up.”
“But—”
“You need to get a solicitor, April. Find out where you stand.”
My heart sinks. More money, I don’t have. As for a contract...
Betty continues.
“For Don and I, it’s different. It’s time we retired. I know Jerry feels the same way about his garage. He said it was time to put down his wrench and spend time with his grandkids. This is the push we all need.”
I drop my chin to my chest. I know this. Crime on the rise in the area has just made everything harder. I can’t blame them. I’ve chased off several lowlifes from outside the studio, trying to deal drugs to my kids. I’ve even installed dummy cameras as a deterrent. They don’t need the stress at their age, so I can’t blame them.
Betty grips my shoulders and squeezes. “You’ve invested a lot of time and money into your business. It’s different for you.”
Betty goes over to a drawer and pulls out a business card.
“We’ve used this man in the past. He’s reasonable. He will look at your contract and tell you whether you have a case.”
I take the card and pop it into my jacket pocket.
“Thanks, Betty, I’ll call him,” I say, giving her a hug. “I’d better get back, or Alice and her gang will be rioting.”
Betty smiles and hugs me back.
“Take care. Don and I are here if you need us.”
I hug Don quickly as I leave, my ladies following me out.
Time to dance away my blues.
I stare at the phone, my heart sinking.
My tenancy agreement is ending. The fixed period is up. According to Betty's solicitor friend, I don’t have a leg to stand on. He apologised he couldn’t be of more help. The landlord’s word that I could have the property for as long as I like means nothing. Now he’s selling. The developer has no obligation towards me or any of the previous tenants.
I sink to the floor and lean against the mirror that lines the wall. I look at the space that I call home. A space regularly filled with members of the community, my community. Members of all ages, ranging from four to eighty-four. Since I opened the dance studio two years ago, they’ve come.
“Hey.”
Samuel comes in and drops down next to me, pulling me into his side. I drop my head on his shoulder when he wraps his arm around me.
“We can fight this,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
“No, according to the solicitor, we can’t.” I sigh, sitting up and hugging my knees. “It’s all lost.”
The sprung dance flooring, the custom-made mirrors and bars. The sound system. I completely remodelled the place when I moved in. My stomach churns as I consider the investment I’ve made into this building. An investment that is worthless once the developer comes in and tears it down. “We cannot move the flooring, and the mirrors are too big to store. The cost alone of storage would be enormous. All my hard work and effort gone,” I sigh.
“Since when did you become such a pessimist? This isn’t the April Wilson I know.” He mimics my position, resting his chin on his knees as he stares at me. “Have you tried speaking to the developer?”
I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes. “I’ve been sending emails every day this week. All I get is a holding message telling me someone will be in touch.”
“Hey, this isn’t you. You’re not someone who rolls over and gives up. You’re a fighter.”
I open my eyes and stare at my best friend. “Samuel, big developers aren’t interested in the little people like us. I’m inconsequential in their eyes. I must face it. My landlord has screwed me over, but that isn’t their problem. Frazer Development is a big business. They’re interested in lining their pockets and appeasing their shareholders and board members. They want their fancy apartments and boutique shops. Not some second-rate dance studio with a?— ”
“Stop. There is nothing second-rate about your dance studio or your teaching. You’re a first-class dancer,” Samuel says.
I look away, unable to meet his optimistic gaze. That may be the case, but I’m obviously not a businesswoman. The worst part is, it’s my fault. After discovering the building, I acted impulsively without considering the outcome. Instead of giving me a five-year lease, my landlord talked me into accepting a rolling contract. Renewing last year went smoothly, so I didn’t give it much thought. I understand more and more local businesses have closed over the past two years, but my business is growing.
I swipe my cheek as the first tear falls. Samuel pulls me back into his arms and rocks me as I give in, and the floodgates open.
When I finally stop, he turns me to face him, his thumbs rubbing away the tear tracks. “Well, if they aren’t answering your emails, we take the argument to them. How many students do you have?”
“And families, probably two hundred now,” I say, my voice catching as I think of the fact a lot of the kids and teenagers use my studio as somewhere to go, keeping them off the streets. I offer a range of classes, from traditional ballet to street dance.
“Then we arrange a protest. Let’s create banners to make this development company aware of the community’s stake in this area. Make them listen.”
“I don’t know.”
If I’m honest, I’m unsure whether the families and kids will want to be involved.
“Well, if you don’t ask, beautiful, you don’t get. Ask them. See what they think. Do you think these developers really want to piss off the locals? ”
I stare into my friend’s eyes before resting my forehead against his chest. Absorbing his strength.
“You’ve worked too hard to just let this go,” he says, his voice vibrating through his chest wall.
“I know. You’re right.” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding on tight as I absorb his strength. “I didn’t give up four years of my life and my dignity to work as an exotic dancer, only to have my asshole landlord destroy all I’ve worked for. That is not who I am.”
“That’s my girl,” Samuel says, giving me a squeeze.
He’s right. I fought hard for this place. I don’t have rich parents to fall back on. Being a foster kid, I’ve been financially independent since I turned eighteen, although I was luckier than most. My foster mum is a dance teacher. She has taught me everything I know. She is and always has been my greatest supporter, even when I was officially no longer her responsibility, and for that, I will be forever grateful.
“Okay. I’ll ask.”
He drops a kiss on my head and gives me a squeeze.
“We’ve got this,” he says. “You’re not on your own.”
“I’m so glad you’re home,” I say, not sure what I’d do if he was still travelling. But he’s right. It’s time to stand up and fight—for my studio, these kids, my community. Not let some big shot developer walk in here and destroy all I’ve built.