Page 20 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
‘Clarissa says we are all capable of reaching her standard,’ I responded. ‘Watch Monica in the mirrors. I do. Then try to copy her technique.’
Janine did not answer and on cue we all joined with Monica’s steps for the final part of the routine. I have to say Janine no longer seems to be putting her heart into it. I have been wondering if it would be better if she was the reserve rather than Ingrida, who – let us face it – is almost as good as Monica. If it was not for the unfortunate mistake in the North West heats I am sure Ingrida would not have felt compelled to back off from taking part in the finals. I feel extremely pleased I persuaded her to come with us as a reserve. Clarissa may switch her for Janine yet.
Adele’s final words abruptly finish the number, and I sigh. It was a pity that in contrast to the wonderful dancing, there had been such an awful atmosphere in the studio. I have no idea what happened between Monica and Ruby. Neither of them – annoyingly – have given anything away. I plan to get to the bottom of their acrimonious split when we go to Paris.
My engagement ring catches my eye, and I polish it against the sleeve of my top. It has now been there for over four years without the gold band to accompany it.
The image of Ingrida’s ring, stuck on her chubby hand, flashes across my mind along with her revelation as we drove home yesterday. It is hard to believe she has married her man and now has a ready-made family in no time at all. What a contrast to me being forced to wait so long to organise then reorganise my cancelled weddings.Finding a date when all my family in India could attend took literally years. At least it is now only six weeks away. Thinking about it, Ingrida took less than six weeks to get hitched. Incredible.
She must realise I have known her husband, Neil, for years. He is one of my patients. I will never forget the first time I treated him.
‘Are you OK, Mr Goodman? I am Asha Gupta, your new dentist.’
‘What happened to Mr Hollow?’
‘He retired a few weeks ago. Is there anything wrong, Mr Goodman?’
He mumbled something and did not make eye contact with me once. In fact, he has avoided looking at me at every visit since. I suspect he does not like female dentists. He probably has incredibly old-fashioned views about women working in a professional capacity. Those outdated attitudes should be consigned to history.
I picture Neil Goodman with his balding head and corpulent figure. He has a terrible crossbite and should have had corrective braces, but he refused point-blank to even discuss any treatment. I seem to recall someone telling me he has a dodgy job selling old medical supplies to other countries. But in all honesty, I do not know for sure. It would not surprise me. I have put him down as a lazy type who would rather trade surplus or second-hand goods instead of making anything or providing a service for others, like those of us in the medical profession.
I was surprised Ingrida did not have an engagement ring, just some thin, plain, gold band which – in myopinion – could pass for a curtain ring. Mind, I already had the impression Neil was a penny-pincher. I once tried to send him home with an interdental brush, but as soon as he found out he would be charged for it, he refused to take it. As if seven pounds ninety-nine would break the bank.
Well, whatever I think, Ingrida seems happy with her new status. She seems to make the best of everything and is an incredibly positive person, always looking on the bright side – although she never smiles with her teeth. I suspect, from a quick glance at her mouth when she talks, they are not in good condition. It always surprises me that even with their medical knowledge, doctors and nurses can pay so little attention to oral care.
I expect some people would frown to see Neil has remarried within two years of being made a widower. Not me. I am more intrigued as to how they arranged a wedding so quickly. I can only feel envy at the speed of it all. How simple and straightforward to have only two witnesses plucked off the street. It sounds bliss when I think of my crazily huge guest list and how long my wedding arrangements have taken.
My feet tap to the next radio track, and I smile at the eminently suitable lyrics to “At Last” sung by Etta James.
The words speak directly to me. Like you, Etta, I have my one love and at last we will be married…
I contemplate what it would be like to have a simple registry office ceremony… No. It would never do. It would be over far too quickly. If you are only going to marry once, you may as well do it in style.
My mind drifts with the lilting melody as I pictureIngrida’s reaction to my wedding plans.
‘How many guests?’
‘Almost a thousand. I do not even know the exact number.’
‘Ne. They are your family?’
‘A few, but most of them I do not know, and I will probably never meet again.’
‘And you feed all these peoples?’
‘Yes. The wedding, ceremony and celebrations go on for a full weekend. Ma and all my aunts have not stopped cooking for months.’
Ingrida had whistled. ‘It must cost much money, Asha?’
‘Ah, my parents will be paying for the whole event. Ma and Baba insisted, but it means they get to have it their way – well mostly their way – with all the tradition, fanfare, and rigmarole.’
‘Will you wear traditional Indian dress?’
‘Yes. In fact, I have two Lehenga dresses – one red, one tangerine and gold – and I am also looking for a white wedding dress, but Baba does not know about this yet.’
‘You mind if I ask… your fiancé… was meeting with him arranged?’
‘No. I met Jay at university. I refused point-bank to let Baba choose my husband. He did not do a particularly good job with my younger sister, Rashmi.’
