Page 23 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
‘You don’t usually do classes on Friday evenings?’
‘I have just signed up to this one.’
‘Right… Well, if you come across it, I need to give it back to a colleague. It’s not mine, we… er… we switched them in error…’
I said nothing as I turned my back on him and left the room.
‘So… See you later?’ he shouted into the hall.
‘No,’ I call from the top of the stairs, where he cannot see my clenched fists mock-punching the banister. ‘I am calling in to see Clarissa afterwards. Do not wait up.’
‘Right. Er… have a good time.’
I turned up at my new class still seething but, just like with dance, the yoga proved amazingly therapeutic. Soft music, yoga moves mid-air wrapped in a silky hammock. My first reaction was almost,Ruby would love this, but I’m getting better at banishing any reference to my ex-friend from my mind.
After the yoga, I had a good heart-to-heart with Clarissa about Hazel – who now has to spend many of her evenings in bed – and I realised how, in the whole scheme of things, my problems were minor compared to hers. Plus, unlike Clarissa and Hazel, I have the power to change things. And change things I will.
The next morning, Vince found me working at my sewing machine.
‘You got up early?’
I changed the thread on the bobbin without looking up.
‘You slept in the guest room?’
I rummaged for the scissors, picked up the bobbin thread with the needle cotton and pulled both ends through. Snip.
‘Was I snoring again?’
Placing the edges of the first top under the needle, Idropped the foot and started to stitch.
‘Monica, are you OK… you seem…’
‘I need to finish these costumes for Paris.’
‘Oh yes, next weekend. Look, I’m sorry I can’t be here to look after the twins. This conference is bad timing, but it was sprung on me last minute, so I have to show my face…’
I increased the speed of the machine.
Conference – Ha. And he even has the audacity to use the word sorry – not usually anywhere in his vocabulary.
‘Anyhow, I’m off to take James to his match. We could get a takeaway later? Maybe?’
I studiously ignored him as I clipped the thread and started to hem a pair of trousers.
‘Well, we can decide when we get home. Bye then.’
When I did not look up, he pecked the top of my head. As soon as I heard the front door close, I took my foot off the electric pedal. Damn. That will need to be unpicked.
I now hold up the trousers and examine the hem – satisfied with my invisible repair – before carefully folding the garment and placing it in the case.
In terms of my marriage, I’ve decided there is nothing left to unpick. It’s time to move on.
Yesterday, I opened two new bank accounts in my name and transferred lump sums from our joint accounts, taking half of each balance. My salary – for what it is – will now be paid into my new current account, so I’m making progress. Vince only checks the statements monthly. By the time he realises what I’ve done, he’ll be packing his own bags.
My pink bowler hat beckons so I place it on my head and run my finger and thumb along the rim with the other fingers raised and my elbow high, checking the angles in the wardrobe mirror and giving a little shudder of excitement. “Dancin’ Fool” is one of Clarissa’s quirkiest dances and the precision needed for each and every move is exacting. When we are all in sync, the routine is fast and slick. I lift my hat high into the air with a majestic sweep, Clarissa’s words echoing in my head,full circle up and pull back to the chest – elbows out – with a pulse. Routines like this have to be spot on; the reason only Clarissa’s best dancers have been entered into the competition.
I pack my pyjamas into the centre of the hat to stop it getting crushed and make room to cushion it among the other clothes. My hand glances smooth metal. I smile. Vince’s tablet fits very neatly in between the layers.
