Page 31 of Teacakes & Tangos
I chuckled at his wary expression. ‘Great name for a small off-shoot of the Little Duck Pond Café, though. “The Little Duckling”.’
‘Very witty,’ he agreed. ‘And the chocolate chip shortbread sounds nice.’
‘Not yet, though?’ I stared at him in amazement. ‘You’ve just ploughed your way through two apple turnovers and a croissant. You can’t possibly be hungry yet.’
He grinned. ‘No. But it always pays to know where your next snack’s coming from, for when those hunger pangs strike.’
I laughed. ‘You really are mad.’
‘Nothing wrong with being different, is there?’
‘Nothing wrong with it at all. So... shall we go and watch the schoolkids doing their street dancing?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The young street dancers were so good, the audience kept applauding long after they’d finished, and they came back three times for an encore.
Afterwards, we joined the crowd who were gathering to watch a performance by the local Women’s Institute.
‘Do we have to?’ A teenage girl standing near us was complaining to her mum. ‘I mean, it’s hardly going to be very exciting. They won’t be able to move on stage for Zimmer frames and those weird shopping bags on wheels that Granny takes everywhere with her.’
‘Ella!’ Her mum sounded shocked. ‘Don’t be so rude. Your gran is still very active for her age.’
‘Yes, but I can’t imagine her dancing on stage, can you? Trying to keep up with the rhythm?’
‘Actually, you’d be surprised. She and your grandad used to do a brilliant quickstep.’
‘Really? Well, they’re not going to be quickstepping up there, are they? Not if they don’t want their wigs to fall off.’
‘Ella, be quiet,’ hissed her mum. ‘Or we’re going home.’
I swivelled my eyes to Xander and he gave a snort of laughter disguised as a cough.
‘We can’t go until I’ve seen the tango demonstration,’ grumbled the girl.
‘Well, just behave yourself, then,’ snapped her mum. ‘You’ll be old one day and then you won’t be laughing.’
‘Me? Old? What, you mean likeforty?’ She grimaced. ‘We’ve got Botox now, Mum, and lots of other stuff. My generation isnevergoing to be old.’
‘Well, we’ll see about that. Anyway, shush. They’re coming on.’
‘Oh, God, here we go. Ambulances at the ready.’
I knew I shouldn’t be laughing but my shoulders were shaking with the effort of keeping quiet, and Xander kept subtly digging me in the ribs and pulling an alarmed face, which wasn’t helping at all.
And then the WI ladies – dressed in comfy-looking summer dresses and flat pumps – were walking onto the makeshift stage, chatting cheerfully and looking out at the audience. Keen for this annoying teenager beside us to be forced to eat her words, I was delighted to see that there wasn’t a single Zimmer frame in sight.
Clara came on and introduced them, and then the music began.
A stately waltz.
‘Boooooring!’ came the predictable reaction. Followed by, ‘Ouch.Mum!’ as she was clearly on the receiving end of a swift reprimand.
The women partnered up with each other for the waltz and I smiled in expectation, wishing Dad could be here. I used to love watching Mum and Dad competing when I was younger. They’d be gliding around the dance floor dressed in their wonderful glitzy costumes and I’d be in the audience with Gran – and sometimes Grandad as well.
The WI ladies began waltzing elegantly around the stage and people in the audience were really getting into it, swaying in time to the music.
Then, without warning, the tempo changed.
