Page 49 of Not Strictly Ballroom

I leave the room, and Claire follows me. She looks sad, but wisely doesn’t say anything. I don’t think she knew, but she doesn’t look surprised. Then again, it doesn’t affect her as much, if at all.

I’m furious with my dad too, but I know how persuasive my mum can be. She’s taken everything I thought I had and sold it. What they’re going to do with the money for the school, frankly, I don’t care. It was my job, my home, my future—it was everything to me.

No, not quite everything.

I turn to Claire. “Can you find Nick for me?”

“What’s up, D?” I can see something is seriously wrong from the look on Darcy’s face.

Claire hadn’t been very forthcoming when she appeared at our seats a couple of minutes ago and said Darcy needed me. She looked grave, and I asked her if Darcy was ill or there had been an accident, but she wouldn’t tell me anything, which did nothing to quell the disquiet that roiled in my stomach. She managed to get me backstage and pointed to where I’d find him, saying she had work to do before leaving me to make my own way.

“There’s no time to explain now, but do you still want to dance?” he asks quickly.

Of all the things I was expecting, it definitely wasn’t that, and it knocks me sideways.

“What? Why?” I scramble to work out what’s going on.

“No time. Yes or no?” Darcy says again.

“I—” Was he really asking me this? I’ve given up on that dream and I struggle now to get my head round the shape of it remanifesting. At my stumbling, his already serious face starts settling into a hurt frown. Did he think I would refuse? It’s more the impossibility of the question that has me tongue-tied. But if I believe the question, then there’s only one answer. “Of course I do.”

He gives me a dazzling smile before his mask is back on and he grabs my arm to pull me along to the dressing rooms.

“But I can’t wear jeans,” I protest, suddenly aware that this is real, and I don’t have the right clothes.

We enter the dressing room, and he leads me over to his stuff.

“Well, I might have been distracted after the regionals.” He doesn’t need to remind me of that day. “And forgot to take your suit out of the garment bag.”

I look at the suit bag hanging up and smile. Never has his untidiness been so welcome, but I had a thought. “My Latin stuff?”

“Also there.” He looks a tiny bit sheepish, and it’s the first crack I can see in his armour, but it fades again. I start changing into the formal suit first as the traditional dances are danced before the Latin American ones.

Darcy sinks onto the dressing room bench as I strip off my jeans and pull on the loose black trousers. He’s worrying the side of his nail with his teeth and doesn’t say anything as I pull my T-shirt and hoodie off in one, pulling on my shirt and jacket.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” I ask. When he looks up at me, his usually bright green eyes are dull and bleak. It breaks my heart to see him, on what should be an exciting day—one he’s been training for, for most of his life—looking like he’s barely holding it together. I’m finally ready and he stands.

“I can’t. If I do, I’ll break.”

Well, shit.

I have no idea what could be so bad, for him to be like this. Maybe dancing isn’t such a good idea, but I know pushing him to talk isn’t either.

“Okay, but if you’d rather not dance?—”

“No.” His voice is vehement, and I pull back slightly. He notices and lets out a sigh. “Please, I have to do this. I need to do this.”

“Alright.” I draw him into a hug because I need to connect with him, to hold him. He relaxes slightly and hugs me back. “Promise me you’ll tell me all afterwards?” I say into his hair, and feel him nod in response.

Competitions always start with the waltz, which I’m grateful for today. The close hold and the beautiful sweeping movements are a good way for Darcy to relax and, I hope, enjoy himself, despite whatever’s happened. I haven’t had the time to get excited or nervous in the short time since Darcy asked me to dance, but the enormity of it sinks in when we both step onto the dance floor, hand in hand. The first same-sex couple at this level of competition.

We both hear a collective noise from the crowd, half gasp, half surprise. We walk to our starting positions, followed by a whoop, which I’m more than sure came from the direction of where my family and their friends are sitting. Barry is no doubt the caller. I can’t quite believe I’m here. That we’re here—together. And there is nowhere I’d rather be. I squeeze Darcy’s hand and he squeezes back. In the brief second we have while waiting for the music to start, I whisper, “I love you.”

It doesn’t start perfectly, as we haven’t practised these dances together for a few weeks, but soon we slip into the familiarity of it and Darcy loses some of the tension he’s holding. Even though he’s leading, I do my best to support him as we glide round the dance floor, elegantly avoiding the other dancers. As the music ends, we part the hold and take collective bows to the audience, receiving a huge cheer. I guess we’ve attracted some attention. Darcy’s smile is dazzling, and whilst it soon fades and the burden of what he’s carrying slips over his face again, his eyes don’t look quite as dull as they did previously.

We have a few minutes to catch our breath, while the juniors are on the floor for their first dance. Then we’re back out on the floor for the tango. It’s one of my favourites, and I know Darcy feels the same, confessing to me that one day he’d like to go to Buenos Aires to dance the Argentine tango in the clubs there. The ballroom version isn’t quite so risqué, but it’s still sensuous and I put everything I have into it, thrilled that Darcy responds. For a few seconds, I almost forget that we’re in the middle of a major competition, and feel like we’re back in the studio; it’s just us. Again, we’re greeted with cheers and whoops as we finish, and this time, Darcy’s smile stays longer and doesn’t fade as much.

We dance our way through the quiet beauty of the foxtrot, the whirling excitement of the Viennese waltz, and the intricate steps, flicks, and hops of the quickstep. At the end of each one, I feel the excitement of what we’re doing building, and even Darcy is looking relaxed and happier. There is an interval where we have time to rest and change into our clothes for the Latin American dances.

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