Page 62 of Not Strictly Ballroom

“I need to talk it through, but I’ll be in touch,” I say, and walk back to where I need to get back to work, only now allowing a grin to show through.

“What do you think?” Nick asks, as he stops his dad’s van in the car park of what looks to be a derelict building. Not that I can see much from the jungle of weeds that obscure the view. But Nick seems excited, so I try to sound positive. I fail.

“Um, okay, I guess.” I’m not sure what I’m looking at. He said it was a surprise. Last time he told me there was a surprise he’d booked us into a hotel for a night. This definitely wasn’t a hotel. He doesn’t look too downcast by my less than lukewarm response.

“Wait until you see inside.” He clambers out of the van and I follow. With the entire site now visible, I can see that, whilst overgrown, it doesn’t look as bad as I first thought.

He leads the way to a door in the centre of the building. It opens into a space, but Nick is already bounding forward.

“Kitchen,” he announces, gesturing towards a door to his right. “Changing rooms.” Another door, and I try to keep up with him, attempting to take it all in. “Storeroom.” A final door, but then he makes a sudden left turn and opens some double doors into a large space. He throws his arms wide and turns around in a complete circle.

“Now, what do you think?” His blue eyes are shining.

I look around the space. Well, it could work as a dance studio. In fact, it could be a really good one. It already has a great wooden floor, but the building needs a lot of work. Even I can see it’s not usable as it is, and an entire building must be expensive and . . .

“I can see you’re overthinking.” Nick drops his arms and comes over to stand in front of me.

“I have just one question,” he says. I look at him and nod my head.

“Okay.” He can ask his question.

“Could you see this as a dance studio?”

I look round the room again and I know the answer. Still, the enormity of something like this is too much. I was thinking of renting somewhere for a couple of hours a week. I look back at his hopeful expression and answer.

“Yes, but?—”

“No buts,” he cuts in. “Hear me out, please?”

Again, I nod. He takes my hand and holds it between us, slowly tracing a finger over the back of it, focussing on that rather than looking at me.

“Do you know I used to be envious of you?” he starts, his voice poignant. I can’t imagine anyone being envious of my joke of a life.

“I used to dream that I’d been born into a dancing family. That I had the opportunity to dance all day and go to competitions.”

“You know that’s not what it’s cracked up to be,” I say, and he looks at me with a sad smile.

“Yes, but what I’m trying to say is that I always had a dream to dance, perhaps to teach like you. This place needs a lot of work, but it’s work we can do. This could be our place. We could run it—together. You saw how many of Justin and Mark’s friends wanted lessons as well. We could make it an inclusive place, for people like us.”

I look at the hope brimming in his blue eyes.

There’s a lot of potential, I just don’t have the means to do anything about it.

“Since the competition, I’ve had a load of emails in the school’s inbox, most of them enquiring about lessons. I haven’t had the heart to answer them,” I reply, and his smile broadens, thinking of the possibilities. But I don’t know what it will cost him. I need to know that.

“How much?” I ask.

“Nothing we can’t manage.”

“No, Nick. You are not going to dismiss this question. All my life people have fobbed me off with half the information and kept things from me. I want to know how much, and I always want to know the truth. Okay?”

His shoulders sag as he realises he’s acted the same as everyone around me. He apologises, then tells me a figure and the terms he’d negotiated. Even then it seems huge to me. I’m struck by the gesture, so grateful that it hurts in my chest, but I can’t have him do that for me.

“I can’t let you do that,” I say.

“I’m not asking you to,” he flashes back. “I’m doing it for us, for our future, for something we can do together, D. I thought you might want that.”

He drops my hand and walks over to some windowed doors that look like they would fold back, opening the space up. I follow him and see the flat but overgrown lawn outside.

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