Page 51 of Not Strictly Ballroom

When we get home, my mum is there and already has a pot of tea brewing—the national drink of healing, recovery, and condolence. Darcy accepts a cup, and she gives him her best soothing smile. It’s a magical smile that I know well, and I see Darcy manage a little one back before I herd him upstairs to my room.

Once he’s drunk his tea, because that’s important, he sighs and presses his fingers to his eyes.

Usually when we talk, we sit cross-legged, facing each other, but I want to hold him, and I think it might be easier if he doesn’t have to look at me. So I shift backwards until I’m leaning against the wall, and invite him to sit between my legs, his back resting against my chest. I rest my hands on his thighs, waiting for him to take whatever time he needs.

When he tells me how he feels like his life has been ripped out from under him, I can’t help but move my hands until they’re wrapped around him. He’s always brought out some sort of protective instinct in me and I can’t help it. It goes way back, years, to when we first met. It’s probably why we became best friends—my need to look out for the dark-haired boy with the shining green eyes.

As he recounts what he found out, I’m glad he waited to tell me. If I’d known this and his parents were around, his mum especially, I might not have been able to hold back. I’m so angry with what they’ve done.

“Nick.” It isn’t a question, it’s a statement.

“Hmmm.” My mind is still whirring with what I’d like to say to them.

“Can you let go of me?” I’ve balled my hands into fists, clutching his T-shirt.

“I’m sorry.” I unclench my hands and smooth down his T-shirt.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he says. I can hear the desolation in his voice and it shatters me.

He turns sideways in my lap and puts his arms around me. I wrap my arms round him and hold him while he breaks.

I have no answers for him but to let him sob it out, and even when he stops, I keep him enclosed in my embrace. Eventually, he falls asleep and still I can’t let him go.

“Here’s another one.” Doreen places a newspaper on the breakfast table and I glance at the headline. In the two days since the Nationals there’s been a barrage of publicity. This is the third newspaper, in the last two days, she’s presented me with.

“It’s almost as if you had won.” Doreen looks pleased that Nick and I are getting a lot of attention. I’m not so sure. It was the publicity we needed if the school was going to stay open. Now it just seems empty.

Yesterday, Nick borrowed his dad’s van and took me back home to collect some things I needed.

My parents were home and I told them the two decisions I’d come to, but I still need to figure out all other aspects of what I’m going to do with my life.

“Darcy, there you are. We’ve been worried about you,” my mum said when I walked into the living room. So worried they didn’t try calling me. They knew where I was, as Claire—who did bother to see how I was—said she’d told them. I ignore her and head towards my room.

“We’re sorry. Can we explain?” I stop at their words and turn to them.

“No, you lost that privilege when you chose not to tell me what your plans were.” I direct this mostly at my mum. My dad’s not off the hook, but I know the subterfuge was orchestrated by her.

“I’m not coming home. I’m staying with Nick until I can sort something else out,” I tell them. “I’ll come back only for the lessons we have arranged for as long as I’m needed. I will not let our clients down. Nick and I will still hold our forties event in a couple of weeks because, again, I will not let those people down.”

Having delivered my speech, I spin round and continue to my room. Packing up as many clothes as I can fit into all the bags I can find, I also pack in toiletries, books, chargers, my laptop, and of course, Bearlero.

Now, a day later, I’m trying to come up with ideas for a new career. I reach for some more cereal. After not eating Saturday evening and very little yesterday, I woke up hungry, so I’m taking it as a good sign.

My phone rings and I pull it out of my pocket. It’s Claire.

After asking how I am—really, what can I say?—she states her reason for ringing.

“Would you and Nick be up for an interview with local radio?”

“What about the people who actually won the competition?”

“They aren’t local, and well, frankly, they aren’t news. You guys are hot property right now.”

I don’t really know what to say to that, so I ask Nick, who’s stuffing his face with toast.

“If you want to, then I’m happy to be there.” He shrugs, seemingly unaffected by the thought of appearing on the radio. He also seems quite content to stay in the shadows, and I’m not prepared to let him do that. He was as much a part of the competition as I was. I couldn’t have done it without him.

I tell him as much later when we’re back in his room.

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