Page 54 of Not Strictly Ballroom

“It’s validating for us. It normalises it. Every time someone has the courage to go out there and show everyone what can be done, it makes it easier for us.”

I’m suddenly drawn into a group hug by both Mark and Justin and it overwhelms me—their emotion, their words. I drop my head, not wanting them to see the effect it’s having on me.

“Oh, sorry,” Mark says, hurriedly dropping his arms. “We didn’t ask if you’d be okay with a hug.”

“It’s fine, I was just . . .” I didn’t know how to explain it. I hadn’t thought about the wider community. It’s one I don’t actively feel part of outside of Nick and a couple of his friends. I feel I ought to own up to that. “To be honest, I wasn’t doing it as a way of being seen. I just wanted to dance with Nick. I’d been told I couldn’t, but that changed, and so I did what I wanted.”

“For love?” Mark almost squeals and swoons with a hand over his heart. Justin rolls his eyes at him and I laugh.

“Something like that.”

“Well, whatever the reason, it’s inspirational,” Justin says “We said we wanted to continue lessons and now we’re thinking we could try a competition, the beginners’ level, someday. If you’ll teach us.” Mark nods his head in enthusiastic agreement.

I sigh, and their eagerness makes what I have to tell them even harder.

“I’m really sorry, but I can’t continue the lessons. The school is closing.”

“What!” Mark’s exclamation is a piercing contrast to his earlier swooning.

“My parents have decided to close the school,” I reply, not willing to be drawn into any further discussion on the whys or wherefores.

Both Justin and Mark look ready to ask a million questions, but I direct them instead to their lesson, and make sure they’re confident they’ll be able to remember it on Saturday.

They dance well and, whilst they might not be foot perfect, they make up for it with enthusiasm and the love for each other that oozes out of them. It’s joyful to watch, and I find I’m looking forward to seeing them perform it for real on Saturday. I’m also looking forward to their wedding because I’ve never been to a wedding before. Is that normal? We have no other family outside of my mum, dad, and sister. Claire isn’t likely to be getting married soon, and without a network of friends, I’ve never been close enough to anyone to be invited. It just serves to remind me of another thing I’ve missed out on, along with birthday parties and holidays.

As people are arriving for the next class, the beginners, which will be followed by the improvers, the phone rings. I answer it and it’s someone enquiring about lessons. I explain the situation to them and return to the studio to start the lesson. The phone rings again and it’s the same enquiry, but from someone else. I tell them the same, too. After it rings for a third time, this occasion five minutes after I’ve started the lesson, I take the phone off the hook. That’s more enquiries than we’d received in a week before. For the next couple of hours, I concentrate on the classes, enjoying myself and noting with a sense of sad pride those who are improving, knowing I can’t help them continue. They’re all full of congratulations, the same as Mark and Justin were, and it’s also very difficult to tell them that there won’t be any classes after the end of the month. Their disappointment is unanimous, but I tell them there is nothing they can do.

After the same question has been directed at me for the dozenth time, my patience starts wearing thin and I answer more sharply than I had intended.

“Even if I could continue the lessons, there’ll be nowhere to dance. This building will be demolished to make way for the new housing development.”

“Years ago, we just used to learn in the village hall.” One of the clients pipes up, with agreement from the others.

“Yes, we used a church hall; dancing on Tuesdays and Sunday school on Sundays,” says another.

“Couldn’t you rent a hall for lessons?” someone else asks. “It doesn't matter where it is for me. I just want to keep dancing.”

“I don’t know,” I respond, because I need to give them some answers. I don’t elaborate, as I need to think. Was it something I could do? More importantly, was it something I now wanted to do?

Nick arrives as I’m about to lock up the studio, and I remember belatedly that we’re catching the bus into the city centre for the radio interview.

“Hi,” he says with a smile, and then looks round the place with a frown. “It feels different somehow.”

“You notice it, too.” It isn’t a question.

“It feels sad,” he says, wrinkling his nose slightly, and I know what he means as I feel it as well.

“Shall we?” I gesture to the door so we can go.

“Your—”

“Are not in,” I reply, as I know exactly what he’s going to ask and I don’t want to talk about it. He just nods, and I’m grateful he doesn’t push.

We get settled in at the radio station for the interview. I try to give general answers about my upbringing, not wanting to go into too much detail. They ask about my dreams, and I reply that the opportunity to dance at the Nationals had always been a dream that had eluded me for many years. I get caught up in my own words, words that come naturally without overthinking. I said to dance; I didn’t say to win. I’ve always said to win before, and it’s with the clarity of distance that I fully comprehend how much I’ve been shackled by my mum’s vision. And just like that, they fall away. A lightness expands in my chest that is both freeing and terrifying. I miss the next question.

“Sorry, what was that?”

The presenter frowns at me.

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