Page 1 of Last Dance, Second Chance

Chapter One

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Every muscle in Jessica’s 31-year-old body ached, as they did every morning. She groaned as she forced herself out of bed — she might be a proud member of the 5a.m. club, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy the actual execution of it. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get fully used to waking up when it was still dark outside.

Her apartment didn’t seem to have cooled down at all during the night, despite her keeping the windows wide open. The constant noise from the street below was slightly preferable to the stifling heat with them closed. New York in an August heatwave was no joke, especially when you’d grown up with British summers. Maybe one day she’d live somewhere with air con.

A cool shower helped to revive her somewhat, and she dressed in her leotard, adding a pair of shorts and a loose vest top. There was no point in make-up — she’d soon be sweating so much it would just slide off her face. She was lucky that her dark eyelashes and red lips meant she never needed to wear much make-up anyway. She pulled her long jet-black hair into a well-practised chignon and downed a protein shake while packing her bag with her water bottle and a variety of snacks — she didn’t usually have much time to eat during the day, so relied heavily on foods that could be consumed quickly and with minimal mess while giving her maximum nutrition.

She was walking down the three flights of stairs from her tiny attic apartment before six, and dawn was breaking.

* * *

The studios of the Greenwich Ballet Company were only a ten-minute walk from Jessica’s home, a commute she counted as an extra warm-up ahead of her day of dance practice. The smell of steaming rubbish made Jessica wrinkle her nose, but at least the streets were quieter than they would be later, which she liked. Jessica hummed along to Tchaikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty score. She’d rehearsed parts of it so much, it had been playing on a loop in her head for weeks.

The company was still on the annual lay-off period, which meant Jessica had been teaching at a dance summer school, and waiting tables before that, since the company had broken up at the end of May. She had another fortnight before the company would be back full-time, but Jessica and a number of the company’s other dancers had returned to training early. They’d had auditions for their next ballet and were now using these couple of weeks to get properly back into shape.

The doors to the ballet company opened at 6a.m., but the building was quiet, with no classes or rehearsals going on at the moment. Some summer schools would still be running for the rest of the week but didn’t start until much later in the day.

Jessica smiled as she stepped inside and the unique smell of dance shoes, wood polish and coffee hit her nostrils. She adored this old building and had ever since she first stepped into its shabby hallways as a nervous eighteen-year-old, thousands of miles away from her family home in England and desperate to prove herself among the polished-looking American girls with their designer leotards and bored-sounding accents. Thirteen years on, and Jessica had more than earned her place as a soloist for the company. A position which had allowed her to travel the world performing in some of the most amazing venues, in Paris, Sydney and London to name just a few. And it was every bit as wonderful as she’d imagined it would be.

She was living the life she’d dreamt about as a teenager in her little bedroom in her parents’ semi-detached home in Kent, exhausted and juggling homework with intensive ballet competition and practice. Back then, she’d been terrified she’d grow taller, fill out and not remain five foot four and slim with almost perfect measurements to become a professional ballerina.

Jessica stole a glance at the building’s noticeboard as she passed — nothing had been posted on the outcome of their auditions yet. It was hardly surprising because the office wouldn’t be open for hours — but announcements were due later that day.

Jessica found empty practice space with ease. There were some dancers in the company who liked to work in a room with others, but Jessica relished the quiet of being by herself in a studio first thing in the morning. She liked to take her time warming her muscles up and to spend as long as she needed working on anything she was struggling with, without having to worry about someone else wanting to move on or getting fed up with her playing the same few bars of music through her little speakers again and again.

Jessica set up her speakers in the corner and selected the music on her phone.

She took off her shorts and top and began working her way through the routines she’d done almost every day of her life since her first ballet class aged five, following every movement her body made in the mirror on the opposite side of the room. First position was so natural to her that it was her standard resting pose — even when waiting in line at the supermarket. She worked her way diligently through the exercises, only stopping to take a sip of water and wipe herself down with a towel — the building was too old for built-in air con, and its huge windows meant it heated up quickly. The large fans placed in each of the studios merely moved the hot air around.

But today Jessica couldn’t lose herself in the familiar routines as she usually did. Her gaze repeatedly flitted to the large clock on the wall. It seemed to be moving far slower than usual. She went over to her phone — the clock was right and time was indeed dragging.

Once she’d completed her hour’s practice she finished her water, packed up her stuff and went down the corridor and into the gym. She flinched at the change from the quiet and solitude of the studio to the busyness and noise of the people and machines. Dance music blasted out of speakers on the wall and she waved hello to the other dancers already there, working hard. Everyone was keen to show the casting decision-makers just how much effort they put in.

“Hey, Jess,” called a brunette running on the treadmill.

“Hiya, Bethany.” Jessica walked over to her friend. “Is there any news?” she asked quietly.

“Not that I’ve heard. The list might not be up until this evening I guess,” Bethany whispered back in her Boston accent.

Jessica exhaled. “I’m going to be a mess by then!”

“Let’s do our workout and have a quick shower, and then we can go and grab a coffee. I could do with the caffeine hit — and it’ll take up another half hour,” Bethany suggested.

“That sounds like a good idea.”

The friends focused on their gym session, their natural competitiveness leading them to push themselves harder than when they exercised alone — a trait that would ensure they had even sorer muscles than usual the next morning.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Jessica and Bethany returned through the large double doors of the dance company to find a crowd gathered around the noticeboard. They looked at each other, nerves written clearly on both their faces.

“Let’s play it cool,” Jessica said, trying to ignore the butterflies performing the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” in her stomach. Bethany nodded. They held back, seemingly checking their phones until the squealing had died down and most of the dancers had moved on.

Without speaking, Jessica and Bethany walked over to the board. “Congratulations!” called out a young dancer Jessica knew only by sight.

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