Page 98 of A Class Act

‘St Mede’s needs you…’ he now started.

‘Oh, give me a break, Mason. This school doesnotneed me. What it needs is a kick up the pants. Or a demolition order.’

‘I’m still trying to do the first,’ Mason said. ‘And I really think we’re getting somewhere. This production, you know…’ he trailed off, but I wasn’t prepared to make it easy for him ‘…we can still work on it together?’

‘Absolutely! Why wouldn’t we? Just because you’re shagging your ex-wife, sorry,estranged-wife, I see no reason to take it out on the kids.’

Mason visibly winced at the crude language but said, ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. Now, if you don’t mind, the only way I’m going to get warm is to move.’

‘You’re right, you’re right. Sorry, Robyn…’ Mason trailed off and then, taking my hand, he said, ‘Look, we had a good time together, didn’t we? You and me? There for each other when the one wereallywanted wasn’t around?’

‘Sorry?’ I stared. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better? That I was a… acomfort blanketwhen your favourite duvet had fallen off your bed?’

‘What?’ Mason’s mouth twitched and I wanted to laugh myself at the ridiculous analogy I’d come up with. ‘Look, Robyn, I really fancied you…’ He moved towards me and put out a hand. ‘Still do, of course.’ He stroked my arm and I looked down at it pointedly before giving him the same look I offered up to recalcitrant Year 7s who’d crossed a boundary. Mason hurriedly dropped his hand. ‘What I mean is, I know, deep down, you’re still in love with this London barrister bloke.’

‘No, I’mnot,’ I snapped crossly. ‘I most certainly amnot.’

‘And if he came knocking at your door…’

‘Like theAngelLoversedge came a-knocking at yours?’ Every time I uttered her ridiculous handle, I found myself about tosnort with glee. ‘Lo, she appeared before you, saying: “Verily, Mason, you are the chosen one…”’ I started to giggle. ‘Blimey, good job she never went off and married Peter Gabriel.’

Ignoring me, Mason went on, ‘A chance meeting at AA.’

‘You’re both alcoholics? Well, you kept that quiet.’

‘Alcoholics?’ It was Mason’s turn to stare. ‘Where’ve you got that from? A chance meeting at AAH: Amalgamated Association of Head Teachers. Look, Robyn, all I’m saying is, if you had a second chance with this barrister bloke – mind you, I can understand you refusing to haveanythingto do with a bastard who’s on the side of another bastard who tortures, rapes and murders women?—’

‘Enough!’ I put up both hands in Mason’s direction, furious with him for reminding me of the awful decision Fabian had made to defend Rupert Henderson-Smith.

‘All I’m saying—’ Mason refused to let it go ‘—is that if he appeared here, this morning, you’d listen to him.’

‘I most certainly wouldnot,’ I snapped. ‘I’vemoved on.I’vehad the strength of character to know when a relationship is irretrievably broken. One cannevergo back,’ I added loftily. ‘I wouldnevergo back to him. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get on.’

‘Yes, fine. Don’t forgetFocus Northis here on Wednesday,’ he reminded me. ‘I’ll arrange cover for all your lessons so that you can be down here all morning. I’ll try and get Kenneth to have the heating running constantly before tomorrow.’

‘Good luck with that one.’

‘He’ll want to interview you, you know?’

‘Who? Jobsworth Ken?’

‘No! The bloke in charge of theFocus Northfeature. You’ll really go for it, won’t you? Really sell yourself? Tell them you’re a West End star.’

‘But I’m not,’ I said irritably.

‘Youwere. All impressive stuff. Telly features like this will help boost our numbers. I’d like St Mede’s to be designated a performing arts school.’

‘In your dreams, Mason.’ I almost laughed in his face. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll really sell the school because the kids, more than anyone, deserve that if nothing else.’

So, was I upset? Had I been telling Mason the truth when I’d said the only emotion I was feeling was disappointment? Certainly, I was feeling something akin to regret, but I think it probably boiled down to a sense of embarrassment that I’d allowed myself to be seduced and that I’d then been usurped by a bountifully bosomed angel. Angel, my backside! I couldn’t help grinning to myself as I conjured up the best way to relate her name to Jess and Sorrel.

Once Mason had left the studio (I didn’t think for one moment his apparent self-reproach on being caught with his ex-wife would last even down the corridor and back to his office) I started to stretch and limber up. Things were looking promising, my knee allowing me to consider moves I’d not dared to just a week earlier. I blasted out Walk the Moon’s‘Shut Up and Dance’on the crappy sound system – this studio definitely needed a new one – and, slowly at first, I started swaying, bending, rolling, and before I knew it, I was dancing again. Really dancing. Sod bloody Mason Donoghue. I grinned to myself as I step-touched and shimmied, turned and leapt and then, before thinking better of it, started a full, no-holding-back, extravagant routine to the music.

Mason, I considered as I soared, could never have been the love of my life, had no way touched my soul as Fabian had. Maybe, I thought as I covered every inch of floor, we only ever have the chance of one great love in this life of ours. That after knowing, and then losing, a perfect love, one is forever chasing an unobtainable high.

Dance would be my high, I vowed and as, sweating and slightly trembly, I slowed and came to a standstill, and a chorus of applause came from the door where my first class of the day was waiting and watching, I knew I was going to be heading back to London: to the life I’d left behind, to dance professionally once more.

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