Page 49 of Slow Burn
‘I saw the reviews for your show,’ said Mum, sounding hesitant.
‘Did you?’ I asked, keeping it light. I had no idea where she was going with this.
‘When the Wi-Fi came back on again. I looked them up.’
I felt a shot of pride – she’d cared enough to find out how the show was doing. Maybe, secretly, she was prouder of me than she’d been making out.
‘It sounds as though you are dancing very well, Lira,’ said Mum. ‘Well done.’
I braced myself as I waited for the punchline, because there was bound to be a ‘but’ involved.Butyou belong in the dance studio.Butyou are not a dancer anymore.Butyou’ve let us all down. When no ‘but’ came, I was forced to cobble together a response.
‘Thanks, Mum. I hope so,’ I replied. ‘I’m enjoying every single second of being on that stage.’
Mum was quiet for a few seconds. For once, I’d refrained from telling her what I thought she’d want to hear and expressed what I truly felt instead. But was it too much too soon?
‘This Gabriele Riccitelli, he is very good. Very talented. Extremely handsome. Have you danced with him before?’ asked Mum.
‘No, not really. Never professionally.’
‘And are you? Keeping it strictly professional?’
‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘Of course.’
Me and Mum never talked about men or relationships or love. There was never really time and there had never been anything of note for me to say. Was I really going to tell her about my arrangement with Jack – which reminded me, I owed him a message to tell him I was away – or that I’d been fantasizing for years about Gabriele, a man I’d met once? It would be mortifying. She’d think I was mad. There was no way I could explain that, while wemostlydanced together, we’d almost had sex in his dressing room.
‘I know men like this, Lira. If you’re serious about dancing again, don’t get involved. That would be my advice.He thinks only of himself, I can see it in his eyes. He will hurt you.’
I squirmed. One minute Mum spoke to me like I was a naïve young child who was going to make the biggest mistake of her life, and the next she expected me to run the entire James family while she cruised around the world. Which was it to be? Which version of me did she want?
‘I’m not going to get involved with Gabriele Riccitelli, Mum,’ I said, shutting the conversation down. I looked over my shoulder at the group laughing and talking together in the bar. I was sure I could see Gabriele watching me again. Somehow, I could always feel it when his eyes were on me.
That evening’s show took place at a very grand theatre in the El Poble-sec area of the city, the theatreland of Barcelona. I noticed the Spanish crowd were much livelier than the Brits, with a jovial, slightly more unpredictable atmosphere in the auditorium, which was uplifting and infectious. For some of the more upbeat numbers – the samba, the salsa – a large portion of the audience even jumped to their feet, gyrating their own hips to the music, their arms raised above their heads with delight, their bodies twisting in time to the music. I liked to see how much joy we were bringing them; that maybe we were helping even just one person in the audience feel better that day.
Afterwards, we all left the theatre together as a cast, with some going on for drinks or paella. Luca’s parents had flown out to watch, so he quickly introduced them to Gabrieleand I and asked if we wanted to join them for dinner. Both of us declined – I had some studio admin to catch up on and planned to head back to the hotel. Earlier, Julia, one of the teachers holding the fort, had emailed me with a couple of queries and it was important to be responsive – andquickly– so that she didn’t feel like she had to muddle through on her own. I wondered why Gabriele was so reluctant to socialize with the others – he seemed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders lately, and I didn’t think it could be the pressure of the show, since in that regard, things couldn’t be going better.
I smiled at them all, and briefly at Gabriele, before heading in the direction of the Gothic Quarter and our hotel. A few minutes in, I stopped to take a photo of a stunning, floodlit church and, on a whim, posted it on the ‘Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves’ WhatsApp group. These days, it was hit and miss as to whether anyone would respond, a situation I was going to need to do something about when I was back in the UK.
Was it just the change in me my family couldn’t get their head around? Or was it that they felt as though I was disrupting their lives as well as mine? Trying not to overthink, I let myself enjoy the sensation of walking in central Barcelona at night. During the day, the cobbled streets teemed with tourists and locals going in and out of the high-end shops and hotels in this part of the city, and it might be shaded, for the most part, due to the narrow streets and stone buildings, but I found it humid and airless,and definitely not meant for the thousands of people that flocked there. But tonight it felt different. A cool breeze ruffled the back of my neck and, except for the odd tourist taking the long way back to their own hotel, the streets carving their way off the main drag were quieter and emptier than I’d ever seen them.
‘What do you make of Barcelona. A good crowd, no?’
Startled, I turned to see that Gabriele had fallen into step beside me.
‘Sorry. I seem to have a habit of creeping up on you,’ he said.
I laughed. ‘My fault, I was in a world of my own. And yes, the audience were great tonight. Talk about getting into it!’
‘Wait until you meet the Italian crowd. This isnothing!’ he said with amusement.
We walked in silence for a beat or two, before I plucked up the courage to ask.
‘Is everything okay?’ I said.
‘Why, have I been even more of a recluse than usual?’ he teased.
I considered how to put my thoughts into words, and whether now was even the right time to do it. He didn’t seem the most attuned to the effect he had on other people, or how his own attitude or mood might be obvious to others. He was who he was, it seemed, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. I liked that about him.
‘You’ve been a bit distant since we arrived in Spain.Since we had that coffee in Madrid. I wondered if it was something I said. Is it about Paris?’
