Page 41 of Two to Tango

Izzy stops clearing the counters and turns to me. ‘You haven’t lived with anyone? I assumed maybe… Never mind.’

‘Go on.’

She shrugs. ‘I just thought… I mean, you’re thirty-five and, you know…’ She gestures from my toes to my head.

I fight back a smirk. ‘I don’t know. Go ahead.’

‘Shut up. You know you’re not exactly unattractive.’

Now I have to laugh. ‘High praise from Her Royal Highness, Izzy Coulthard.’

‘If you’re going to keep saying things like that, it would be much more entertaining if you used my Sunday name, Isabella.’

‘No way.’

‘What? Why are you laughing?’

‘The shoe, or should I say the crown, fits, that’s all. Isabella, Claribella, Crystabella, Arabella, Marybella. The bellas are a posh group of names.’

She only half smiles. ‘Yes, well, it’s part of Mummy’s show for the outside world. My sister is Annabella. What? Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘You sound like someone I used to know very well.’

Someone I loved.

The mother of my child.

Her eyes narrow, as if she’s waiting for more. Getting into deep and meaningful is not my thing. It is definitely not my thing with a woman whose goal in life seems to be driving me nuts publicly.

She nods, as if she’s accepting my unwillingness to go on.

‘So,’ I say, ‘let’s get back to your saying I’m good looking.’

She shoves me in the shoulder and sets about pouring us each a glass of water. ‘I said you’re not unattractive. There’s a difference. And I just figured you were maybe divorced or something.’

‘No. No divorces. No relationships long enough to move a woman into my place. How about you?’

She takes a seat on a stool while I finish making her breakfast. ‘Ha, no. Two longish, or medium-term, relationships. One with a pretentious arse my parents wanted me to marry. One with a guy I dated to antagonize my parents… shaved head, tattoos, working class.’

I keep my eyes on the pan in front of me but clench my hand around the wooden spoon. She really is just another Alice.

‘Brooks, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense.’

‘No, hey, none taken. You obviously didn’t mean me because I don’t have a shaved head.’

I force myself to smile. She offers a meek curl of her lips in return.

* * *

Studio A is becoming the bane of my existence. Today, our audience has grown to four reporters. The two new additions are, ‘Important bloggers in the fitness circle,’ to quote Madge.

Izzy has put one of her YouTube classes on the big screen and she’s standing to one side, her arms folded across her chest, her back pressed to the mirrored wall, one foot casually resting against glass, distracting me because the glass was just cleaned this morning. I decide to choose my battles and this is a small one that wouldn’t give satisfaction worth the effort.

Instead, I focus on Izzy on the screen; there’s a smile on her face as she dances. She looks happy, an infectious kind of happy that makes me want to smile. Thing is, I can’t because I’m too damn frustrated trying to get my feet to do what I know in my head they should be doing.

‘Just keep moving,’ Izzy tells me.

So, yeah, I end up doing some kind of Chandler Bing dance that isn’t even in time to the music, all in a bid to work up a sweat.

---