Page 49 of Sex Ed

‘And they do a decent fish and chip supper, too,’ she adds, walking me over to a table full of people.

An old lady in an emerald glittery number throws her arms around Mia then glances over at me, suspiciously. ‘Frank told me you brought someone. How are you, gorgeous?’

‘All good, nice to see you all. Love those sequins, Yolanda!’ Mia says, standing back to admire her. ‘Everyone, this is Ed. I work with him.’

‘Are you courting?’ a woman in a fur stole asks us.

‘No, he just doesn’t get out much so I’m trying to jazz up his social life.’ Whilst this isn’t a complete untruth, some of the old ladies stare at me with a look that can only be described as pity, like they might want to adopt me.

‘Well, you’ve come to the right place,’ Frank tells me. ‘Can I get you a beer?’

I nod, conscious my hands are still in my pockets. ‘Well, young man, I’ve been dying to get out there since I arrived. Do you dance?’ Yolanda tells me, a hand to her hip.

‘I-I… don’t really dance. Maybe I’ll just watch for now,’ I mutter.

‘Love, none of us can really dance, we just shuffle around. Come on… It’ll make Esther over there in the feathers super jealous,’ Yolanda jokes with me.

‘Ed, when a beautiful lady asks you to dance, you do not refuse her invitation,’ Mia says to me, putting her hands to the small of my back and giving me a gentle shove.

I look at Mia with a face of complete fear. She’s throwing me into a sea of old people in fancy outfits with absolutely no life raft. Just my youth and work chinos. I hear a few older ladies at the table cheering me on.

I smile bravely at Yolanda. ‘Well, I apologise in advance if I step on your feet and stuff…’

‘Oh, I have calluses and bunions. I probably won’t feel it anyway,’ she jests. Sexy.

We walk onto the dancefloor and I glance back at Mia but she waves me away. I think I hate her for this. When we find an open space to dance, Yolanda places her crepe-like hand in mine, pulling me close in so our hips are touching and showing me where to put my hand to her back. I gulp hard and loudly. I’ve briefly seen those dancing shows on television. I won’t be doing any of those moves but I think I can side-step my way through this, yes? I pray Yolanda doesn’t want me to spin her. More importantly, I hope I don’t have some strange reaction to the bodily contact and get a stiffy when I’m dancing with an old lady. This will give her the wrong idea and Mia will mock me for life.

‘So, if you can count to four then we’re on to a winner. Think of it like a box. Step back, let me follow… to the left… There you go… Have you never slow danced with a lady then?’ she asks me. She wants me to talk through this, too?

‘Umm, not really. Not proper dancing like this,’ I admit.

‘Well, I’m honoured to be your first.’ I fake a smile and glance over to Mia who has both thumbs up in the air. Speaking of firsts.

‘So, how do you know Mia?’ I say, getting distracted and bumping into a couple and apologising profusely.

‘She’s a regular here. She teaches a group of us creative writing every fortnight, and she organises these evenings.’ I stop for a moment to see Mia still stood in conversation, laughing and hugging everyone. ‘Didn’t you know this? And you two work together? At the school?’ she asks.

‘Yeah. And no, I didn’t know this…’

‘I knew her mother. She was the one who worked for the council and got this community centre started up, and Mia took it over when she moved back to London.’

I nod, still thinking too hard about trying to keep time but also thinking about how little Mia has told me about her life. I always knew she had sisters, but the way Yolanda speaks about her mum in the past tense makes me think she’s not around anymore and I didn’t know this. Of all the things she has shared with me, she never told me this. I didn’t know about this secret community champion identity she had. Perhaps I assumed a lot of things about her.

‘Ooooh, look at Esther. Bloody show-off.’

I turn to see a lady in the middle of the floor who is not taking prisoners. Christ, Esther, that’s a lot of feathers. She seems to have come with a semi-professional partner who flings her about the dancefloor, kicking her legs high and wide. I hope she’s wearing the right supportive underwear for that.

‘She took up yoga a few years ago and thinks she’s better than us. Look at that fake tan. She looks like a garden fence…’

I laugh at the competitiveness but quickly stop when I realise Yolanda may have her hand on my arse. Is she squeezing? I think she is.

‘Yolanda,’ I whisper in horror.

‘That is a good bum… is she looking?’ she asks.

I swallow hard, watching as Esther dances closer to us. ‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Yolanda – you found someone to dance with you? How lovely,’ she says, a little spitefully. Lady, that tone is not going to win you any friends. Her partner looks me up and down.

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