The Twelve Dates of Christmas

by Jenny Bayliss

  “Oh, well, Kate, that’s marvelous,” Evelyn gushed. “You’re on safe ground there, dear. Gosh, I remember you on Saturday mornings, always rushing off to the Big Town for ballet lessons, and you did tap too, didn’t you?”

  “Yup. And jazz, and I tried my hand at contemporary modern when I was at university,” said Kate.

  “Have you ever salsa danced?” Evelyn inquired.

  “I have, actually,” she said. “I signed up for classes when I first moved to London; there was a great salsa club just off Regent Street that I used to go to quite a bit. You should try it! It’s great for keeping you limber.”

  Evelyn pondered as she rang Kate’s shopping through the till.

  “Maybe I will,” she said. “I’ll see if there are any evening classes in the Big Town. Does Mac dance?”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  The club was forty-five minutes away. Her dad had offered to take her, but Kate wanted to drive. After the overindulgence of the last date, she had decided to stick to lemonade this time. The snow had held off, but the temperature had dropped and the night sky was thick and starless.

  She was supposed to have received details and a photograph of her date via email, but the Lightning Strikes website had gone down. Instead they had tweeted to say that the date was still going ahead and that the reps would assign them their dates when they arrived.

  In the foyer, three tables had been hastily set up and three nervous reps handed out name tags with a slip of paper attached to each, which had the name of their date scrawled on it in ballpoint pen.

  Kate handed her coat and jumper in at the cloakroom and shivered in her strappy vest top and skinny jeans; she expected to get hot later from dancing, but for now, with the door to the foyer constantly opening, she felt goose bumps burst out over her arms.

  Latin beats furled out from the club entrance, and Kate felt her hips twitch as she waited in line. The closer she got to the door, the more distinct the sounds; the siren call of saxophones and the sexy throb of bongos pulled at her body. Kate spotted her name tag and the scrap of paper attached that read Drew. She scooped them up and pushed at the red velvet doors to the club.

  The sound swept over her. The bass pounded through the soles of her feet and thrummed up through her body. It was impossible to stay still and Kate found herself wiggling where she stood. She ripped off the piece of paper that read Drew and fastened her name tag to her vest top.

  The club was dark and hot. The dance floor was beginning to fill; couples locked into each other and moved with the music, swaying and grinding together as if under the spell of a snake charmer.

  Around the edges of the dance floor other couples looked on nervously, biting their lips and shifting their feet. Many people were still wandering around checking name tags, looking for their date. Some had rooted themselves resolutely at the bar; their dates would be disappointed if they had hoped for a night of steamy salsa dancing. Kate looked around and hoped her date wasn’t one of them.

  The bar front and back was a colorful patchwork of Mexican tiles, floral repeating patterns in vibrant royal blue, rich saffron, and sangria red that echoed their larger counterparts on the surrounding floor. Some parts of the walls were exposed brick; others were painted turquoise and fiery ginger. The curved wall that ran behind the DJ was a mural of Day of the Dead dancing skeletons.

  Kate headed to the bar to order herself a drink.

  “Kate?”

  Kate spun round to see a man holding up her name on a scrap of paper. He pulled at his close-fitting short-sleeved shirt to show her his name tag. It read Drew. Kate was delighted.

  Drew was tall, black, and athletically built, and she had no trouble believing he had a six-pack hiding beneath his shirt. He looked like he could dance too. His hair was swept back off his face, which was nothing short of beautiful; his eyes were framed by perfectly arched brows. He was clean shaven. His nose came to a perfect point with just the right amount of turned-up to be desperately cute, and his lips formed a perfect cupid’s bow.

  Kate wondered if her outer self was grinning as hard as her inner.

  “Lovely to meet you,” he said over the noise of the music, and kissed her chastely on both cheeks.

  “Likewise,” Kate said. She couldn’t hold back her smile.

  “I think there’s been a mistake,” said Drew.

  Kate’s smile faltered.

  “How so?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing personal,” he said. “You’re just not my type, I’m afraid.”

  “You don’t even know me!” Kate was affronted.

  “I don’t need to.” He smiled.

  A swarthy man with sweat sticking his shirt to his pecs walked by. Drew pointed at him.

  “Because he’s my type,” said Drew.

  Kate’s disappointment instantly dissolved.

  “Oh no!” She laughed. “Poor you! Shall we go and see the reps?”

  Drew shook his head.

  “I don’t think they’ll be able to help,” he said. “They’ve got no access to the website files and I don’t fancy approaching every man in the club to ask if they happen to be gay and dateless.”

  Kate looked about her, her laughter subsiding. She didn’t know what to do next. Tonight was clearly a washout as far as meeting her potential soul mate, but she had been looking forward to dancing.

  “Can you salsa dance?” asked Drew.

  “Yes,” said Kate. “Can you?”

  Drew smiled devilishly.

  “Like a young Patrick Swayze,” he said. And he grabbed her by the hand and led her out onto the dance floor.

  He wasn’t lying. He was one of the best dance partners she’d ever had, and the sexiest too; such a shame he was more into Kevins than Kates, she thought. They danced until they were both breathless and dripping with sweat, and Kate had to admit to herself that she needed to do more exercise.

  To one side of the bar was a doorway that led into a chill-out area where canopied banquettes lined the walls and candles flickered in sconces. And it was here that Drew and Kate retreated to, breathless and glistening. They collapsed onto a cerise velvet banquette.

  The throbbing beat from next door still made itself felt, but the music here was slow salsa and a lower volume, though no less provocative judging by the silhouettes of some couples hidden behind the veiled canopies.

  “So, besides wiggling your hips like Shakira,” said Drew, “what else do you do?”

  Kate laughed.

  “I design fabrics for Liberty and I bake for a local café,” she said.

  “Liberty!” he exclaimed. His eyes grew wide and Kate was pleased she’d impressed him. “I knew you had to have soul if you could dance like that.”

  “What about you?” Kate asked.

  “I’m a banker,” he replied, raising his eyebrows. “Cue jokes and innuendos.”

  “I wasn’t going to say a thing.” Kate held her hands up in innocence. “Have you met anyone special on any of the dates?” she asked.

  “Well, there was one guy,” said Drew a little shyly. “I don’t want to jinx it, but his name is Steven and he works as a translator for the Home Office. He seemed nice; tired of all the dating bullshit, and he wants to settle down.”

  “He sounds perfect,” said Kate. “I take it that’s what you want?”

  “I’m thirty-six,” said Drew. “If I want to start a family, I need to get a move on.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Kate. “I’m thirty-four. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to go it alone if the right guy doesn’t come along, but I just always had this romantic idea about being with someone special and starting a family together.”

  Drew sighed.

  “You and me both,” he said, and he put his hand on Kate’s and gave it a squeeze. “What about you? Met anyone with potential?
”

  Kate thought about Anthony and Oliver. Both had potential, she thought; just not with her.

  “Not yet,” said Kate. “But I remain hopeful.”

  “I’m surprised a fine filly like you is single anyway,” he said. “What gives?”

  “Did you just call me a filly?”

  “Don’t avoid the awkward question,” said Drew. “Spill it! I want the full heartbreaking details.”

  Well, thought Kate, he did ask! And so, Kate gave Drew a brief overview of her love life thus far.

  “That’s quite a list,” Drew said.

  “I prefer to think of it as research,” said Kate.

  Drew raised his eyebrows.

  “Longest relationship?” he asked.

  “Dan,” said Kate. “Four years.”

  “That’s longer than any of mine,” he mused. “Greatest heartbreak?”

  The image of an all-too-familiar face swam unbidden into Kate’s mind. Her breath caught, but she recovered herself quickly and pushed the image back into the recesses of her mind, where she kept painful things.

  “I don’t think I’ve had my heart broken by an actual boyfriend,” said Kate.

  “Oh, that’s very deep,” said Drew. He rested his chin on his hands and fixed Kate with an intense stare. “But you’ve been heartbroken,” he said.

  “Yes, I think I have,” said Kate. “But it was fixed a long time ago. What about you?”

  “Longest relationship was Conner; eighteen months.”

  “And was he your greatest heartbreak?”

  “No,” said Drew. “That would be when Take That broke up!”

  Kate laughed. “Please tell me how a sex bomb like you can have trouble finding guys.”

  “It’s not the finding them I struggle with,” said Drew. “It’s the keeping hold of them.”

  “You and me both,” said Kate. “Maybe you’ve been dating the wrong kind of men?”

  “Are you suggesting I’m shallow?”

  “No!” she said. “But maybe you should broaden your horizons, try a different type, someone you wouldn’t normally go for.”

  “I signed up for this, didn’t I?” he said. “And look who I ended up with!” He gestured toward Kate.

  “Well,” said Kate, laughing. “You have to admit, I’m not your usual type.”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  After a cold drink and some respite, they went back to dancing: hot, sticky sensual dancing punctuated by cozy chats and cooling lemonade, minus unreasonable expectations, nerves, and pressure to conform to a hopeful stranger’s ideals.

  Salsa night turned out to be the best date yet, despite there not being the ghost of a chance of a relationship. It was the most fun she’d had in a long time. Kate and Drew had a lot in common. They’d swapped numbers and Kate hoped they would keep in touch; it shouldn’t be too hard for them to schedule in a lunch or a drink after work when she was in London.

  Drew was catching the train back to the city; the station was only a five-minute walk from the club. Even with her coat on, the cold smacked her hard when they finally left the thrumming music behind and Drew walked Kate to her car. After being so hot for so long the chill seemed to bite through to her bones. There was a thin crunchy layer of snow on the ground and the flakes were gathering momentum.

  “Will you be all right driving home?” Drew asked. His brow was furrowed as he looked up at the sky and pulled his gloves on. “I think this is just getting started.”

  “I’ll be fine,” said Kate. “We have a tendency to get snowed in where I live, so I’m used to driving in far worse than this.”

  “If you’re sure,” said Drew. “I don’t mind shouting you a taxi. I’m sure I could talk the club management into letting you leave your car here.”

  “Honestly, I’ll be fine,” Kate assured him. “I’ll take it slowly. The main roads will be clear and the gritters will be out.”

  Drew kissed Kate on both cheeks. He smelled delicious: sweat and expensive aftershave.

  Kate watched him turn out of the car park. He turned back and shouted a final good-bye.

  “Sorry I wasn’t your dream man!” he called.

  “Sorry I don’t have a penis!” Kate called back.

  She heard Drew laugh loudly as he crossed the road.

  Kate gave one last wave and climbed into her car. Her teeth were chattering. Where she had been damp with sweat not twenty minutes before, she now felt icy, borderline numb. She blew on her hands and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed lazily and choked.

  “Oh no no no,” she said. “Don’t you dare. It’s not that cold; everybody else’s car managed to start.”

  She turned the key again. It bayed mournfully like an old bloodhound and died.

  “Shit,” said Kate.

  There were only two cars left in the car park now and the surge of people leaving the club had dwindled to a drizzle. Her whole body was shaking. Sleeping in the car was not an option.

  She got out and headed back into the club. The snow was coming down fast now and her original footprints had already been wiped out. There was no one in the foyer, so she pushed through the doors into the club.

  As with most nighttime establishments, the magic and mystique was lost when the lights went up. The salsa club was no exception. What had seemed sensual and luxuriant in the dark was stark and a bit tacky under the white glare of the spotlights.

  Two people were clearing up behind the bar and another three collected glasses from around the club. There were no punters, save one drunk man with a quiff and a cheap suit shouting into a mobile phone and demanding to know where his “bloody taxi” was.

  Kate approached the bar.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry to be a pain but I don’t suppose anyone’s got any jump leads? My car won’t start.”

  Nobody did. Apart from one girl who’d walked the fifteen minutes from her house, they all commuted in by train and were eager to get cleared down and gone before they missed the last connection.

  They offered her the use of the phone to call a breakdown service, but Kate hadn’t bothered to get it renewed when she set up her last insurance. She’d decided to shop about for cheaper breakdown coverage but never got around to it. The manager said she could stay in the club until they closed down, and Kate was grateful.

  It was too late to call her dad, and she didn’t want to bother Matt and Sarah. She looked up train times on her phone, but the last connection to Great Blexley had been and gone. The drunk man stumbled out of the club shouting, “’Bout effing time!”

  “I’m just going to give it another try!” Kate called to the bar manager. He nodded and carried on working.

  It was bitter. The snow had almost filled in her second set of footprints. The chessboard roof of her old Mini Clubman was covered in a white frosty fur. She climbed into the icemobile and tried the engine. It gave one quiet wheeze and gave up.

  “Shit shit double shit!” shouted Kate.

  The snow was creeping up the windscreen. She slammed the door and tramped back over to the club. The doors were locked.

  “Shiiiiit!” she said. They must have gone out the back way and thought she’d gotten her car started.

  The club was on an industrial estate and at this time of night it was empty and eerily quiet. Through the muffling of the snow she heard a train pull into the station and hoped the bar staff had made it in time.

  She shuffled back to her car and climbed in, pulling her coat tightly around her. Kate jabbed a stiff finger at an app on her phone and music began to play. She kept the volume low; she didn’t want to advertise her status as lone-woman-Popsicle.

  She couldn’t feel her toes at all. Her limbs, so supple and pliable on the dance floor just hours ago, felt brittle. She pulled the tartan throw—usually draped o
ver the backseat for esthetics—up over her nose and mouth. I’ll give it ten minutes and see if it’ll start, and if it doesn’t then I’ll really panic.

  After a few minutes she turned the music off; she didn’t want to run the battery down, just in case. A pair of foxes padded lightly across the car park, coming in from different directions. They saw each other and stopped. Kate wondered if there’d be a fight, but they seemed to think better of it and turned back out the way they had come; one stopped to nose around the bins before leaving.

  Two men, drunk by the sounds of them, walked past the car park, talking in shouts. One declared he needed to “take a piss!” Kate watched as he doubled back and stumbled into the car park.

  He zigzagged toward the car. Kate slunk down in her seat, hoping he wouldn’t see her. The man stopped a stone’s throw from the Mini and began to urinate against the wall. Steam rose up as he melted the snow.

  “Come on!” yelled the man outside the car park. “I’m freezing my nads off here!”

  “Coming!” shouted the other man, doing up his fly.

  Kate sat very still, breathing shallowly. The man stumbled back out again and their noisy commentary resumed. She breathed out, relieved.

  After another five minutes she tried the key in the ignition again. It turned over once and then choked.

  Kate banged her head against the steering wheel. “Oh bloody, shit, shit, shitters!” she shouted, pummeling the dashboard with her fists. She didn’t hear the car pull into the empty car park.

  There was a knock on her driver’s-side window. “Fuck!” she shouted; she jumped so high, her bottom left the seat and she banged her head on the ceiling.

  “Sorry!” said a man’s voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to check if you were all right? See if you needed any help?”

  The man backed away from the car with his hands up like a surrender. The window was misted with her breath. She opened the window a crack. “My car won’t start,” she shouted through it.

  The man walked slowly toward her.

  “I’ve got jump leads in my car,” he said. “I can help you get it started. I was on tonight’s date,” he went on. “I came back to see if I’d left my phone in the club.”