The Vintage Summer Wedding

by Jenny Oliver

  Chapter Twelve

  The first thing Anna noticed as she pedalled up to Primrose Cottage was that the roses had gone. Shorn off at the base of the stem, the bush was now bare. The second thing was Seb, sitting on the front step, his arms draped over his knees.

  She wheeled the bike up the path and he looked up and said, ‘I’m moving out.’

  She paused. ‘Right,’ she said after a second, nodding.

  He looked up at her, his face rigid and nodded back.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Into the shed.’

  Anna snorted a laugh, unable to help herself.

  ‘I don’t think it’s very funny.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘But you can’t live in the shed.’

  ‘I’ve swept it out. I’ve put up a camp bed and there’s an old camping stove, a radio and I’ll come in if I need the loo.’

  ‘Sounds cosy. Like a man cave,’ she said, trying to find some neutral ground where they might crack the surface and remember that they liked each other. ‘Maybe you’ll quite enjoy it.’

  ‘No, Anna. It isn’t a fucking man cave, it’s a shed. I won’t enjoy it at all.’

  ‘Why are you doing it, then?’

  ‘I thought you’d want me to.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have checked with me first?’ she asked.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Maybe I want to,’ he said. ‘Your phone arrived this afternoon. Could you do me a favour and delete that app?’

  ‘You really think I’d keep it?’ she asked, incredulous.

  He looked stubbornly down at his hands.

  Tell him you’re sorry. ‘Well, fine, enjoy the shed,’ she said, wheeling the bike to the side of the house and locking it up to a drain pipe. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy there. Your parents will be delighted to hear about this turn of events.’

  ‘I’m not telling them,’ he replied as she walked back round to the front door.

  Don’t ask. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t want them to have anything else against you.’

  Tell him that maybe you are afraid. ‘How chivalrous. Especially considering you’re the one who stayed out all night with Melissa Hope.’

  Seb pushed himself up off the step. ‘I think the horse had already bolted by then.’

  Laugh. ‘Please don’t use one of your dad’s sayings at a time like this.’

  ‘See you, Anna,’ he said as he walked away in the direction of the shed.

  Follow him, Anna. Follow him and live in the shed with him. Are you winning?

  No. No I’m not.

  But years of training. Years of poise kept her standing exactly where she was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Anna walked into the Razzmatazz rehearsal, she was tired. Looking out the window at the little light in the shed all night would do that to a person.

  She was wearing the clothes she’d worn all day in the shop, a dusty pair of safari shorts and a black vest and, as she pushed open the door of the hall she noticed how the temperature in the cavernous room had dropped alongside the thunderstorm. It was dark and cold and the shafts of sunlight coming in through the high windows seemed to be doing nothing but illuminating the dust and glitter from the children’s playschool as it swirled like snow.

  She rubbed her hands down her arms and looked around to see where everyone was. Three kids sat on the steps to the stage, heads down, arms slumped on their knees, shoulders rounded.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked, checking her watch because she was sure she was ten minutes late.

  It was ten-year-old Billy who looked up. Matt kept his head bent, red Beats headphones over his mop of hair. ‘I think they’re making a stand, Miss.’

  ‘Anna.’ she said. He looked confused. ‘Anna,’ she said again, ‘Not Miss.’

  ‘Oh, OK, Miss.’

  ‘A stand about what?’ she asked, shivering slightly as she went to look for a light switch.

  Billy sighed like she was stupid. ‘About you, Miss.’

  The brunette who sat on the step below the two boys and who Anna didn’t really remember from the previous rehearsal, glanced up, a look of nervous terror on her face at the exchange. As if somehow maybe this all might get back to a real teacher.

  Anna paused with her hand on the switch and, before throwing light on the great hall, said, ‘So why are you lot here?’

  ‘My mum made me.’ Billy rolled his eyes. Then he added, more quietly, ‘She thinks I could be a dancer.’

  Anna held in a scoff and congratulated herself on her self-control. When she asked, ‘Do you think you could be a dancer?’ she flipped the light switch and the room blinked with bright, fluorescent light.

  Billy squinted, ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  ‘I didn’t enjoy the last class. With you.’

  ‘But that’s what being a dancer would be like,’ she said, walking closer to the three of them.

  Billy narrowed his eyes and said, ‘Well I don’t want to be one then.’

  The look on his little face suddenly didn’t sit comfortably with Anna. It was like the feeling of a Daddy Long Legs landing on her bare arm, that once brushed off could still be felt, still make her shudder at the thought of it.

  Was that what being a dancer was like? Had it been like that with Madame LaRoche? It had been hard, it had been painful and sick-making and exhausting and she had been shouted at and pushed and pushed beyond her limit and her body had ached and her feet had been battered and bruised and her muscles had shaken with pain, but then there were times when it had been amazing. Like being sprinkled with fairy dust, like the sweat and the ache and the thirst and the fear had fuelled her hunger, her adrenaline, her skill, her determination and when it had come together and been perfect she had flown. And she had loved it.

  When had she last felt that adrenaline?

  ‘What about you?’ She nodded towards Matt and said loudly so he might hear over his music, ‘Why are you here?’

  He raised his head a fraction of an inch, bright-blue eyes blank, and shrugged a shoulder like he couldn’t give a shit whether he was there or not.

  Billy sniggered. ‘Cos he fancies Lucy.’

  Anna glanced around the room, looking for that massive fringe, ‘But Lucy’s not here.’

  ‘Yeah, but he didn’t know that, did he?’ Billy snorted.

  Anna felt her lips twitch as Matt blushed scarlet and swiped Billy across his carefully swept to the side hair.

  ‘And you?’ Anna nodded to the girl.

  ‘Mary,’ she said, playing with her split ends.

  ‘Why are you here, Mary?’

  Mary paused, looked down at her feet. ‘I felt sorry for you.’

  Anna opened her mouth to huff but didn’t, instead she straightened her shoulders and tried for poise but as she lifted her nose a little higher in the air it suddenly seemed completely pointless. Taking in her surroundings, and the disgracefully poor turn-out, she thought, d’you know what, fuck it, and walked over to the stage, sliding herself up onto the wooden slats.

  ‘OK, fine. We’ll work with what we have.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ Billy made a face.

  ‘No,’ she said more sternly than she had intended and she watched the three of them bristle. ‘No,’ she said again, softer. ‘No, we’ll just practice. Billy and Matt, you had a good connection from what I remember, and your lifts were good, but you’re not focused enough, you aren’t aware enough of what your bodies are doing. We’ll work on posture today and that should lead to balance. It’s here‒’ She put her hand on her stomach. ‘Got any muscles there?’ She snorted at the idea of it.

  Matt bashed Billy, ‘He’s got no muscles.’

  ‘Oh, and you have, I take it?’ Anna raised a brow.

  Matt hooked one finger under his T-shirt and lifted it to reveal a cracking set of abs.

  ‘Blimey!’ Anna was caught totally by surprise and realised she was bl
ushing.

  ‘Like what you see, Miss?’ Matt winked.

  Her instinctive reaction was to brusquely tell him no, but instead she found herself laughing. ‘Well, that’s a hell of a set of muscles,’ she said. And, as Matt grinned for the first time ever, that she’d seen, and even Mary sniggered under her curtain of hair, Anna felt her shoulders soften.

  ‘Come on, let’s warm up. We’ll do some Pilates, just to get your muscles loose.’

  ‘Pilates is gay,’ Matt sneered, glugging down some Coke. Billy sniggered.

  ‘Oh good God.’ Anna shook her head. ‘Even top footballers do Pilates, you idiots. Come on, it’ll make you better with those tumbles. And swap the Coke for water.’

  ‘Why?’ Matt took another glug.

  ‘Better for your muscles. Better for your bodies, less sugar.’ She paused. He eyed her dubiously, seemingly waiting for some kind of order or reprimand.

  ‘But, it’s up to you.’ She shrugged, pretending that she didn’t care if he carried on drinking Coke or not, when really she wanted to tell him that he was wrong and she was right.

  After a quick Pilates warm-up, they then paced through what they could of the basic steps. Billy hurled himself into the air whenever the chance arose, back-flipping like an elastic band, then running off to sit on the sidelines until his next portion of acrobatics. It turned out, however, that, as they practised the moves for their slightly bizarre street dance, disco and now ballet-infused routine, that Mary and Matt were actually quite a duo. Mary, who, when she tied her hair back and was pulled out of the shadows, her sleeves pushed back on the jumper, which Anna, freezing cold, was coveting, could seemingly move. And not just move but move really damn well.

  ‘Mary, why don’t the two of you try the Hustle in the mid-section. Stand in for Lucy.’

  ‘I don’t wanna do it with Mary,’ Matt sulked.

  ‘Just try it,’ Anna urged.

  ‘But I want to dance with Lucy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mary added, quietly, ‘I don’t want to be Lucy’s part.’

  ‘She’s not here!’ Anna said, exasperated. ‘Just give it a go.’

  And so Mary took a reluctant step forward from where she’d been standing on the edge while Matt made a face at Billy and Anna gave him a look to try and stop him being mean. The step was a version of the disco, Continental Hustle, that Anna had attempted to teach them last time round.

  ‘Remember, it’s based on six counts not four,’ Anna said as they stood awkwardly together, Mary barely able to touch Matt’s hands.

  On the first go Mary wrap-turned to the left instead of the right and ended up in completely the wrong direction, treading on Matt’s toes and leaving Billy smirking on the edge and Matt sighing with his hands in the air. ‘It’s not going to work,’ he said, immediately stepping back.

  ‘Give it another go.’ Anna tipped her head to the side. ‘You may as well, there’s no one else here. Otherwise it’s just a waste of the rehearsal.’

  Matt sighed, Mary looked at the floor.

  ‘Mary, stand up straight. The most important thing is communicating with your partner. Look into his eyes. Look at each other’s expression. You have to assume the personality of each dance.’ And so they went again, and again, and gradually they looked at one another and Anna felt herself smiling inside at the pinking of Mary’s cheeks as she stopped turning the wrong way and instead stepped in time with Matt and the two of them started to really move as Billy whooped from where he had perched himself on the top of the piano. ‘Lovely. Love it. Enjoy yourself, Mary,’ Anna shouted, and Mary went even pinker.

  When they stopped, Anna found herself doing a little clap. ‘See! Now that’s what I call a step!’ She laughed and Matt wiped the sweat off his face and deigned to allow a tiny smile while Mary looked back down at the floor and nodded.

  A car horn beeped outside and Mary said, ‘I think that’ll be my dad.’

  ‘OK, let’s call it a day.’ Anna nodded as the three of them immediately darted off to grab their stuff. ‘By the way,’ she said, wondering if any of them were listening when they didn’t look up. She swallowed, not actually sure what she was going to say, and then blurted out quickly, ‘That was good. You were good.’

  Matt, who was already near the door, just shrugged a shoulder.

  ‘Erm,’ she went on, ‘next rehearsal...Will the others come, do you think?’

  Billy and Matt exchanged a look. ‘Depends what we tell ’em, Miss.’

  She paused, then found herself asking, ‘What will you tell them?’ And as she said it, realising that all her muscles had tightened in expectation of the answer.

  As Billy and Mary trooped past her, Billy turned to walk backwards, his rucksack strap looped over his forehead, ‘We’ll tell them to come, Miss.’ He grinned, a little dimple appearing in his cheek.

  Anna breathed out, unable to believe quite how much that meant to her. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Whatevs,’ Billy called, turning his back to her and holding his hand in the air in a wave as he jogged out the room.

  Her bubble of pride was short-lived. It lasted as long as it took for her to get in her car, drive home and walk into the house. As she flopped down onto the sofa, Seb walked past her from the kitchen, a bowl of pasta with tomato sauce in his hands.

  ‘Hi.’ She said, tentatively.

  ‘Hi,’ he replied. ‘I just ‒ I had to come in because the gas stove wasn’t working.’

  ‘Oh right.’ She nodded, sitting forward on the couch. ‘That’s fine. Come in anytime.’

  ‘No, I’ll get it fixed,’ he said, his voice flat and unfriendly, then carried on towards the door.

  She thought how ridiculous they must look, Seb taking his pasta out to the shed.

  ‘Bye,’ she said then.

  ‘Bye,’ he muttered, without turning round.

  When he came in late that night to wash up his plate and use the bathroom, Anna stood on the upstairs landing in her nightie, listening to the sounds of the water running and lights turning on and off. She leant on the banister and peered over but he didn’t look up and she didn’t say anything.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Since the thunderstorm, the weather had become quite erratic. Cool in the mornings, scorching in the afternoons and then suddenly cloudy with bursts of rain. Even the forecast gave up on solid predictions ‒ the jet stream seemingly as volatile as events in Anna’s life.

  By the time of the next Razzmatazz rehearsal, Anna found that she had been nervous her whole day in the shop, silently polishing and rearranging.

  Since her moving of the furniture, Mrs Beedle had sold nearly half the cushions and the giant gilt mirror and Anna had watched as she’d almost flogged the chaise lounge but the guy had said he needed to think about it, which Mrs Beedle said was the kiss of death for a sale. As a result of this sudden flurry of interest, Anna had spent the last few days working her way around the front of the shop, re-hanging pictures and carefully arranging cupboards, vases, lamps and chests of drawers. But all the time she was aware of the big pile of chairs and junk that sat piled high in the far corner of the shop. If she stood with her back to the front door, the counter and the curtained stockroom on her left, to the right was a portion of the shop floor that resembled a post-modern antiques sculpture and made her feel a little queasy every time she saw it. Just visible through a mesh of mismatched chairs was an old shop sign, a moth-eaten theatre set of Old Manhattan, a fairground fortune-teller with a missing eye and some precariously stacked boxes.

  When she asked Mrs Beedle what she was going to do about it, Mrs Beedle shrugged and sat down in her armchair next to the counter, her back to the rubbish heap saying, ‘That, my dear, is exactly why my chair faces this way.’

  But for Anna it was like an itch that needed to be scratched, and while Mrs Beedle told her there were other, more important, things to be getting on with ‒ like clearing the stockroom, polishing the good stuff that was out the front already ‒ Anna would spend a
surreptitious half hour each day while Mrs Beedle napped in her chair, tugging bits free from the complicated maze and either adding them to her sorting boxes out the back, or positioning them unobtrusively round the shop. The oil painting of a young girl with a white dog at her feet that was now hanging where the gilt mirror had been, for example, had been plucked from the heap and Mrs Beedle had paused next to it the day before, narrowing her eyes as if trying to decide where in the hell it had come from.

  At the end of the day, Anna had just freed a box of glassware ‒ little jugs with cut-glass edges, a set of six champagne flutes etched with delicate gold stars and a vase of deep-purple and blue faux-marino glass that shone when she held it up to the day’s fickle sunshine ‒ when she saw a couple of Razzmatazz-ers troop past the shop on their way to the hall.

  She checked the time and realised this was it, this was when she’d find out if they’d OK-ed her. The idea made her brow start to bead with sweat. The possibility of victory here made other victories possible ‒ perhaps next she’d be able to have a proper conversation with Seb.

  Pushing the box of glass onto the welsh dresser, she went out the back and grabbed her bag and sweatshirt. Then as she stood at the door of Vintage Treasure and looked over at the hall, she felt her hands starting to shake. If none of them came, what would that mean? That, once again, she had failed? Hold yourself tall, Anna. Poise. Never apologise, never explain. Never let them see your weakness, Anna. No one puts winning with weakness, Anna.

  She realised then that, nowadays, she spent so long protecting herself from the possibility of failure, that she never put herself in a position that came with the possibility of winning.

  But as she walked across the sun-dappled square, past the lazy sheepdog and the pecking sparrows, her mother’s voice was silenced by a louder one in her head, one that she hadn’t heard for a long time that said, I do mind. I do care. It does matter if they are there or not. Please. I really want them to be there.

  Her own voice.

  Pushing open the big double doors and stepping into the darkness of the hall that smelt of glue, sandwiches and orange squash she paused before looking up. Breathed in through her nose before raising her head but, when she did finally glance up, she felt her whole body fizz like it was filled with bubbles. There, sitting along the edge of the stage like birds on a telephone wire, was the whole motley crew of them.