Choral Society

by Prue Leith

  The man was a fantastic dancer. Rebecca was good, but he was better and he lifted her game. Some of the surrounding dancers fell back to give them space and were now watching. Rebecca found the audience a real turn-on. The beat got faster and faster, but the dancing had taken over now and she didn’t have to concentrate. She could feel the sweat running down her spine and she was panting, but she felt she could keep going for ever.

  When the music changed, they stopped and gave each other an involuntary high five and a kiss of congratulation.

  As they headed for the bar, they met Joanna and Lucy at the edge of the dance floor. Both were grinning and they patted Rebecca on the back as though she’d won something. Good, she thought, at least they’ve stopped sulking.

  Neither of them had been on the floor. Rebecca was aware of the very Latin-American convention in salsa clubs that women didn’t ask men to dance. So under the pretence of going to the loo, she got weaving and found partners for Lucy and Jo. All the pros were dancing, or hiding, and she had to bully a couple of regular punters she knew into asking them to dance.

  But within minutes Lucy had been dumped by her partner, and a few minutes later, Joanna was back too. She shouted above the noise that her dodgy knee was giving her trouble, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t follow her partner anyway.

  The three women went upstairs to the restaurant and ordered rice and black beans with fried sweet potato and mince. It was, as Rebecca knew it would be, awful. Normally, she’d never eat here. The dancing was great but who wants nineteen-fifties’ Cuban food? But she had to do something with Jo and Lucy.

  They were half way through the meal when Lucy suddenly said, ‘Oh God, there’s Orlando Black. Keep your heads down, he mustn’t see us.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’ asked Rebecca. ‘Do you know him Lucy? I’d love to meet him.’

  Lucy muttered something about Orlando writing the column she used to do on the Globe. She hardly knew him; she’d seen him on the box, that was all.

  He had the look of someone who knew he was turning heads. He had a half smile on his lips and a slightly detached gaze as he weaved his way between the tables. The look seemed to include everyone while never quite focusing on anyone in particular.

  He walked past their table and Rebecca called out, ‘Orlando!’ He turned, looked confused, and then saw Lucy, who was apparently searching for something under the table. He stooped and picked up a napkin.

  ‘It’s Lucy Barnes, isn’t it? Is this what you’re looking for?’ Lucy, obliged to straighten up, took the napkin, and smiled a forced thank you.

  Rebecca filled the gap. ‘I’m Rebecca,’ she said quickly, ‘and this is Joanna. Would you like to join us?’

  He smiled into her eyes, a huge professional smile as if she’d offered him something wonderful. ‘I’d love to, but I’m meeting someone. I’d better go find him.’ He shrugged, apologetic. Then he turned to Lucy. ‘But Lucy, I’m so glad we’ve met. I need to talk to you. Shall we do lunch? I’ll call you.’ And he was gone.

  ‘Wow, is he gorgeous or is he gorgeous?’ said Rebecca. ‘He’s—’

  ‘How could you do that, Rebecca?’ interrupted Lucy, her face flushed with anger. ‘I told you I didn’t want to meet him, told you I didn’t want him to see us. And you bloody call him over!’

  Rebecca was amazed at this onslaught. ‘Of course I did. He’s cute. And famous. And I wanted to meet him. What’s the matter with that?’

  Joanna joined in. ‘Becca, the point is Lucy had made it clear she didn’t want to see him. Don’t you think you owe her some loyalty?’

  This is mad, thought Rebecca. ‘Loyalty? What is this? A lacrosse game? How can Lucy remotely mind if I say hello to someone she knows?’ She looked at Lucy. ‘And anyway, what’s the problem, Lucy? He could not have been nicer. And you’ve got a lunch date with a drop-dead gorgeous telly-star out of it. I’d say you owe me one, sister!’

  Rebecca genuinely did not get it. She watched as Lucy shook her head and said ‘Forget it’ in an uptight way, and saw Joanna close her eyes and sigh. Obviously, they thought her beyond redemption.

  They drank their coffee in silence. Rebecca was about to suggest that her misery-guts friends go home and leave her to have some fun, when Orlando reappeared with another guy in tow.

  ‘Ladies, can we join you after all? We couldn’t find a table and then I remembered Rebecca’s offer. It is Rebecca isn’t it?’

  Rebecca was pleased he’d remembered her name. He introduced Juan, his producer on Know Your Onions, the telly quiz show that he presented. Juan was tall, skinny and Spanish-looking. Late thirties, maybe.

  Rebecca decided things were looking up. They now had two good-looking guys, both young and friendly.

  On the women’s advice, the men skipped the dinner menu and ordered pizza. They tried to buy drinks all round, but Joanna said three mojitos was more than enough for her and Lucy asked for mineral water. Rebecca had a Cuba libre with an extra shot.

  Juan ate half his slice of pizza and dropped the rest of it, at the same time pushing his plate away.

  ‘Not good,’ he said. He turned to Rebecca. ‘Would you like to dance?’

  He had a theatricality and an ‘Old Europe’ affectation about him, which was both a spoof and, Rebecca thought, real. He held out his hand and she followed him down to the dance floor, her palm resting on the back of his raised hand, like a couple about to take the floor in Come Dancing.

  He was nothing like as good a dancer as the little fellow she had partnered earlier. But he was a lot sexier to smooch with. As soon as the music slowed up, he had his hand opened wide across her bare back, pulling her to him. He was taller than her, so when she looked up she could smell the aftershave on his neck. Guerlain she thought. He dropped his head to nuzzle her ear, and she bent her neck a bit to make it easier for him. She smiled at the thought of how shocked Joanna and Lucy would be. They seemed to think you had to know a guy for weeks, and maybe even love him, before you felt the tug of lust. She was sorry for them really. They missed so much.

  Rebecca was not made like them. She knew already that Juan and she would spend the night together. Maybe not all the night, but enough to satisfy them both. And why not? Angelica was back in Edinburgh so she did not run the risk of shocking her so-shockable daughter, and what was she meant to do? Live a life of celibacy? She just gave thanks that the lighting in this place was so minimal. Otherwise Juan would certainly have rumbled her age and been after younger meat.

  They danced for maybe half an hour, by which time they were kissing a lot, and, especially when doing the rumba, she was encouraging the hardening lump in his trousers by some judicious bump and grind, and by occasionally letting her fingers accidentally trail across his groin when turning. She loved the feeling of power that came from a guy really wanting you, when he could not deny his horniness and you could orchestrate matters to keep him on a high wire.

  When they both knew it was time, they just left. Rebecca did feel a genuine pang of guilt at abandoning Joanna and Lucy, but told herself, hell, they are grown women, and anyway they had probably left already. They’d been keen to quit all evening anyway, hadn’t they?

  Next morning Rebecca woke up early – and anxious. She hadn’t had a hangover like this for a very long time. She blundered into the bathroom and looked forlornly in the mirror. Crumpled with sleep and her face still smudgy with last night’s make-up, she looked a hundred. Thank God Juan had left. He’d gone, she thought, about three. Nice guy. But she knew she would not see him again. And she did not really want to either.

  She made a mug of tea and sat at the kitchen table to drink it. Why did she feel so wretched? It wasn’t just the hangover. About once a month she drank a bit too much, occasionally a lot too much, but nothing criminal. She just liked to party, that was all.

  Actually, she thought, I know what is making me feel so awful. It’s guilt, that’s what. Guilt at abandoning her two friends in the club, guilt at being unfaithful t
o Nelson for no good reason, and guilt at her behaviour last week at dinner: she’d lost it with her daughter, been really rude to Bill, and landed her friend with cooking the dinner.

  She had to do something about all of them, she decided. But what she needed right now was a decent breakfast. It would settle her stomach and give her the courage to put all this right. Suddenly cheered by a decision, Rebecca showered, pulled on trousers and a sweater, plus her mac – it was still April and showery – and set off for Carluccio’s. She ordered scrambled eggs and pancetta, the bread tin with fig jam, and a latte.

  Halfway through the eggs, she rang Lucy.

  ‘Lucy,’ she said, ‘I’m really, really sorry. Will either of you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Oh, hi Rebecca. Forgive you?What for?’Then she laughed, ‘You mean that horrible club? Neither of us will ever, ever forgive you for that!’

  At Lucy’s tone Rebecca felt herself relax with relief. ‘No, I’m utterly unrepentant about the club. Everyone should experience a salsa club once in their life. But I do feel guilty about abandoning you.’

  ‘Abandoning us? We abandoned you! We left you wrapped around that Juan fellow. Didn’t think you were going to peel apart for a while, so we scarpered while we could.’

  ‘God, that’s a relief. I woke up feeling so horrible. And not just about last night, Lucy. I also owe you a huge apology for my dinner party. It was supposed to be a treat for you, not a busman’s holiday. I’m really, really sorry.’

  ‘Becca, forget it. I enjoyed doing the food, and that daughter of yours is an absolute star. You should be proud of her.’

  ‘I am,’ said Rebecca, her anxiety returning, ‘but I behaved appallingly to her too. And to Bill.’

  ‘Well,’ said Lucy, ‘you were a bit rough with them, that’s for sure.’ She paused, then said, ‘Did Angelica tell you I’m going to teach her to cook?’

  ‘You’re not! Are you really?’

  ‘Yes. She wants to learn, and says everyone in her flat at uni lives off crisps and pizza, and buying decent ready-meals in Waitrose costs a fortune. So we thought she should get a couple of friends together and I’d teach them the basics.’

  Rebecca put the phone down with mixed feelings. She was delighted Lucy was so full of praise for Angelica. And it was really kind to give her lessons. But she felt left out. Angelica had not told her of this plan, and why hadn’t anyone included her?

  Rebecca still had Nelson on her conscience. She told herself she had no reason to beat herself up: she and Nelson had never made each other any promises. But somehow the affair had drifted on, and it was a year now. And, which was unusual for Rebecca, until Juan she’d not slept with anyone else. Truth be told, she hadn’t had any offers, but all the same, that year of Nelson-only had somehow made her feel bad about Juan.

  Nelson was lovely, and he was a great lover. But she still meant to find a man to marry. Someone with some money. Long term, Nelson would not do. Nor had she let Nelson meet Angelica. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because she knew it wouldn’t be permanent. And anyway, Angelica preferred to ignore the men in her life, indeed she’d once told her so.

  ‘Look Mum, when you meet someone you are going to live with or marry, I’ll do my best not to be the resentful daughter. But while you are just flirting for fun, or whatever it is you do …’

  Rebecca had attempted to interrupt but Angelica had put up a weary hand.

  ‘No no, don’t protest … I don’t mind, it’s your life. But just don’t tell me about it. I really don’t want to know, and most of all I don’t want to ever have another conversation with one of your guys about your relationship, how he adores you, how he wants to be friends with me. And all that blah blah blah …’

  So Rebecca told herself she was keeping them apart for her daughter’s sake.

  Nelson often expressed an interest in Angelica and Rebecca could never resist the temptation to boast about her. These conversations would generally end with Nelson saying he’d like to meet her. Lately he’d been more insistent.

  ‘Becca, you know we’ve been together over a year and I’ve still not met Angelica. Let’s make an effort.’

  ‘Sure, we should do that,’ Rebecca said – even though she knew she would not follow through.

  Nelson said in his Eminem accent, ‘Wassa madder, baby? Don’ you want I meet yo’ girl? You ‘shamed of this big buck nigger, dat it?’

  He was teasing of course, but there was truth in the charge that Rebecca was ashamed. It wasn’t of his colour. It was that she’d returned to her old habits and was screwing around with other guys.

  Rebecca’s infidelity had started that night with Juan. It was as if, having tasted freedom again, she had to have it. Rather like how having just one cigarette when you’ve given up, or one drink when you’re on the wagon, leads to a whole lot more. In the six weeks since her single night with Juan she’d had a brief flirtation culminating in a single (disappointing) night with one of Bill’s fabric suppliers and a week-long dalliance with an American friend of a friend, dull to talk to but rich, attentive and terrific in bed. It had been wonderful, but since he wouldn’t do for a husband – even Bill was twenty times more interesting – she’d not replied to his emails since he returned to the States. This was partly because Angelica, who had come home unexpectedly and met him, was so dismissive. Angelica was the one person whose disapproval really got to her.

  Right now there were a couple of guys she’d not say no to if asked. And she’d seen very little of Nelson. Their love affair was definitely on the slow burner, but it was still a pleasure, and Rebecca never really liked to let lovers go completely. She needed admirers like daisies need the sun, and she knew it.

  Happily, Nelson was not the jealous or inquiring kind so it had not been a problem. Except, occasionally, to her conscience.

  One afternoon Rebecca, returning from the supermarket laden with bottled water and loo paper and other boring stuff, had telephoned Angelica with a request to help unload the car. As she pulled up outside the flats, she was surprised and alarmed to see Nelson walking down the steps with Angelica.

  ‘Hi, Becca,’ said Nelson, ‘aren’t you the lucky shopper? A daughter and a friend to dance attendance?’

  Rebecca’s heart contracted with anxiety. Had Nelson said anything about them? Her daughter looked her usual calm and cheerful self, but why was Nelson here?

  ‘Hello, Nelson,’ she said, climbing out of the car, trying to sound super-casual, ‘this is a surprise!’

  ‘Ya, well, I figured you’d dreamt up this daughter of yours, so I jus’ mosey down to look see for mysel’.’ Dropping the street talk, he went on. ‘I didn’t reckon on you being out shopping, but it was cool. Angelica is one great young woman.’

  In spite of her anxiety, Rebecca could not help being pleased, and she smiled at Angelica and nodded. ‘She is. She puts her mother to shame.’

  ‘No, she does her mother credit.’

  ‘Could you both stop this?’ said a blushing Angelica. ‘Mum, let’s get all this stuff into the kitchen.’

  They unloaded the groceries and made coffee.

  Angelica, smiling at Nelson, said, ‘Mum, why haven’t I met this guy before? I knew he was your singing teacher but I didn’t know he was a good mate, and that you’d been to the Aldeburgh festival together.’ She turned to Nelson. ‘God, Nelson, how did you do that? Get Mum to go to a bunch of classical concerts? It’s impossible to wean her off Pop Idol.’

  ‘Rubbish, darling,’ Rebecca said. ‘You know I love classical music … And I thought you weren’t interested in meeting my friends – you said so, remember?’

  Even as she said it, Rebecca realised it was a mistake.

  ‘No, Mum, I’d love to meet your friends if they were like Nelson. Interesting friends with brains.’ She leaned over to squeeze Rebecca’s shoulder. ‘It’s the good-looking Latino dancers and sleek fat-cats that you flap your eyelashes at that I don’t want to meet. Like that idiot American. Nelson, honestly, you sh
ould have seen him. He looked like a Marlboro ad but all he could talk about was his company’s chocolate-covered crisps. That and my glamorous mother. They all talk about my glamorous mother.’

  Nelson said, ‘Wow, I am learning stuff about your mother that I am not sure I want to know!’ He said it lightly, with a smile, but Rebecca knew the information would not pass him by.

  Sure enough, when Angelica had gone back to her computer, and she and Nelson were walking down to the Cow, he turned to look at her squarely.

  ‘So who’s the American then?’

  ‘Oh, he’s just a man I know. Angelica’s right. He’s a bit boring.’

  ‘And the Latino dancers? And the fat-cats?’

  ‘Darling, I don’t know what she was talking about. I do go salsa dancing, as you know – I even invited you, remember, but you turned me down. Repeatedly.’

  But trying to put Nelson in the wrong didn’t work.

  ‘Becca, be straight with me. We always said being together was just for fun. No strings, no commitments. But you should be honest with me.’

  Entering the pub and ordering lunch curtailed the conversation and Rebecca went to the loo to give herself time to think. When she came back, she’d determined to do what she should have done months ago. And indeed what Nelson had asked of her. She would tell the truth.

  When Rebecca had a Caesar salad and a glass of Soave in front of her and Nelson was tucking into beef and Guinness pie, she said, ‘OK, darling. Here’s the story. I’m not proud of it, but you want me to be honest, don’t you? You say you do.’

  Nelson looked up and held her gaze. ‘I do.’

  ‘OK, well here goes. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. But the truth is I have never been faithful to anyone after the first months of dizzying passion. It is as though I am addicted to stage one of a love affair: the not knowing, the hoping, the longing, the feeling sick, the shaking, and the wanting sex all the time.’