by Sue Watson
Hi, yes it’s me! I saw your photo too and I remembered how you always wore your school tie around your head. How are you?
He responded immediately, saying he was fine, and he now wore ties round his neck. I asked if he was enjoying Christmas with the family (my not so subtle way of checking on the health of his marriage). He responded by saying ‘I’m spending Christmas at my mother’s, which I found interesting – particularly the ‘I’ instead of ‘we.’ He asked if I was married and so I felt it was okay to ask him, but when he said he was divorced, I thought ‘I’m not being made a fool of here,’ so I challenged him in a light-hearted way about the beautiful blonde on his timeline.
‘She’s my daughter, Holly, she’s seventeen,’ he said, with a smiley face logo. I smiled to myself, relieved he wasn’t married to a gorgeous blonde.
He explained that he was now divorced from Holly’s mother – which I have to admit pleased me and I told him all about Sophie. I intimated that I’d had endless lovers, countless offers of marriage but none of them were right for me (well, a girl needs good PR). We messaged each other for hours, sharing memories of school and of our relationship too and the years just slipped away. We’d grown up together and been through the whole teenage thing and I found him just as easy to talk to as I had then. Cameron and I had a bond I suppose - both virgins when we met we discovered sex together, which was quite a special journey to share with someone. He’d always be special to me and I enjoyed our trip down memory lane. He reminded me of a time when the chemistry teacher found us snogging in the lab, and how his parents came back early one night almost catching us in their bed. We had been through a lot together in those two years, and had gone from schoolkids to young adults. It was funny to think that this man I was writing to knew everything about my early life, my young body and was back here chatting to me. I’d never expected to hear or see Cameron Jackson ever again, he was so deeply embedded in my past it was as though he didn’t exist outside that time of flavoured lip gloss, first kisses and fumbled sex.
Eventually we said goodnight, both promising to keep in touch, and as I closed my laptop I thought about what Sophie would say when I told her I’d been flirting online. I was so pleased with myself, I was a thoroughly modern woman with a job, a life and now my own online ‘friend’.
Over the next few weeks I kept in touch with Cameron. He was a breath of fresh air, always talking about the past, reminding me of a time when anything could happen. We’d had the world at our feet, yet like most kids that age we didn’t realise or appreciate everything we had. Though he hadn’t changed, he was still funny but he obviously had an important job at the local council and he loved his two kids Holly and Jack. It was good to talk to someone without the distractions of work and family – in our little online bubble we could communicate privately without the rest of the world even knowing about it. I got the feeling he yearned for the past and all the freedom we had when we were younger. ‘When you’re young life seems to go on forever, you wait for birthdays and Christmas and think they’ll never come, but you spend the second half of your life holding them back,’ he wrote in one of our chats.
I felt the same, and meeting someone who had been such a big part of my life during that heady time reminded me what it felt like to have future and all the infinite possibilities it held.
I found the combination of dancing and Cameron to be quite a delicious cocktail and when I told Sophie she was actually impressed.
‘Oooh, Mum, you dark horse,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll have to come home immediately before you do something you regret... I hope you’re taking precautions?’ she said, impersonating my voice.
I laughed. ‘If only that were necessary,’ I sighed. ‘Firstly I doubt I could get pregnant at my age and secondly he is merely an online flirtation... though we have exchanged phone numbers, which in today’s world is probably the equivalent of getting engaged.’
We laughed about it, but if I’m honest I think even on that first night I’d begun to warm up that little piece of Cameron that had been left in my heart.
Meanwhile, Tony was constantly telling me to stand straight, his hand always in the small of my back metaphorically and physically moving me forward. He would sometimes cook for me in his cramped little flat and over delicious salads and fish dishes we’d talk about dancing. Even sitting at the table, our fingers would dance across the surface to explain a move, our arms showing the other one a particular hold, a finger click.
Tony was keen for me to make the very most of dancing and helped me to change my own rather fatty diet for something more healthy. He was like a personal trainer, always telling me I could do one more step, eat one less cake and that I was capable of anything.
‘You can do it, Laura – so stop saying you can’t,’ he’d say crossly if I ever even hinted that I might just throw the towel in. We worked hard, trained until the sweat dripped from our faces and my limbs screamed for me to stop, but we pushed through and I felt better for it. My body was beginning to feel firm, my legs strong and Tony said I was building stamina because I could dance for hours and never complained.
‘One more run through,’ he’d say, holding out his arms or just standing in his opening pose and I would willingly follow his lead. And as much as I needed him, I realised Tony needed me too. Until we met, we’d both spent Sundays alone and when Tony felt like hell at midnight wondering where his life was going he now had me to call. I can’t tell you how many of those midnight calls I received where Tony had to be talked through a man problem or even a dance we were trying to crack together. I’m convinced we were the only people in the world who could call each other without even saying hello and start with ‘that back step into your tango was stiff tonight...’
I even kept a calm communication with Sophie and stopped leaving frantic messages on her phone. I held back from declaring an international emergency and demanding to speak to the British Ambassador of wherever she was if she didn’t respond immediately to my texts. She was, is my heart and I would always worry about her wherever in the world she was – but I could channel it now and give my inner parent paranoia a day off every now and then. My energy and time was now being taken up with the dance and I was filled with an inner calm like I’d never felt before.
I began to like the way my body was changing too –I’d lost weight, and at forty-four I felt more confident than ever about my physical self. I’d never enjoyed walking into a room or being noticed, so I’d kept myself to myself, happy to stay in the background. But now I didn’t try to hide, staying under the radar in case I was noticed, I wanted to be noticed and the physical confidence was making me a stronger person. At work, when Julie reminded Carole and I ‘no chit-chatting on the floor, ladies,’ when we were actually on a break, I didn’t nod and scuttle off like before, I squared up to her. ‘We are having a conversation Julie – not a “chit-chat”, as you put it. We are two trusted, mature employees having a short break in a very long day and I speak for both of us when I say please will you not address us like we are three years old.’ She was taken aback and so was I – but she never said the c word again in my presence.
Carole was amazed; ‘What’s got into you?’ she’d gasped.
I shrugged, but I knew it was down to the dancing. For me there was no more hiding behind a smile and being afraid to speak up because I was scared to rock anybody’s boat. In the past I felt like I had to apologise for being me, for not being good enough, or slim enough or strong enough. I’d felt like a disappointment to everyone, but I wasn’t a disappointment to Tony, he said I was ‘a bloody revelation’.
‘You are looking good, girlfriend,’ he commented with a whistle one night as I arrived in new jeans and trainers for a training session. I’d let my hair grow a little, had it shaped and spent more than I normally would on a sea blue cotton jumper. I wasn’t wearing my glasses and Tony said I looked ten years younger. I was taking more care over my appearance these days because I didn’t feel invisible any more and
wanted to look my best.
‘You are doing so well I want to try the Argentine Tango again,’ Tony said.
‘Really? So soon?’ I sighed. I’d just begun to feel really sure of myself, and I didn’t want a night of leg-locking if it led to my confidence being knocked because I couldn’t do it and losing what little self-esteem I was building. ‘I don’t feel ready, Tony, I just need to practise at home on my own a bit more... let’s give it a week or so...’
‘No, you’re putting things off again, Lola – I thought we weren’t going down that road of saying ‘I’ll do it next week, tomorrow.’ I don’t want to hear your theories on why it won’t work, I just want you on that floor gagging for it,’ he snapped, ‘just listen to the music first, let it flow through you, imagine you’re having sex with a gorgeous straight guy,’ he winked.
So we tried again, but still I couldn’t ‘feel’ it the way I felt the other dances.
‘I know you thought I was joking when I said you needed a good shag, but girlfriend you so do,’ he said afterwards. ‘Why don’t you get Facebook guy over and offer him your body on a plate?’
‘I’m not sure it’s as simple as that,’ I laughed. Tony knew all about Cameron and though it was still just an online friendship with flirting Tony couldn’t wait for each instalment.
‘I’m not spoiling what Cameron and I have got...’
I started.
‘Love, you haven’t got anything – yet, but just think what you could have if you got him naked on that velour sofa and practiced the tango on him.’
‘Yes and I’d probably fall off the sofa mid-‘tango’ knowing my luck,’ I laughed. ‘But seriously, I’ve been hurt in the past and... I don’t want a man coming into my life and...’
‘Whoa girl. Who said anything about a relationship? I’m talking about a night... or just a couple of hours of red hot passion. Trust me it will be like a dam bursting...’
‘Oh what a lovely image...’ I sighed.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll nail that tango – but you have to get nailed first, girl... you just need to have sex... with anyone. Okay?’
‘Yes. I’ll pick someone up on the way home,’ I said, thinking how it must have been so easy for Tony. He was a gorgeous gay man and he didn’t get it that an average middle-aged woman couldn’t just pick up any man she fancied like he did.
‘When are you going to believe that you’re attractive... gorgeous even? Lola, you just need to believe it.’
His smile made me smile – I liked Tony’s approval, it made me feel good about myself. Our friendship was special – it wasn’t complicated by sex or rivalry or jealousy we just spent our time laughing and dancing – and what’s not to love about that?
9
SHATTERED DREAMS AND FLESH TINTED PIXELS
In between long shifts at Bilton’s, Tony and I worked on our ‘repertoire’ as he called it.
‘We need to be eclectic, not predictable or complacent – always offering a little surprise here, a quirk there,’ Tony said.
‘My dad always used to say stuff like that... about dancing. You remind me of him.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, there’s a song that’s been going through my head for years, I think Luther Van Dross sang it, it’s called “To Dance with my Father Again”.’
‘Yes I know the one you mean, it’s really slow, makes me want to cry.’
‘Me too – I suppose it’s about being able to say goodbye. I never said goodbye to my dad and if I could have anything – I’d have one last dance with him.’
Tony smiled. ‘I think we could dance to that song you know, a waltz?’
‘I would be a blubbering mess.’
‘Me too,’ he laughed.
‘It’s not just the dancing though. I know it’s not the image you want, but like him you make me feel safe, like my dad did.’
‘Safe? Try telling that to the hunky builder who’s doing my brickwork. He looks scared to death every time I go near him.’ Typical Tony, he found it hard sometimes to take compliments and would turn them into a joke.
‘Don’t go near him then,’ I said.
‘I can’t help myself. I stand behind him when he’s on the ladder and pretend to be ever so interested in his work, but really I want to look at his cute bum. I found him on this website that said his work was “robust, pleasing to the eye and largely maintenance free”. I thought he was describing himself, I didn’t realise it was actually a builders’ website. So when he turns up on my doorstep in a big hard hat with a bag of tools I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.’
Tony’s whole approach to life was just what I needed after a lifetime living with Mum’s melancholy. He never took anything too seriously – though everything was high drama, the most horrendous thing could happen and Tony would turn it into something hilarious. Even when he discovered his latest boyfriend was involved in internet porn he’d called me to tell me through his tears and we ended up laughing.
‘He shattered all my dreams, Lola,’ he sighed. ‘I opened up that computer and was faced with the motherload of flesh-tinted pixels.’
I wasn’t quite sure what this meant. ‘Oh... is that so bad?’
‘Bad? Lola he’s been looking at men having sex online.’
‘I repeat... is that so bad?’
‘It is when I zoom in and see he’s one of them!’
‘Oh that’s bad,’ I said, ‘what a betrayal.’
‘Darling you are so right – a betrayal. I wish I’d thought of that word when I lambasted him with a million Fs... it’s very Joan Crawford isn’t it? Betrayal?’ he said, in his quivering Joan Crawford voice.
‘So it’s over with Adrian and time for a fresh start,’ I said.
‘Yes, truth be told we’d fallen out of love and there's nothing sadder than watching someone you once loved become a stranger. Except maybe over-tweezered eyebrows?’ he suggested as a quick aside. ‘Anyway, I’m going to wash that man right out of my hair, and do you know the first thing I did when he dumped me – before calling you, Lola – I went online and booked a trip to Spain later this year.’
‘Lovely. For a holiday?’
‘Not just a holiday. I’ve always wanted to dance flamenco – and I promised myself I would learn properly, which means going to Spain. I feel if I can get the basic steps and rhythm down then I can play around with it and do flamenco a la Tony. Oh I wish we could go together, but I got the last place on the course.’
‘Ooh I’ve got goose bumps, that’s really spooky because my dad’s biggest dream was to learn flamenco in Spain. How weird is that?’
‘Yeah weird – but I doubt he wanted to wear the frills like I do,’ he laughed. ‘You should come with me next time?’
I smiled at the thought of Tony camping it up in the huge frilled sleeves worn by the male flamenco dancers.
‘Yes, I’d love to go to Spain, maybe one day,’ I heard myself say, in my father’s voice. Like my Dad I was putting things off, standing on the edge unable to jump and I wasn’t sure I’d ever summon the courage to do it alone. ‘How long will you be away?’ I suddenly panicked, I couldn’t dance without my partner.
‘Only a couple of weeks, I’m going to a place called Escuela Carmen de las Cuevas. It’s a fabulous flamenco school set in the Sacramento caves... sounds totally gorgeous doesn’t it? Atmospheric, authentic, and you know me, honey, I like to keep it real.’
I could only imagine how it would feel, to really get inside the dance and live it in the place it was born. I felt my stomach fizz just thinking about it and wished I could go with him. But there were no more places on the course and I wasn’t ready yet, but I promised myself I would go to Spain and learn Flamenco – one day.
‘I’ve booked it for August 16th which is of course the birthday of our lady Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone. And just like Madonna I will return with a taste of flamenco and a string of Spanish lovers... I can’t wait.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ I sighed. ‘I’m reall
y happy for you... I’ll definitely come with you next time.’ I was envious of his confidence and his freedom to just take off, I had commitments, I couldn’t leave Mum and what if Sophie suddenly needed me?
‘Yeah Lola you’re coming with me next time. And I won’t let you put it off like you said your dad did... but it’s tough, so you have to be prepared to fail... and try again. That’s good advice isn’t it? I got it from a book.’
‘Which one?’
‘Oh I don’t remember what it’s called, I buy a self-help book every time I’m dumped and it’s happened so many times the hundreds of titles merge into one. It was called something like,’ he breathed in, gave a dramatic pause ‘Feel the Fear and Shag Him Anyway!’ We both laughed.
It amazed me the way Tony had just stepped into my life, and though we’d only known each other a few months it was like we’d always been friends. Tony had even received my mother’s approval on a recent visit. We were like an old married couple except for the sex, but as Tony said, old married couples don’t do it anyway – so in essence we were the very picture of a couple who’d been married for years. I just had one little shadow on the horizon... I still had to talk to Mum about Dad’s letter. I’d been to visit her a few times but had put off ‘the conversation’ I didn’t want to bring up painful memories from the past, and even if I asked her directly she’d have every right to refuse to tell me about what happened between her and Dad. Part of me was scared to know the truth, I’d always seen my parents as the perfect couple with the perfect love. Would I feel differently about them, about Dad, if I was told this wasn’t the truth? I was torn between being frightened to ask and have my illusions shattered – and desperately wanting to know what had happened. I had to talk to Mum and let her know I was dancing ballroom too, another conversation I’d been putting off, but wanted to keep that to myself a little longer. Dancing felt to me like a beautiful, but fragile bird in my hands and I wanted to protect it, protect me from destroying it. There was every chance that Mum might criticise me, and make a comment about me dancing that would spoil it for me. So for now I would keep that little bird in both hands and close to my heart.
