Out Late with Friends and Regrets (58 page)

Fin scanned her paper anxiously.
 
Two mistakes.
 
To her annoyance, one was a question to which she had changed her answer from the right one.
 
She tried not to mind; a percentage in the high nineties was really quite good.

“-but very well done, the rest of you, I’m very proud of you all!”

The mood of the group calmed, settled, and a hum of conversation began.
 
Several of the class could be heard making arrangements to go out for a celebration drink.
 
Not this kid, she thought, and the dread of the next day’s trial caused her stomach to bunch and turn over.
 
This was the big one.
 
She really wasn’t ready.

“Well, now. Fin, isn’t it.
 
So how do you feel your assessment went?”

Faye McKee made eye contact, but the eyes were unreadable, as impersonal as the featureless, corporate little office where she was giving individual candidates their results.

Fin studied the woman’s upper ribs where they joined her sternum, and the deep hollows of the clavicle which her mother used to call salt-cellars.
 
And this was just what you could see; naked, she would be a useful teaching aid for studying skeletal structure.
 
But the muscles under the thin sports top were sculpted and defined; this was dedication in human form.

“It was pretty awful, actually.”

The temptation was to cite nerves, nausea, tiredness, insufficient time, heartbreak, ...age.
 

No.
 
Fail with a bit of dignity, go down with all flags flying.

“Unfortunately, I just lost it.
 
I didn’t do my best when it really mattered.”

“Ye-e-es,” said Faye, “that was apparent.”

Oh, God, woman, there’s no need to make this worse than it has to be.

Faye tapped her clipboard with a little smile, and her angular face softened briefly.

“Right, let’s take you through the various points.
 
Planning: at least I was able to give you an ‘excellent’ for that.
 
You choreographed a good, straightforward routine, and your choice of music was interesting and varied.
 
You were spot on the beat and phrase. Muscular strength and endurance section good, stretches good.
 
You were aware of all your participants, and moved off the teaching spot twice.”

Well, at least there
was
some good stuff.
 
Being well down the running order, and having to teach classmates who had clearly done well and could now relax into playing the part of the next examinee’s clients, had meant that by the time her name came up she was rattling with nerves, memory of the much-practised moves all but wiped.

“But oh dear, we do have some issues with a lot of the most important stuff,” said Faye, “Yes, your visual cues were lovely and clear, but your arms were all over the place otherwise.
 
Your instructions were mumbled until I said I couldn’t hear you, and then you were really loud but actually sounded quite aggressive.
 
And there weren’t nearly enough coaching points between the choreography directions.
 
You stopped in mid-move when you forgot where you were – you recovered, but meanwhile the class didn’t know what to do.”

Yes, that had been horribly humiliating.
 
Especially as some of her closest class pals had looked devastated on her behalf.
 
The alarm and pity in their eyes had made matters worse.

“And most of your cues were late.”

The flaying went on.
 
Then Faye paused.

“So now I have a bit of a dilemma, Fin.
 
You clearly haven’t scored sufficient marks to pass the assessment.”

The eye contact had humanity in it, this time.

“But I do see glimmers of a potentially good instructor in there.
 
I honestly think that another two or three weeks would have made all the difference.
 
I could see that your nerves almost paralysed your brain, which is something a fitness professional simply can’t afford to let happen.
 
You are a little older than the others, of course... mm, thirty-eight...”

Thirty-eight isn’t
old
,
Fin’s mind protested
.

“...and I can appreciate that it could have made you more self-conscious.
 
But quite honestly, we’ve found over the years that some of the older graduates have made really great instructors, and with the ageing population...”

Oh, God.
 
Don’t condemn me to teaching the crumblies.

“However.”
 
Faye snapped the clip of her clip-board.
 
“This is what I propose to do.
 
As I said, you’ve failed to reach the required standard.
 
But under the normal circumstances of having another two or three weeks I truly believe you would have achieved it.
 
So I’m going to record you as a pass-”

What?

“-but I will expect you to put in some serious time as an assistant to an experienced instructor, persuading him or her to let you do the warm-up, or the stretch, etc., and that would have to be unpaid, of course.
 
Look on today as a
provisional
pass.”
 
She smiled with real warmth for the first time.
 
Fin could have kissed her.

“Thank you.
 
Thank you.”

“And don’t forget, it’s like driving – you do drive, I take it? You don’t really begin to learn the real craft and skills of teaching until you’re out in front of
real
classes of
real
clients.
 
It can take a while, so don’t beat yourself up if you have a few setbacks. As long as you keep the clients safe.
 
Good luck, Fin.”
 
She put out her hand.

So now the way was clear for celebrating with the class tonight, coming in tomorrow for a laid-back seminar in which Nicky would be talking about career and further training opportunities, giving out lists of websites which might be useful to her new graduates. She had promised a last, furious aerobics session in the dungeon, and a class photograph.
 
Then goodbyes. Amazing what a gigantic change had taken place, in under a month.
 
It really was going to be a new life, now.

It was embarrassing, the number of people who had turned up at Ellie’s, and were hugging and congratulating her.
 
“Tell us when you start doing your own classes, we’ll definitely come,” was a constant theme.
 
People seemed interested, and Fin felt quite awkward, trying to tell them that, actually, it was only a scrape-through, and she wouldn’t be teaching for a while.
 
In fact, the thought of exposing them to the all-too rough edges of her embryonic teaching skills filled her with horror. But these were nice people, and it was the way of nice people to show support.

Ellie had hung a banner across the curtains of her biggest window saying:
Congratulations and Good Luck, Fin.
 
How awful, thought Fin, if she’d come back with a Fail.

The party started at about eight, and by nine the flat was at capacity and spilling out on to the landing and stairs.
 
Despite its being nominally a girls’ night, Hamish had swept in with Doc, spreading benevolent mwahs all round, and waltzing Fin around the floor before sweeping out again.
 
Rachel was there, with most of the people Fin had met the night Ellie had sent her round to Mornington Road.
 
So few months ago, and now she felt so easy with them; she even remembered most of their names.
 
Rosemary hadn’t arrived yet, but she would surely make it, hopefully with Siobhan. Annette Harney had sent apologies, but June was there, looking witchy in poison green.
 
Even Petra had come, and had brought her neighbour Lizzie along.
 
The latter appeared to be thrilled skinny at this exposure to bohemian culture, and talked animatedly to as many of the partygoers as she could.
 
Fin was amused to see her eyebrows shoot repeatedly into her hairline as she chatted with June, who was apparently feeding her some outrageous falsehoods with a perfectly straight face.

“Fascinating, Fin,” Lizzie told Fin later, spectacles gleaming, “these people are so
interesting
, aren’t they? Did you know I’ve joined a writing group? Well, I actually think I’ve got an idea for a
novel
from tonight!”

Fin looked over Lizzie’s shoulder and saw June purse her black-red lips, eyes confiding mischief.

“Terrific, Lizzie! I’ll buy a copy, I promise!” said Fin; it was a lot more comfortable being somebody else’s
 
well-wisher than being at the receiving end and feeling a terrible fraud.

But the atmosphere of sheer good humour and celebration ate away at her reservations, and she relaxed into enjoying being the centre of attention, deserved or not.

Archer dropped in twice, in between jobs, and the second time was fortunate enough to witness Fin, now startlingly inhibition-free, demonstrating part of her routine to the pounding beat of “You Should Be Dancing”.
 
In fact the new group leader even got most of the guests to participate, in a somewhat messy line-dance style, shouting instructions and counselling them to keep their hips square to the front.

“Hey, you, you’re
brilliant
!” shrieked Ellie, tripping over her own rug, “Thought you said you’d bricked it, you lying bitch, I
knew
it wasn’t true!”

“Box step, right and left! Knees soft! Yeah! Wooh!”

The party rocked, until the track finished and gave way to a slower tempo, and Fin was treated to an ovation.
 
If only she could do it sober. And if only Rosie could have seen it; it was - bloody hell, it was getting on for eleven – where was she?

Fin went out to the landing, and rang Rosemary’s house. No reply. So she was on her way, but wouldn’t Donal be at home? Well, maybe not.

Mobile. Still no reply. Surely she hadn’t had an accident? No, of course not, she’d said she would take a taxi in, meet up with Siobhan for a bar supper and they’d probably get another taxi to Ellie’s. That was it, then, they’d maybe had a few drinks and hadn’t noticed the time seeping away. But why hadn’t she answered her phone? Run out of juice, perhaps, or been left behind in another handbag. Easily done. But it would be reassuring to know.

She was leaning back against the landing wall, scrolling, hoping she’d stored Siobhan’s number, when Ellie joined her, with “What’s up, Fin?”

“Rosie. She apparently hasn’t taken her phone with her. She should have been here by now. Just going try Siobhan.”

Yes, there it was, Siobhan had rung her last week to say she would be off and would love to come. Relief. Fin pressed the number.

“Yeah, who is it?”

It didn’t sound like Siobhan’s warm, beautiful tone. Tense, testy.

“Siobhan, it’s Fin.”

“Oh God, we were supposed to be at your party, I should have phoned you-”

“Why, what’s happened? Where are you?”

“Harford General. Rosie’s been rushed in. Suspected sub-arachnoid haemorrhage. Cerebral aneurysm. Donal’s with her.”

“I’ll be there.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Fin-”

“I’ll be there. Are you in A & E?”

“No, she’s in ward 6, just had a scan; I’m in the waiting area.”

“I’ll be there shortly, Siobhan.”