The Ballroom Class (56 page)

‘Not enough,’ Katie began. ‘It’s not the same as you being at home every day with them  . . .’

‘What? Fitting them in around everything else I have to do?’ demanded Jo. She put down her coffee and folded her arms across her chest. ‘Look, you’ve got to stop this idea that it’s some kind of
Play School
idyll being at home twenty-four seven. Yes, it’s lovely sometimes. But you ask Ross – it can be like solitary bloody confinement, when it’s just you, a squealing baby and the
Fimbles
for hours and hours on end. You’d go mad within a week. You need a seriously high boredom threshold, and yours is down here somewhere! Face it, Katie – and I say this as your friend – Ross is great with the kids. Of the two of you, he’s the right one to be at home with them. So stop beating yourself up about it, and just get on with it.’

‘But I feel like I’m letting them down!’ Katie burst out.

‘How?’ Jo stared at her. ‘I don’t get it. How are you letting them down?’

‘By not being there.’

‘Well, that’s about
you
, then, not the kids,’ said Jo, robustly. ‘That’s about you feeling guilty. Because let me tell you, they’re just fine. You spend proper, focused, positive time with them when you’re home, and they love you. Anything else is just you setting yourself yet another impossible hoop to jump through, that no one else gives a stuff about.’

Katie was taken aback by the breezy way Jo was dishing it out. ‘Are you saying I’m neurotic?’

‘No!’ said Jo. ‘I’m saying you’re missing the point of how good a mum you already are! You’re being the best parent possible by giving them a roof over their heads and everything they need. That. Is. Enough.’

She relented a little, seeing Katie’s dazed face. ‘This is just now, Katie. You’ve got
years
of parenting ahead of you. Years! Think of all those mother and daughter shopping trips you’ll have with Hannah when she’s older. You don’t know how things’ll turn out – Ross might go back to work in a few years, and you can go part-time when Jack’s at school.
You
can be the one going to football matches and sitting through endless recorder recitals.’

She reached over and grabbed Katie round the waist, shaking her for emphasis. ‘I mean it, Katie. Why are you so angry with yourself? You’re a great mother. I admire what you’ve done enormously and it breaks my
heart
that you can’t see what everyone else can. Give yourself a break.’

Katie felt her lip tremble. ‘No one’s ever said that to me before,’ she admitted, wobbling a little. ‘Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?’

‘Really?’ Jo looked astonished.

She shook her head. ‘No. I always thought I’d be a mum like you – you know, all warm and cake-baking, and cosy. That’s what I wanted, to stay at home like my own mum did with me,
doing
stuff. Being responsible for my children. And it hasn’t worked out like that, and I just feel  . . . like I’ve failed.’

‘Then you’re daft,’ said Jo. ‘Because it’s not just about how well you can make your own play-doh. I’d say you’ve done a better job than me.’

‘And I’ve taken it out on Ross,’ Katie went on, suddenly realising. ‘I’ve been angry at him for doing what I wanted to do, and maybe I’ve just been jealous that he’s done it so well. You’re right, I don’t have his patience, or his niceness.’

‘Oh, you do,’ insisted Jo.

‘No, I don’t. For a couple of hours, yes, but not for day after day. And I’ve been so wrapped up in hating myself that I’ve let it destroy our marriage.’ She looked up at Jo miserably. ‘I’ve pushed him away because I hated myself. How stupid is that?’

‘Pretty stupid,’ agreed Jo. ‘But it’s not too late.’

Katie shook her head. ‘He’s just not talking to me any more. I keep trying to tell him how I feel, but he won’t listen.’

‘I don’t think it’s too late,’ said Jo again. ‘Trust me.’

She scrutinised Jo’s open face. What did she mean by that? What had Ross told her? It stung, not just that Ross found it easier to talk to Jo than he did her, but that Jo had a faith in her marriage that she couldn’t see.

‘Why? What’s he said?’ she demanded immediately, but Jo’s mouth had closed in a firm line.

‘He hasn’t said anything,’ she insisted, but Katie didn’t believe her. ‘I just know. Are you still going to that counsellor?’

‘He won’t, not now.’

‘Well, maybe you should go,’ suggested Jo. ‘On your own? It might be helpful.’

Katie thought of Peter, and the things Ross had probably said about her after she stormed out of their last session. Going on her own was like admitting it had failed.

At least her private tango lessons with Angelica would be good exercise, even if they didn’t have the magic effect Angelica seemed to think they would. ‘Maybe,’ she said, to agree more than anything else.

‘I’m going to start going,’ said Jo, starting to stack the dishwasher. ‘On my own. I don’t see why you and Ross and my mum should be the only ones stuck with my moaning.’

The shrieking continued from the sitting room, but Jo carried on loading plates calmly and ignored it. For someone whose husband had walked out days ago, she seemed unexpectedly serene.

‘Jo, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you on tranquillisers?’ asked Katie. ‘Did you go to the doctor or something?’

‘Oh, this isn’t what I’m like all the time,’ said Jo. ‘Inside, I’m furious. It’s sort of the fury that keeps me calm. I keep thinking, how dare Greg leave me, how dare he treat me so appallingly, and that allows me to let the kids do whatever they want, and not be round there begging him to come home. It’s a sort of weird balance. And he’s paying for a cleaner to keep the house tidy so I can focus on the children, plus he’s not here giving me a hard time about the mess. Or the size of my arse. I don’t have to worry about where he is, because he’s not meant to be here. So that’s a few things less to get stressed about.’

Jo’s composure slipped, just enough for Katie to see the strain around her eyes, and her heart ached in sympathy. At least she was angry. At least she wasn’t blaming herself. But was it really good for the girls to have their mother boiling away inside?

‘Jo,’ she said, carefully, ‘if you need some time out, I can always take the kids, you know. I mean, I’m not saying you can’t cope on your own, but if you need to let off steam  . . .’

Jo saw Katie’s concern and touched her arm. ‘Listen, don’t get me wrong, I’m not furious all the time. Sometimes I’m really scared, and that’s when it goes to pieces. But I keep telling myself that it’s better like this, than if I’d forgiven him over and over, and my beautiful, bright daughters grew up into terrified fembots who think the only way to make a man love them is to be thin and let him screw around.’

‘And you’re right,’ insisted Katie. ‘If you need someone to tell you that, call me. Any time. Twenty-four hours a day.’

‘I will.’ Jo managed a weak smile. ‘I’ve hired my solicitor, and my mum’s constantly on the phone, so they’ll be telling me too. But I’m so glad I’ve got you and Ross.’ She paused, and lifted her eyebrows significantly. ‘
Both
of you.’

It was weird, thought Katie, how Jo and I’ve suddenly got something back in common, now we’re both struggling again. Or maybe, she corrected herself, it’s just that I’ve managed to take a step back from my own navel-gazing and seen she needs some support.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ she said, wanting it to be true with a strength that made Jo blink with emotion.

A thunder of small feet in the hall stopped either of them from saying any more, and the sadness vanished from Jo’s face to be replaced by convincing cheerfulness as Molly rushed in, with Hannah close behind.

‘Come and see, Mummy! Come and see!’ Molly ordered. ‘Come and see our magic horse!’

‘It’s a game,’ explained Hannah, pointedly directing her attention to Jo. ‘Jo! You have to play!’

‘
Both
Mummies have to play,’ said Jo, firmly. ‘Now what does this horse eat?’

‘How about these lovely carrot sticks I’ve brought with me from the supermarket?’ Katie suggested, waving the bag of lunchbox crudités that – fortuitously – was at the top of her supermarket shopping. ‘Horses love carrots.’

‘Remember the ones we saw on our holiday?’ Jo added. ‘Are you going to show us how they munched up the carrots?’

Hannah looked suspiciously at Katie, then grudgingly conceded. ‘All right. You can bring the carrots, Mummy. But be very quiet, he’s sleeping.’

She and Molly crept off, shushing each other loudly.

‘I hope your horse impression is up to scratch,’ sighed Jo.

‘It’s better than you think,’ said Katie.

33

The drizzling dampness of autumn turned into a crisp, cold winter chill as November wore on, and Ross continued to vanish off on his own on Thursdays, and Monday evenings.

He was vague with Katie about where he was going but she noticed, from little things Hannah said, that he was spending lots of time with Jo, and that he’d had another haircut that sharpened up his face, bringing him into a new, fresh focus. He was sparkier round the house, not letting Hannah’s new clinginess set into habit, and reminding her, with scrupulous fairness, how lucky she now was to have Mummy all to herself on Thursday evenings. It made Katie try even harder to show him how much she appreciated what he did, but though he was as kind as ever, the distance between them still echoed.

Jo came along to the ballroom lessons again, and Katie felt a new sympathy for Trina and Chloe, as she and Jo often had to dance together, for lack of male partners. Frank and Baxter had never been so popular. It was nice, though, feeling like two old ballroom ladies. They had a laugh about each other’s bosoms getting in the way, and how Katie still tried to lead even when it was Jo’s turn.

As they were leaving at the end of the evening, Angelica caught Katie putting on her coat.

‘You and Ross, you will dance at the gala night?’ she asked, although it was more of a statement than a question.

‘I don’t think so.’ Katie shook her head. ‘I mean, things are OK, but  . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe I could do something with Jo? A jive or something?’

A determined expression set on Angelica’s face. ‘Katie, you’re still coming to our lunchtime session tomorrow, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, but I  . . .’ She was going to say, I don’t see what the point is, but the fierce look in Angelica’s eyes stopped her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am.’

‘Good,’ she said, and swept off to tell Lauren she would be having her big waltz moment after all.

‘I heard that,’ said Jo. ‘I can’t believe you’re trying to wriggle out of dancing with me.’

‘Well, if it’s just us four girls, maybe Angelica can work up a can-can number for us.’

‘
Moulin Rouge
!’ said Jo. ‘With Trina and Chloe!’

‘That’s a cha-cha,’ deadpanned Katie, and was pleased to see Jo’s shoulders shake.

Katie was happy to make Jo laugh, because Greg’s solicitors weren’t making it easy for her. Their suspicions about the secret girlfriend turned out not only to be true, but she was both pregnant and a junior employee, and Greg wanted a divorce quickly, but with as much as he could cling on to.

As soon as they were in the car, Jo spilled out the details, and hot tears spilled out at the same time, running angrily down her face.

‘He’s putting a price on what I brought to our
marriage
,’ Jo sobbed. ‘I can’t believe he’s valuing me, like he’s valuing the house!’

It was the same most weeks. Katie comforted her the best she could, and then Jo cleaned up her face with a baby wipe and went back to teach Molly how to rumba or cha-cha or whatever Angelica had put them through that week. Molly and Hannah had abandoned ponies in favour of pleas for ballet lessons, but only with Angelica.

Angelica was ‘thinking about it’.

A few weeks later, when Katie arrived for her lunchtime tango lesson, she guessed Angelica was already there, because as she pushed open the front door, loud tango music was soaring through the Hall, the haunting accordion chords gliding against the staccato drumbeats. It made Katie stop for a moment. There was something insistent about the way the melody surged between light and dark, and it raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It isn’t music to tap your feet to, she thought, not like the pretty waltzes; it’s music to strike poses and act out parts.

Slowly, she was beginning to see why Angelica thought it might be good for someone who needed permission to step out of their everyday life; music like this demanded something more than just a series of learned steps.

As she hung her coat up on the hook, Katie glanced through the glass panes into the Hall, and caught a glimpse of Angelica’s lithe body arching like a black cat as the music slowed to a keening crescendo. She was wearing a simple red dress, and had tied her hair in a loose ponytail. It shone like a ripple of black treacle down her back.

Katie had never seen Angelica’s hair down before and she stopped, captivated by how striking it was, as it swished and flicked from side to side, not one thread of grey in it.

You’d never think she was nearly sixty, marvelled Katie, as she watched her syncopate her gestures against the beat, stretching out long arm gestures to double time, and slowly drawing her pointed toe around. She had the sort of natural rhythm that would make her look like the greatest dancer in the room, even when she was eighty and only dancing a quarter of the steps she used to. Each one would count, and you’d see the ones she wasn’t dancing as clearly as if she had.