Free The Ballroom Class by Lucy Dillon Page A

music that was trying to make her dance, and she wanted to – she really wanted to get the steps in the right order, so she and Ross could glide like Baxter and Peggy, or even Frank and Bridget, who were merrily chicken-stepping away like teenagers in slow motion.
    But it wouldn’t come out. Katie could see herself dancing in her head, but when she tried to match her steps to Ross’s, her coordination seemed to vanish, leaving her feet hesitant as she trod on him, twisting his fingers.
    ‘Tell me!’ she snapped at him. ‘You’ve got to tell me when you’re going to spin me!’
    ‘I’m trying,’ whined Ross, ‘but you won’t look at me.’
    ‘It’ll come!’ called Angelica as she passed, drawing attention to Katie’s ineptitude. Her face burned.
    How this was meant to fix their marriage, she had no idea. If anything it would prove how totally out of touch with each other they really were, in the cruellest possible way.

4
    Friday night, for the Parkinsons, was At Home Friday. Having given up all hope of ever seeing the inside of a restaurant without colouring books again, Katie and her best friend Jo took it in turns to simulate going out for dinner in each other’s houses, with the kids tucked up in bed upstairs. The money they saved on babysitters was reallocated to a decent bottle or two of wine.
    Katie and Jo Fielding had met at antenatal class, had an illicit cappuccino afterwards, and been good mates from then on. Hannah and Molly were both nearly five, and Jo’s baby, Rowan, was a few months older than Jack. But whereas Katie had gone back to work soon after Jack arrived, Greg’s well-paid IT consultancy meant that Jo could afford to pack in her job at the estate agency and be a full-time mum. As it was, Ross now saw more of Jo than Katie did, with playgroups and school runs, but she looked forward to their rushed lunches and Friday nights. She always got a laugh with Jo.
    Katie could have done without the hostess duties that Friday, with her new project starting to stack up overtime, but the chance to get some friendly adult company was something she’d move mountains for.
    ‘Sorry I’m so behind with dinner,’ she apologised for the third time, struggling to get the elastic band off the chicken’s scaly legs so she could ram some lemon up its cavity. A hugely expensive, organic unwaxed lemon, purchased eight minutes previously from the nearest cornershop. ‘Ross used the last lemon to make pancakes for madam – Hannah’s a vegetarian now, apparently – but he didn’t tell me until I’d got in from work and started preparing the food, after I’d cleaned up the pancake mess, so I had to rush out again while he was bathing them and—’
    Jo put a hand on Katie’s arm. ‘Katie. Calm down. There’s no rush.’ She topped up the wine glass next to the chopping board. ‘The kids are in bed, the wine’s on the table, the husbands are talking about  . . . something, and there’s no babysitter to run home at midnight. I don’t want you to get wound up about supper – I don’t care what time it’s done. You and I are going to have a glass of wine and relax .’
    Katie gave the lemon a final cross thrust and banged the chicken in the tin.
    ‘Or do I have to put something in your drink?’ asked Jo. ‘I will. I’ve got some Medised in my handbag, you know.’
    Katie managed a wry smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said, running her hands under the tap. ‘It’s just work. I’ve been moved onto a big new project, town regeneration? It’s going to be good for me, but every time I leave the office for ten minutes, they seem to arrange another meeting.’
    ‘Leave the office in the office,’ said Jo, firmly. ‘You’re at home. With your friends, and your husband.’
    Katie took a large mouthful of wine. ‘Oh God,’ she said, staring helplessly at the chicken, lying in the tin with its legs splayed lasciviously, as if it was about to have a smear test. ‘Where’s the elastic band to tie it