‘Sorry I’m late. Guinea pig emergency. I’ve left Devon handling it on his own.’ Bets giggled as they rushed the down the road to the Village Hall, Ella tripping along in her sparkly red shoes. ‘He wasn’t impressed. I’m going to have to buy him a pint later to make it up to him.’
Ella shook her head. ‘What the hell constitutes a guinea pig emergency?’
‘Let’s just say, for a little fella, he produced a lot of liquid from one end. Believe me, Devon didn’t look very happy.’
‘I’m so glad I don’t do your job.’ Ella shuddered as she hauled open one of the glass double doors to the hall. ‘Mopping up animal poo sounds hideous.’
Bets just grinned as she shot forward, following the sound of a Latin American rhythm pumping.
‘Ah, ladies. Don’t be shy. There’s plenty of room here on the front row.’ The loud bellow was completely at odds from the tiny woman prowling like a territorial cat in front of the stage. Up on the raised platform behind her sat a boom box, pulsating with music, which was almost as big as her, even though the hair piled on top of her head in some astonishingly over the top do with tendrils tumbling like an errant waterfall added a good few inches to her diminutive height.
Audrey gave them a cheerful wave from the middle row, while a woman with fluffy white-blonde hair teased upwards like albino candyfloss cleared a space for them. ‘Here you go,’ she whispered. ‘You youngsters can show me what to do. I can copy you.’ She took a step back.
‘Audrey bully you into this too?’ asked Bets in a loud whisper.
‘No, love. It’s just the teacher is a bit of blur. Can’t see a thing past the end of my nose.’ She gave an impish grin. ‘Makes driving very tricky these days.’
Ella turned to Bets, her eyes widened. What the hell had she got herself into? Bets shrugged.
‘Right, ladies,’ boomed the teacher. ‘For our latecomers, a quick recap. Watch me. We’re going to take a step forward, then one back and two.’
She demonstrated with a fluidity that brought recognition. The drinks in the Latin American bar three streets away from Ella’s college digs had been the cheapest for miles. She’d spent a lot of time there as a student.
Her hips wanted to respond to the sinuous siren call of the familiar beat. She knew the steps and recognised the layered rhythms of the music, the drums, the keyboards and more percussion. One two, one two three, one two, one two three. It was all there but something held her back, perhaps the awareness of all those eyes on her back.
‘Now, ladies. With me. We’ll just mark the steps very slowly without the music and then when you’ve got them we’ll try it again with the music.’
Ella focused hard on the teacher’s feet, tentatively marking out a few steps with small conservative moves, her hips stiff and unyielding. Next to her a beady eyed OAP with a definite tinge of lilac to her helmet of coiffured curls didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious. Doris, that was her name. She lived next door to George. Mind you, anyone wearing a silver sequinned waistcoat over a white shirt over the top of a bright yellow chiffon layered skirt probably didn’t care what they looked like. Ella stared with fascination at the skirt.
The woman caught her and nodded. ‘Like it?’ She did a twirl. ‘I thought I’d get in touch with my innerStrictly.’
Ella nodded and smiled, not daring to admit she’d only seen the programme a couple of times.
‘I’m Doris, by the way, and I live next door but one to you.’
‘I know.’ Ella nodded, being polite.
‘You’re very quiet.’ The older woman looked disappointed. ‘I was hoping for a bit of loud music, the odd wild party and lots of handsome young men with beards visiting from London.’
The significance of facial hair was a puzzler but Ella couldn’t help smiling. ‘Not yet, but there’s still time.’
‘Thank God for that. I wouldn’t want to die before I got to try cocaine.’
Ella snorted in an attempt not to laugh out loud. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, unable to hide her smile.
‘Here we go, ladies.’ With great gusto, the teacher pressed the button on top of her ancient CD player and music blasted out with tinny reverberation.
Like a pocket rocket, Doris was off. Despite her advanced years, she knew how to move.
Ella followed, her steps a little wooden. It would have been a lot easier if she wasn’t on the front row and all those other women weren’t behind her able to see her every move. She wished she hadn’t given in to vanity and put on the shoes; it made it look as if she knew what she was doing.
Doris certainly didn’t seem to care as with a joyful chortle she began to sing, ‘Ay, ay, carumba’, her hips moving with a snake-like fluidity that belied her age and sent the lemon chiffon whipping through the air. Ella had no idea whether it was a salsa song or not and she suspected that neither did Doris.
‘Come on. You.’ Doris poked her in the ribs. Hard. Bony fingers arcing with precision to the tender spot right between the ribs.
‘Come on, artist girl. Show us what you’re made of. Those shoes deserve a proper outing.’ With a shimmy of bonyshoulders, sending the sequins twinkling, Doris danced round her.
‘Nice moves, but come on, loosen up those hips, now. Stiff as a board, you are.’ She placed bony fingers on Ella’s hips, twisting them this way and that.
