SHELLY
The first weeks of training were a hazy whirlwind of costumes, choreography and clicking joints. By Friday, I’m still stiff and sore in unimaginable places, yet I feel more alive than I have in years.
Ben and I have had an absolute blast learning the Argentinian tango under Sylvia’s watchful gaze. She’s been copping an eyeful of Ben at every opportunity, despite being at least ten years older, she’s making no secret of her interest in him.
Ben is a ridiculously good dancer, actually way better than me. He has a natural rhythm, a grace that that I wouldn’t necessarily put with a rugby player. His hips sway in a fluid motion and his upper body strength makes him a strong, reliable and delightful partner. The improvement seen in both of us after a couple of weeks is profound. I don’t need to worry if he’s got me, because I feel it as his body presses against mine, in the way he holds himself. The way he commands me.
It might have something to do with the fact that we’ve known each other for years, even if we haven’t seen each other for many of them. When he’s not been making overtly flirtatious remarks for the benefit of the camera, he’s genuinely amazing to hang out with.
Last week, Ben pulled off the perfect impersonation of Callum in his current toothpaste ad. His tone, blasé flick of the hair, and signature smirk were so convincing he had me doubled up laughing. It’s almost like we’ve gone back in time to when we all used to drink in the players’ lounge after each match and the banter was ten to the dozen.
The newspaper article was a fleeting moment which meant so little to either of us, I never for a second considered it might be an issue. I understand Marcus’s disdain, but I’ve been on the receiving end of speculation about him for years, with no choice but to trust him. Something which didn’t come easily, yet I managed to get on with it.
We’ve learnt first-hand how comfortable dancers have to be with each other’s bodies. Comfortable enough to touch them in a performance. Especially when it comes to the tango. It’s so much more than dancing; it’s telling a story, putting on a production which evokes enough emotion to make people pick up the phone and vote for us.
Ben and I seem to have nailed the pretend chemistry in our routine. I’ve rediscovered my love of dance and I’m enjoying being swept in this glitzy wave of make-up and costumes and theatrical performances. I’m not ready to go home yet.
Today is especially exciting. For the first time this season, spectators will be allowed in the studio. It’s only a short window, from three to four. Tickets are seventy euro for an hour, so we’ve been warned to provide an interesting mini show.
Teddy has primed us to reveal to the audience which dance we’ve been assigned, what we like about it, and what we dislike about it, before showing them a few moves. It’s supposed to provide a preview before the live shows to get a feel for the chemistry between partners.
At two forty-five, we hover on the stage. Butterflies flutter and soar within. A team of production assistants apply the final touches onto the turquoise, silver and lilac backdrop. The show’s name is lit in enormous neon-pink illuminated letters behind us. A circular dance floor occupies the centre of the stage. The judges’ table has been set up, but there will be no judges until the live Saturday night shows start, and though rumours have been circulating, the judges have yet to be officially confirmed. All the secrecy adds to the drama of course.
From our position behind the curtain, we watch the crowd file in. Squealing, giggling shrieking women fill seat after seat, row after row.
Aaron Wright steps out to the centre of the stage, welcoming them to the start of this year’s show, warming them up with a few flirtatious one-liners before our mini introductory dance, and before each couple takes a turn centre stage.
My stomach flips. Seeming to sense it, Ben catches my fingers and offers a reassuring squeeze. After spending each day together, we’ve fallen into a comfortable friendship. He asks about my children with genuine interest. He laughs at my crass jokes, like Marcus does. And he boosts me up when I’m feeling a little flat, usually offering some sort of boiled sweets from his back pocket.
He hasn’t mentionedthat night, the hazy one I’d pretty much shoved to the back of my mind, and neither have I. I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined the whole damn thing. There was a fair amount of alcohol consumed.
When the hair and make-up team have finished dabbing us with final touches, Aaron introduces all the contestants and invites us onto the stage to do our mini routine.
Make-up’s plastered to my face like armour. Today, I’ve been dressed similarly to the other female contestants, in a pair of skintight silver, sequinned leggings and matching low-cut vest top. I’m like a kid with a new school uniform and a sensation that I belong somewhere other than in my kitchen. The couple of weeks dancing has tightened my body in all the right places and I feel more attractive than I have in years.
The stylists have dressed the male contestants in tight black t-shirts and black fitted trousers. Though I’ve tried not to look, it’s hard to ignore Ben’s t-shirt clinging to his well- defined pecs, and the way his trousers hug his bottom into a flattering shape. I’m only human. A sexually starved one of late, at that.
A ripple of apprehension whips through me. Intuitively, Ben whispers, ‘We’ve got this.’ His hot breath brushes my ear.
United, the contestants step out onto the stage. The music starts, and we begin the introduction dance. Slick Rick leads from the front.
We manage to stumble through the steps and the audience cheer, someone wolf-whistles encouragingly. I can only presume it must be filled with mostly participating members’ family and friends at this stage, because what we just did was not that applause worthy.
Scanning the crowd, I see no sign of my own family. I half expected Marcus to pull the girls from school half an hour early to support me, why I’m not sure, because as yet, he hasn’t done anything remotely supportive since I started.
Aaron calls over the music, speaking into his microphone. ‘As you can see, we’ve got our work cut out with this lot. Though there are a few dark horses.’ His tone is light and jovial, yet his dig penetrates my chest, stirring something competitive in me, driving me to want to prove him wrong.
Michael Murray and Natalie are called to centre stage first, the rest of us sit on high stools in a semi-circle curved at the back of the stage.
Natalie has slipped into the role of performer, dancer and partner to Michael effortlessly. The way they look at each other leaves no doubt of their mutual and apparently heightening chemistry. Their moves are equally as smouldering as their glances.
I shoot her a discreet thumbs-up and she blows me a kiss as Michael reveals to the audience that they’ve been tasked with the foxtrot. After demonstrating a few orchestrated steps and a twirl, they take a bow.
Gemma and Sonny are invited to the stage. They’re both practiced performers at working a live audience and it shows in the way they immediately have the crowd engaging with them. They’re definitely the ones to beat.
It started as a bit of fun, now it’s become a full-blown desire to remain in the competition. Ben takes my hand and squeezes it again. I squeeze it back, before catching myself and dropping it like a hot cake. After the newspaper article, I refuse to add more fuel to the fire.
Donal Dunn and Kelly McDonagh are up next. Donal’s flamboyant personality does little to make up for his awkward footwork, and it’s clear to everyone in the room that Kelly is frustrated with her partner’s lack of coordination.
