SHELLY
Spotlights blaze from above, scorching my skin as I stand on stage with Ben, millions of eyes upon us. Before the band begins, he pulls me into his chest in a public display of affection, the only affection I’ve had in weeks, and right this second it’s a welcome reassurance. After last week’s samba left us in the bottom two, I’m all too aware that tonight could be our last performance.
The producers have gone all out this week trying to dig up drama around us. Nadine phoned from South Africa to say she’s been contacted by several journalists asking about myself, Ben, Marcus and stories from years gone by. She revealed nothing. Not that there’s much to reveal anyway. Well, apart from the fact I’ve asked my husband to take a paternity test for the child that was in our house, and he’s point blank refusing, insisting I’m mad.
‘We’ve got this,’ Ben murmurs into my ear, seconds before the first few familiar chords of our dance sound.
I only hope he’s right. This week we’ve been tasked with the rumba and my head is far from in the game, the shock of finding Marcus cosied up in our kitchen with Maddy still fresh in my mind. Even their names sound perfect together:Marcus and Maddy. Eugh. Forcing the thought away, I plough my emotion into the performance, deliberately leaning closer to Ben, who’s more than just a physical support right now.
Tonight’s costume is a navy sequinned dress with a ridiculously revealing split up one thigh. Ben wears a matching navy suit tailored perfectly around his physique. Under the jacket, he’s shirtless again. The costume designers have no shame.
The rumba is a romantic dance, and the music is a slow and sensual version of Rihanna and Jay-Z’s ‘Umbrella’. Stage production have done a beautiful job with the backdrop. A huge water feature made to look like a waterfall cascades behind us, trickling into a stony pool. I’ve no idea how they turn it around so quickly. It looks so realistic that when we begin to dance, the audience seem to fade away. It’s just Ben and me on the stage, as we’ve practiced so many times this week.
Surprisingly, he’s been a rock to me since the shit hit the fan. All the crass innuendos have been replaced with genuine concern. Clearly I’m not myself, yet he hasn’t pried. The old Ben, the one Marcus was worried about, might have used this to his advantage, if that was truly what he wanted. But this new Ben, the one who holds me now, has done no such thing. He’s wiped the odd stray tear in rehearsals without asking a single question – other than if I need a break.
He’s matured into a really decent human being. One who’s funny, supportive and kind as well as super successful. With Nadine out of the country and us spending almost every day together, he’s become one of my closest friends.
My hips rotate, brushing against his the way they’re supposed to. His moves mirror mine in a perfect rhythm before he spins me, sending me twirling in a way that has the crowd outwardly gushing. We execute a leg lift in the final seconds of the dance – his strong palm supports the supple skin on the underside of my thigh, then he finishes with a dramatic flick of the arm.
The applause is deafening. Teddy and Aaron wait for it to finish, motioning for the audience to calm down with their arms. An accomplished smile rips across my face as I meet Ben’s twinkling azure eyes.
‘I told you so,’ he murmurs, hot breath brushing against my ear. ‘You are absolutely amazing, Shelly. You killed it!’
‘No, we killed it.’ I press a gentle kiss on his cheek, exhilarated from the endorphins my heart is furiously pumping through my bloodstream.
Even the judges clap enthusiastically. Ben drops a hand to the small of my back and guides me towards them for our feedback.
‘Well, well, well, we were warned you could be the dark horse, Shelly!’ Belinda flashes a megawatt smile from her position in her swivel chair. She flashes her score card, holding up an eight. It’s the highest score we’ve received in the competition, and twice the score she gave us for last week’s samba.
‘A million times better. You both captured the essence of the dance beautifully, and your footwork was especially good, Ben,’ Freddie says, before holding up his score card, displaying a seven.
Dean concurs, and awards us an eight. If this isn’t enough to see us through to next week, I’m not sure what is. As much as I miss the girls, I’m not quite ready for this journey to be over. I’m enjoying getting lost in the dances, and trying to avoid reality for as long as possible.
Backstage, we congregate with the other contestants. Mary Smith and PJ Maguire left the competition last week, having landed in the bottom two beside us.
Aisling and her partner, the remaining twin, have clearly had some sort of argument. Not only do they have their backs to each other, but tension is rolling from them in thick heavy waves. My heart goes out to her.
When the remaining contestants have performed, we’re called to the stage to find out which of us are definitely through to next week’s show. Individual spotlights beam blindingly onto each couple. Ben wraps his arms around my back and I press my face into the warmth of his bare chest. His heart hammers beneath his smooth, toned pecs. Inhaling a huge gulp of air, I prepare myself for the agony of the results. The audience wait with bated breath, there’s not a sound to be heard.
The drum roll begins. Gemma and Sonny are probably the strongest dancers. Natalie and Michael seem to have the best chemistry. Katie Corrigan could be in trouble. Apart from the fact she’s better able to lead than her male partner, there’s zero connection between the two of them. Donal Dunn should probably stick to his home style programmes because his footwork is sadly even more lacking than his stamina.
After last week, I fully expect the producers to leave us until last again for added drama. Aaron clears his throat. ‘The first couple through to next week, the couple who received the highest number of votes tonight is…’ He drags it out for maximum effect and I glance up to roll my eyes at Ben.
‘Ben Battle and Shelly Williams.’ The audience burst into applause once again and Ben lifts me from the ground, twirling me round in circles as if I’m ten years old, instead of ten stone. A grin expands across his face and he fist-pumps the air as he lowers me to the ground, victory emanating triumphantly from his every pore.
‘If that doesn’t deserve a drink, then nothing in this world does.’ Each evening when we finish practice, Ben says the same thing. Tonight, I think he might just be right. With no doubt in my mind my daughters will be asleep at this late hour, and the thought of rushing home to another argument, or worse again – painstaking silence, is unbearable.
One by one, the other couples are put out of their misery until Kelly McDonagh and Donal are left to compete against Aisling and the twin. We watch the final dance-off back stage, alternating between staring at the huge screen and peeping through the curtain.
Belinda, Freddie and Dean send home Kelly and Donal. By the time Aisling arrives backstage she’s as white as my kitchen.
‘I need a drink,’ she announces, wiping the sweat from her brow.
‘Perfect. We were thinking about going anyway, weren’t we, Ben?’
Aisling motions to the peacock-looking ensemble she’s sporting. It’s beautiful no doubt, but barely passes for a dress, more like a collection of green and gold feathers stuck unceremoniously across her private parts. ‘I need to get out of this.’
‘Sound. We’ll meet you by the back exit in fifteen minutes,’ Ben tells her, and nudges me towards our dressing room to change out of our own ridiculous costumes.
