SHELLY
Halloween’s approaching and I’ve never been more frightened of the state of my life. We should be celebrating our tenth anniversary in style. Yet the uncertainty dangling in the immediate future is terrifying.
The semi-final is fast approaching and dance practice is gruelling this week. The only benefit is I have zero time to concentrate on my rapidly failing marriage, the fact I’ve barely seen my husband since the shit show at the start of the week and that when he has bothered to come home, he’s slept in the spare room.
The paparazzi have been hounding us all. The girls have gone to stay with Bernie and Ronnie. It’s not ideal for any of them but it’s better than having them exposed to the problems both inside our four walls and outside. Whatever Marcus is playing at, he’s been missing in action ever since Ava Armstrong’s morning show.
The optimistic part of me yearns to believe he’s working hard to fix this, to obtain the proof from Maddy. The realist – the girl who grew up surrounded by this type of toxic behaviour knows better. Marcus is probably with Maddy, making plans for the future, while I’m home alone every night. They say we all turn into our mothers in the end. Maybe in twenty years, I’ll be in Turkey living with a man half my age too. The thought only serves to sadden me further. I thought Marcus and I were different. Up until a couple of months ago, I would have bet my life on it.
‘Earth to Shelly.’ Ben clicks his fingers in front of my face. Thankfully, things haven’t been weird since his unexpected revelation. I’m more grateful to him than ever because he’s carrying both of us.
‘Sorry.’ I repeat the steps again, under Sylvia’s watchful eye. The woman is immaculately made up, as usual. I feel like a tramp next to her, yet I can’t bring myself to care. It’s on the tip of my tongue to quit. What does it even matter now? Why should I bother with a stupid show when I have so much more to worry about, like my marriage going under?
The only answer I can come up with is, what else am I meant to do? I wanted to try something different, to get out of the house for a few hours, break the routine. Then when I managed to actually do so, all I wanted was to get back to my family, back to the motherly duties. It took being out of the mundane cycle of school drop-offs and making family dinners to realise that there’s actually nothing mundane about any of it.
Being at home waiting for the girls to finish school, or waiting for Marcus to come home so I could ply them with something nutritious and listen to the tiny insignificant details of their days, was actually the most significant thing in the world. I just didn’t realise it at the time. Now it’s too late. Marcus is missing in action. Our children are with their grandparents because they can’t even play peacefully in their own garden without being hounded by the media. So, right now, being here is the only purpose I have.
‘Who do you think the other wild card is?’ Ben asks, wrapping his arms back into position to practise. With Natalie and Michael out, there are three couples left in the competition, Gemma and Sonny, Ava and whoever she’s paired with, and the two of us.
‘Can’t say I’ve given it much thought.’ I shrug, aware that not only am I the worst possible dancer partner at the moment, but probably the worst company too.
Sylvia repositions Ben’s hand on my upper spine and tuts. ‘You don’t seem to be giving this dance much thought either, lady.’ Readjusting our posture into the correct stance again, she takes a deep breath and pinches her nose, as if she wants to say something but thinks better of it.
‘Sorry, Sylvia.’ I can’t even muster any real enthusiasm for an adequate apology.
Stepping back, her eyes roam over our positions and she offers a curt nod. ‘Shelly, I’m going to give you a bit of advice here, probably against my better judgement.’ Ben’s fingers press into my back, a smirk curling at his lips as he rolls his eyes, safe in the knowledge that he has his back to her.
‘Stop rolling your eyes, Ben, you’re so predictable. Thank god you’re devilishly handsome and a good dancer, because I’ve yet to see any of your other redeeming traits.’
Despite my woes, I can’t help but snort.
‘Your marriage is in difficulty, Shelly, is that correct?’ Sylvia arches a fair eyebrow.
‘I don’t think there’s a person in the country who hasn’t heard. My husband’s been spending time with another woman.’ I pause to clear my throat before continuing, ‘A younger woman, who happens to have a child who bears a remarkable resemblance to him.’ Saying it out loud hurts now as much as it did the first time the thought burst into my head.
‘So, what can you do about it?’ Sylvia says.
Swallowing hard, I admit the crux of the problem. ‘Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. The ball’s in his court. Either he proves it’s not true, or we’re done.’
‘Exactly. It’s out of your control.’ Her hands raise in a dramatic shrug. ‘But, my girl, what you can control is this: your footwork, your posture, the way you present yourself to the eagerly awaiting country. Do you want to be known as “poor Shelly, the wife that fell to pieces with the scandal?” Or do you want to be known as “Shelly Williams, the wife who rose like a phoenix from the flames, despite the fire scalding her wounded heart.” Think about it, girl. The world is watching. I know it’s hard. I’ve been married four times.’ She waves her hand as if dismissing all four husbands. ‘But if it’s meant to be, it will find a way. And it’s out of your control at this precise moment, so stop torturing your mind, and start torturing your body with these steps. It’s the perfect way to burn off your frustrations.’
Sylvia is right. The rest of the morning’s practice runs a lot smoother.
* * *
By the time Saturday night’s semi rolls around, Ben and I have managed to master the dance moves, even if we’re unable to perfectly execute them. It’s not how I envisioned spending my tenth wedding anniversary, draped against another man, chest to chest, nose to nose, but I guess life is what happens while we’re busy making other plans. It’s taking every ounce of strength I own not to dwell on it.
Teddy’s reminded us a hundred times, the dance doesn’t have to perfect, but it does have to be entertaining. It will be entertaining, if I slip in these ridiculously high sandals.
Tonight, we’re opening the show with the paso doble, a Halloween themed performance. The stage production team have done a fabulous job with the props. A blazing fire roars in a huge charcoal cauldron centre stage. Ingenious lighting will project the image of fire all around us, as if we’re dancing through the flames. The red devil costume I’m sporting wouldn’t look out of place in Ann Summers, but at least I have a cape, even if it is comprised of mostly transparent lace.
Ben’s dressed as a devil too, obviously with less clothes. Entirely topless, his pecs are slick with oil. The black leather trousers he wears are dominatrix-like but he manages to pull it off, as ever.
With it being the semi-final, Bernie and Ronnie were only too excited to bring the girls to the show. I’m slightly concerned as it’s overtly sexual in nature but praying, because it’s Halloween, they’ll assume it’s all part of the act.
When Aaron and Teddy have finished introducing the show, hinting at the drama from earlier this week, they finally announce the line-up, then invite Ben and me onto the stage, from where we’re lurking in wait.
‘I never dreamed we’d get this far. Now we have, I really want to win this with you, Shelly.’ He squeezes my hand as we creep across the stage. The dim firelight casts a low burnt glow as we assume our positions.
