Julia Williams - Strictly Love

‘Oh, thanks,’ said Emily. ‘So glad to know you hold my boyfriends in such high esteem.’

‘Only that one,’ said Katie. ‘And if you go out with him again, I promise to be a good girly friend and say of course it was completely wrong of me to call him a tosser.’

Aidan ran up at that moment, claiming that George had kicked him, so Katie decided maybe now was a good time to go home.

‘Will you stay for a drink?’ she asked, hoping she didn't sound too desperate for company.

‘I'd love to,’ said Emily. ‘After all, I haven't got anything else on. We could have a really girly evening and watch Fame to get us in the mood for next week if you like.’

‘So we're going again, next week?’ While Katie had found Rob irritating, it had been so nice to go dancing again, but she had been unsure as to whether Emily wanted to repeat the experiment. But if she did then sod Charlie. If he could go swanning about in Europe, she didn't see why she had to live like a Wall Street widow.

‘Of course,’ said Emily. ‘I'm a free agent now, remember. And I think Mark deserves another look, don't you?’

Emily stood nervously in the corner of the studio. As had happened the previous week, people seemed to be just grabbing partners and dancing. The music was Latin American, and the dancers seemed to be doing what she presumed was the rumba. She envied the relaxed way they all seemed to move their hips with such fluid, slinky ease, but, watching one couple getting incredibly intimate, she wondered if she would ever even have the nerve to dance like that in public, even if she did master the steps.

However, no one had yet asked her to dance. Which was probably just as well, as although she was watching the fancy footwork of some of the more experienced dancers with fascination, she couldn't image ever being able to do it herself. Oh God … why on earth was she here?

She should have wimped out the minute that Katie rang up to cancel – Molly had been struck down by a tummy bug, apparently. Emily had been treated to a blow-by-blow account of every bowel evacuation that poor little Molly had had over the last twenty-four hours. She loved Katie dearly, but really. Sometimes you could have too much information.

Much as she envied Katie her family life, here was one reason she was immensely glad not to be shacked up with kids. Especially not with Cheerful Charlie. Emily had never warmed to him. He was pleasant enough, charming even, but there was something she couldn't quite put her finger on – it was as though he was only ever partly involved in his family. But as Katie always seemed so content, and claimed that her life was perfect in every way, Emily had always assumed that theirs was a happy marriage. So what if Charlie wasn't her cup of tea? If he ticked Katie's boxes, that was enough for her.

Emily frowned. Katie, who was the most repressed person she had ever met, would never ever admit that things weren't right, but Emily couldn't help feeling something was wrong. Katie had barely mentioned Charlie the last time they'd met, and the few times Emily saw them together Charlie seemed incredibly distant. In the meantime, Katie was developing a weird kind of cleaning fetish. Emily blamed Anthea Turner, whom Katie had actually started quoting as if she was Shakespeare.

‘Penny for ‘em?’ Emily looked up and was surprised and pleased to see Mark standing next to her. ‘Just wondering what I'm doing here, again,’ she said. A warm glow suffused her. How stupid. She barely knew Mark. ‘Me too,’ said Mark. ‘Rob was busy tonight. I wasn't going to come, but …’

There was a lot left in that but . Was it a but that said, I just thought it would be fun? Or a but that said, I wanted to see you again? Or maybe it was just a but that meant nothing at all. Poor little but , thought Emily, so very lonely …

‘I'm sorry?’ Mark looked puzzled. ‘What are you talking about?’

Oh bloody hell, Emily must have let that last bit slip out loud.

‘Oh, nothing,’ she gabbled. ‘Sometimes I have weird random thoughts. And sometimes in a weird random way they flow from my mouth, without me realising it. I think it's because I live on my own.’

‘Oh,’ said Mark. He looked around. ‘Your friend not with you today?’

‘Nope,’ said Emily. She had been about to mention Molly being ill, but as Katie had been adamant she didn't want to give anything away about her private life, she said instead, ‘She was busy this week.’

‘But you came anyway?’ That flash of a smile, utterly dazzling, had a rather unsettling effect on Emily.

‘Oh, you know. I thought since I was so good last week, I'd come and show them all how it's done.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Mark.

‘Actually,’ confessed Emily, ‘I didn't have anything else much on, so I thought, oh bloody hell, why not? What's the worst that can happen?’

‘Dancing with me?’ Mark was only semi-serious.

‘You're on then,’ said Emily. ‘And I really will try not to step on your toes this time …’

‘How does it go again?’ Mark said as he tried and failed to perfect the open hold that Isabella had shown them earlier. Sweat was dripping off him, and his hands were clammy as hell. Hardly a way to get Emily to take the right kind of notice of him.

‘Well, I think you're supposed to step forwards, while swinging your hips, while I step backwards,’ said Emily, ‘and then we're supposed to sway slightly and transfer our weight onto the other foot or something. Oh, and I think you need to hold your hand up higher.’

‘I thought I'd got that wrong,’ said Mark. ‘Shall we stop and watch what everyone else is doing?’

‘Perhaps we'd better,’ said Emily, and they stood trying not to giggle as they watched the rest of the class sashaying round the floor to the Cuban music that was playing in the background.

‘I have to say, it does get your toes tapping,’ said Emily, unable to stop herself from swaying in time to the music, ‘even if I can't go in step. Shall we have another go?’

‘If we must,’ said Mark. ‘Okay, so it goes, one, two, step forward, three, transfer weight, four; one, step side, two, step back, three, transfer weight, four, step forward. Hey, I think we did it!’

Growing in confidence now, and by dint of watching their neighbours who seemed to be really in the swing, eventually Emily and Mark found themselves making a reasonable fist of the steps Isabella had shown them. Emboldened by their efforts, Mark decided to really push the boat out and attempted to fling Emily to one side as he had seen other people doing. Unfortunately, in doing so, her foot got entangled around his heel, and before he knew it the pair of them had tumbled unceremoniously to the floor.

‘I don't think that's how it's meant to go,’ said Mark ruefully.

‘Me neither,’ said Emily. ‘I think someone is telling us something.’

‘Like why don't we go next door for a pint?’ said Mark with a cheeky grin.

‘I thought you'd never ask,’ said Emily.

It seemed an entirely natural thing to do until they actually got into the pub. It was only when they were facing each other over a pint that there was a sudden awkward silence.

‘So what do you do when you're not picking up strange women at dance classes?’ Emily broke the ice first.

Mark pulled a face. He hated telling people what he did for a living. Nine times out of ten they felt obliged to tell him all about their abscess, or their granny's dentures. ‘I am that incredibly rare beast, an NHS dentist,’ he said. ‘And you?’

‘Well –’ said Emily. She felt the need to prevaricate. She wasn't quite sure why, but suddenly she felt rather ashamed of what she did for a living.