One in a Million

  ‘Have you given any thought to what you’re going to say when you see her?’ I asked.

  ‘I know exactly what I’m going to say,’ he replied with a firm nod. ‘I’m going to tell her I love her and I miss her.’

  ‘Ahh,’ I smiled over at Mir, who was standing behind him. She stuck her fingers down her throat. ‘That’s a good start. Who wouldn’t want to hear that?’

  ‘And then tell her she needs to stop being so ridiculous and that I need my hay fever medicine. I’m not paying for another prescription, they’re exorbitant these days. Also, I very much miss my cat.’

  ‘So, we’ll work on that part,’ I said as I walked him back into the office. ‘But at least your hair looks really nice. Now, onwards to stage three.’

  I smiled as I caught him messing with his hair, checking the style in every available reflective surface.

  ‘What am I supposed to do next?’ he mumbled. ‘Write her a sonnet? Whisk her off to Tahiti? Fill the flat with flowers, get down on my knees and beg her to take me back?’

  ‘Yes!’ Brian exclaimed from inside the sample cupboard. ‘All those things! Go, go now.’

  ‘You’re ridiculous,’ Sam said, shaking his head at his own very good ideas. ‘Flights to Tahiti are inordinately expensive, and that’s before you even take the accommodation into consideration; I’m a terrible poet; and I don’t know how many times I have to remind you about my hay fever.’

  ‘I hate to be the one to break it to you,’ I said, not really hating it at all. ‘But at the end of all this, a grand romantic gesture will be needed.’

  ‘You don’t know Elaine,’ he replied, still rubbing his naked ears. ‘She’s not that kind of girl.’

  ‘Everyone is that kind of girl,’ Brian said, emerging with arms full of shoes. ‘Everyone wants to feel special, everyone wants to feel wanted, everyone wants to feel understood. Take a Claritin and get yourself down the florists before they’ve got nothing left but carnations.’

  ‘What’s wrong with carnations?’ Sam asked.

  ‘You’re on your own.’ Brian dumped the shoes on my desk and shook his head sadly. ‘It’s a wonder she stayed with him for this long.’

  ‘Look, there’s a beginners’ salsa workshop tomorrow,’ I said, fingers clacking against my keyboard as I googled local dance classes. ‘Starts at one, it’s right around the corner, they’ve still got spaces available. What have you got to lose?’

  Sam looked at me with complete and utter disdain.

  ‘My pride? My dignity?’

  ‘Both overrated,’ I replied. ‘Imagine how impressed Elaine will be when you bust out a few fancy dance moves as part of your apology tour. If you can’t force yourself through a single dance class to get her back, then why are you even bothering?’

  ‘Maybe you should go with him,’ Brian suggested. ‘For moral support.’

  ‘I have plans tomorrow,’ I said, flipping my head between the two of them. ‘Or of course I’d go.’

  ‘Well, I’m certainly not going alone,’ Sam replied. ‘One would think if you were really serious about helping me, you’d be there.’

  ‘Oh, Annie, one really would,’ Brian agreed, biting his lip and clapping loudly. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be his mentor or something?’

  The pair of them looked at me, Sam with a tightly set jaw and Brian with a massive grin on his face.

  ‘Tomorrow, you said?’ There was a definite edge of challenge to Sam’s voice when he spoke.

  ‘One o’clock tomorrow,’ I agreed through gritted teeth as Sam paused by Brian’s desk to pick up the assorted tote bags full of clothes and shoes he was holding out. ‘Can’t wait.’

  With a firm nod, Sam trotted out the door and down the corridor.

  ‘You’ll be a marvel,’ Bri said, resting his chin on his hands and beaming at me across the office. ‘I’d actually give anything to see it.’

  ‘You’re in luck, there’s still a spot open,’ I said, sitting down at my desk and immediately booking three tickets to the dance class. ‘You’re bloody well coming too.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Saturday, 14 July: Twenty Days to Go

  I hadn’t got to bed before midnight all week long, and when Saturday rolled around, the last thing I wanted to do was spend the day at a salsa dancing workshop with the main reason I’d been losing sleep in the first place. I knew my strengths and I knew my limitations. I was not a talented dancer or a graceful human, and the idea of being up and dressed when I could still be in pyjamas, scarfing a croissant and watching the Real Housewives of anywhere did not put me in the best of moods.

  But there I was, martyr to the cause, outside the studio right on time with Brian by my side and two giant coffees already swirling through my bloodstream as I worked on my third.

  ‘Watch out,’ Brian said, nodding down the street. ‘Here comes David Starkey does Strictly.’

  ‘Oh, I would totally watch that,’ I muttered as I waved to Sam.

  He stopped in front of us, offering a short, sharp nod to Brian, who responded with raised eyebrows as he sipped his iced coffee.

  ‘Sam,’ I said, more than a little confused. ‘Why are you wearing a giant coat? It’s red hot.’

  ‘I didn’t want people staring at me,’ he replied as sweat poured down his face. ‘Are you two getting changed inside?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, looking down at my perfectly respectable black leggings and off the shoulder T-shirt. Admittedly, it was a bit Flashdance, but there was no need for him to be rude.

  ‘It’s almost one,’ Brian said, giving me a nudge. ‘We need to get inside.’

  ‘Come on then, Ginger Rogers.’ I drained my coffee cup and dropped it in the bin beside the door. ‘Let’s see your moves.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be Ginger?’ Sam asked as we followed Brian inside the dance studio.

  ‘As if she’s going to let you lead,’ Brian chuckled as he closed the door behind us.

  ‘Good morning, class.’

  We slipped into the brightly lit and aggressively chilled studio just as the instructor began. She was younger than I’d anticipated; clearly, I’d watched one too many dance competitions on TV. I’d been expecting an Arlene or a Bruno, an older, more worldly woman or a super-flamboyant man who’d at least make the day more fun. Brian wasn’t nearly camp enough for my liking. He refused to indulge my obsession with #jelena and failed to give a single flip about the well-being of Britney Spears. But here I was, faced with a twenty-something stunner who really had no business walking around looking so good in a leotard. It was still early and some of us hadn’t had time to put on makeup.

  ‘I am so excited to see you all here for our salsa immersion,’ she said, rolling her ‘r’s with a purr. ‘My name is Benita and today we will be learning all the steps you will need to go out and kill it on the dance floor. We’ll be tackling the progressive basic, the side basic, a cumbia step, crossover step, and then we’ll take on the turns.’

  At the side of me, I heard Sam gulp as Benita’s shiny T-strap shoes clicked up and down the classroom.

  ‘Let’s start by learning everyone’s names.’ Benita turned her beaming smile on me and Sam. ‘My friends, we can start with you?’

  ‘I’m Annie and this is Sam,’ I said. My elbows were suddenly pinned to my sides and I felt very, very out of place.

  ‘It’s Samuel,’ Sam said. ‘Dr Page, actually.’

  ‘We are so happy to have you join us, Dr Page,’ Benita said with a little clap. ‘Please take off your coat. You’re making me think you don’t want to stay.’

  Resigned to his fate, Sam unzipped his Puffa jacket to reveal a spectacular pair of tight-fitting black trousers and a low-cut, red satin shirt I was almost certain he’d gone back in time to steal from my mum, circa 1989.

  ‘What. Are. You. Wearing?’

  Each word was punctuated by flashes from Brian’s iPhone camera.

  ‘A Latin dance outfit,’ he replied, looking aghast at everyon
e else’s standard workout clothes. ‘I went to the dance shop yesterday and asked what I should be wearing; this is what they recommended. I wanted to do it properly, I didn’t want to stand out.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry.’ I waved a hand at the rest of the room where literally everyone was wearing regular workout gear. ‘You blend right in.’

  ‘But the man said this is what you wear for salsa.’ He kept rolling up the huge, blouson sleeves and every time, they fell back around his wrists. ‘Why is no one else wearing the right stuff?’

  ‘Because no one else is going directly from here to the set of Strictly,’ I said. ‘It’s a beginners’ class, you numpty. That man in the shop was just trying to get you to spend money.’

  ‘Someone needs to put Baby back in the corner,’ Brian whispered. ‘And leave him there.’

  ‘I’m leaving,’ Sam said, his shirt the only thing in the world redder than his face. ‘I’m going straight back to that shop and giving that man what for.’

  ‘You’re going nowhere,’ I said, grabbing his hand as Benita summoned the couples on to the dance floor. ‘Besides, you look great. This is going to be exactly what you need when you’re tearing up the dance floor with Elaine, isn’t it?’

  It wasn’t a complete lie. Shiny, second-skin trousers and slashed down to here shirt was hardly the most forgiving ensemble but Sam had been hiding a pretty impressive bod under his baggy clothes. There was a part of me that would rather see him wear this ridiculousness every day if it meant getting rid of his massive jeans.

  While I considered running back to the office and burning all his clothes, Sam’s eyes were glued to the door and I could see him weighing up his options.

  ‘Sam,’ I said quietly. ‘I think Elaine would be really impressed at how committed you are to this.’

  With a resigned sigh, he dropped his shoulders and nodded. A few feet away, Brian smiled at me as he attempted to keep his septuagenarian dance partner’s hands off his arse.

  ‘Everyone team up with your partner and stand face to face,’ Benita called out. ‘We’re going to start by finding our frame. Leaders, place your right hand on your partner’s back and clasp their right hand in your left.’

  Regretting every moment of my life that had led to this, I turned to face Sam and assumed the position.

  ‘Come on, Fred Astaire,’ I said with an encouraging smile. ‘We’re here, aren’t we?’

  ‘We are,’ he replied, clearing his throat and taking my hand in his. His palms were extraordinarily sweaty. ‘Even if I am the only one in proper attire.’

  ‘Time to show everyone else up,’ I whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘You’ve already got the gear, it’d be rude not to be amazing.’

  ‘I always ask my classes, does anybody have any dance experience?’ Benita called over the music and people began to trip back and forth.

  ‘We have never, ever salsa-d,’ I stuttered, as Benita gyrated past. ‘Or more accurately, I have never done any dancing of any kind stone cold sober, since I was seventeen.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve got some experience,’ Sam said.

  ‘You have?’ I asked, surprised. ‘I thought you said you didn’t dance?’

  ‘Didn’t, not couldn’t,’ he said, a dimple in his cheek appearing out of nowhere. ‘And it’s been a while so I’m certain to be rusty.’

  ‘Well, who knew?’ I said as his hips began to sway with the rhythm of the music. ‘What else have you got up that enormous sleeve?’

  ‘Annie, if you could be quiet and follow my lead, this will be a lot simpler,’ he said, right in my ear. ‘I know that won’t be easy for you.’

  I looked up from staring down at my own uncoordinated toes to see him smiling.

  ‘You, sir, are full of surprises,’ I muttered, stepping on his feet for the first, but almost certainly not the last, time.

  ‘Quiet,’ he reminded me. ‘Concentrate.’

  And against all laws of god and man, I did as I was told.

  Three hours later, I could barely stand, Brian’s phone was quite literally full of photos and Dr Samuel Page was a revelation.

  While I struggled to remember my right from my left, from the moment the music began Sam picked the moves up like a complete pro. He flew around the room, hips swinging, seemingly independent to the rest of his body. Everyone else looked stilted and awkward but Sam looked born to it. Bright red, deep V shirt and all.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ I gasped, slumping against the studio wall, out of breath and swiping damp strands of hair out of my eyes. ‘Look at him, Brian, just look at him.’

  ‘I can’t stop looking at him,’ Brian said as Sam spun his latest partner around the dance floor. ‘I have been hypnotized. Annie, those hips do lie, Shakira was full of it.’

  He passed his phone to me and I clicked through the evidence. Caught in the moment and filtered into black and white, Sam looked like every woman’s fantasy. Intense gaze, pursed lips and complete control. I stopped on one shot and zoomed in on his face, one perfect lock of hair falling into his eyes, mouth slightly open as he gazed down at his partner.

  ‘Watch out,’ Brian said, reaching over to wipe a finger over my chin. ‘You’ve got a bit of drool hanging there.’

  ‘Get off.’ I knocked his hand away and passed him his phone. ‘It’s sweat. I’m sweating. Dancing is difficult.’

  ‘Unless you’re twinkle toes over there,’ he replied as we both sank to the floor, cross-legged. ‘Are we certain he’s not actually an undercover spy?’

  ‘We are no longer certain of anything,’ I said, swabbing my face with my sleeve. ‘Hey, how come I’m not in any of the photos?’

  Brian knitted his eyebrows together in faux concern.

  ‘Because you were shit?’ he said, taking his phone out of his pocket and playing a video of me. It was all arms and legs and unflattering thrusting. ‘See?’

  ‘Why do I keep sticking out my tongue?’ I asked, turning my head, trying to make sense of my erratic steps. ‘And why am I always shaking my head?’

  ‘Because you think you’re a pony,’ Brian suggested, leaning in beside me. ‘If only you were the bet. This would get twenty thousand followers in a heartbeat.’

  ‘You’re not dancing.’

  I looked up to see a breathless Sam stood over us, his feet still moving to the beat.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?’

  ‘Just taking a break,’ I said, pressing my hand into a stitch in my side. ‘So, it turns out you’re secretly the best dancer in the world. Do you have anything you’d like to tell the group?’

  ‘Hardly the best dancer in the world,’ he said, still jigging about as he spoke. ‘I’m naturally inclined to pick up dancing quite quickly, that’s all. It’s muscle memory.’

  ‘And what exactly are your muscles remembering?’ I asked. ‘That time you accidentally starred in Step Up?’

  I noticed all the women in the class lined up on the opposite side of the studio, looking our way and whispering to each other. It was like the adult version of my Year Seven Valentine’s Day disco.

  ‘Step Up is street dancing,’ he replied. ‘I did ballet, modern and tap.’

  ‘So you have been doing your homework,’ I replied, scraping my hair back into a ponytail. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘I took lessons when I was ten,’ Sam explained, taking a small white towel from a giggling Benita and nodding his thanks. ‘My grandmother bought them for my cousin, but she didn’t like it; the lessons were non-refundable and my grandmother hated to waste money. I went instead. As you can imagine, it didn’t exactly improve my popularity at school.’

  ‘I think you’ll find women love a man who can dance,’ I said, looking away as he dabbed himself down with his tiny towel. Benita and the rest of the class did not afford him the same privacy. ‘There are, like, at least seventeen films where that’s the entire plot.’

  ‘Women love Channing Tatum,’ he corrected. ‘They aren’t interested in a l
ate-blooming pre-pubescent boy dancing the Nutcracker in the Year Eight Christmas assembly. I jacked it in after a few years when I realized I was marginally safer from the school bullies in the library than I was on the stage.’

  ‘Well, you’re a natural,’ I told him. It was true, he was magnificent on the dance floor. Even if the shirt was still ridiculous. ‘Does Elaine know you can dance like this?’

  He shook his head. ‘As I said, my soft shoe shuffle has never been a big selling point with the ladies.’

  ‘This is amazing!’ I exclaimed, mentally deleting half my boyfriend bootcamp plans. This was going to be easy. ‘The two of you would smash it on the dancefloor. You should enter competitions together, when you get back together.’

  Sam squeezed his face into an uncertain expression.

  ‘Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you necessarily enjoy it,’ he replied. ‘This is it for me, Annie.’

  ‘You could always try it in a different outfit,’ Brian suggested. ‘Then you might not feel like such a tit.’

  ‘Appreciate the sentiment,’ he said stiffly. He pulled at the cuffs of his shirt and shook his head. ‘But perhaps we could try some of her other hobbies instead.’

  Baby was officially back in the corner.

  ‘But you’re so good,’ I said in my best wheedling tone. ‘And I’m sure she’d be impressed, Sam. She posts about dancing all the time, I’m sure she’d love to share this with you.’

  And I would love for my entire Saturday to have not been completely and utterly wasted.

  ‘What were the other suggestions you had for me?’ he said, resolute. ‘There must be something else.’

  ‘You could make her dinner?’ I suggested with a sigh. ‘But like, more than once.’

  ‘Can’t cook,’ he replied. ‘I once gave a group of friends food poisoning from bad mussels. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I paid in dry-cleaning bills.’

  ‘A proper party then,’ Brian proposed. ‘Get all her friends over, make a big scene. Even if she’s not keen, she’ll probably take pity on you out of politeness. Hard to turn someone down in front of a crowd. And you could work in the salsa if you change your mind.’