Page 35 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

Maurice Williams, The Zodiacs

STAY

Sheila was wearing a red dress that made me feel – well, red. The closer I got to her, the more conscious I became of the undeniable heat that was spreading through me and colouring my cheeks. I could practically feel the shade change from a deliberate rouge through to gobsmacked magenta. Her dress was cut just below the knee with an uneven trim that I imagined would kick out around her the minute she started dancing. She’d even paired it with matching red shoes that had a small heel and a neat bow on the strap that ran over each foot. Meanwhile, I was wearing comfortable flats, thin legged beige trousers and a what-passed-for-tight-by-my-standards white shirt. When Sheila messaged me to ask how I felt about dancing, I replied that I loved it. But what I didn’t say – or couldn’t say, rather – was that the majority of my dancing years had been spent with David, swinging around the kitchen to classics while dinner cooked. That inevitably meant that many of my dancing years had also been spent in slippers and cosy outfit combinations that I wouldn’t dream of leaving the house in. They were some of my fondest memories, but the thought of sharing them with Sheila caused ill feelings in me.

‘You look like you’re ready to go dancing,’ I said as I drew to a stop alongside her. For once, I was the one to lean in for the kiss. And Sheila turned her head a fraction at the last minute, which meant that rather than her cheek, I kissed the corner of her mouth. I bit back on apologising as I righted myself. ‘Have you been here before?’

‘Never. But I saw a thing on Facebook. Do you use Facebook?’

I laughed. ‘I do, for the sake of the shop.’

‘But you don’t?’

‘I’m not sure I’ve ever updated my personal page, no.’

‘Ah well.’ She looped arms with me. ‘That saves me the bother of adding you.’

Which was a new relief that I hadn’t been expecting, given that I didn’t use Facebook but David most definitely did. And there had been many a time when he’d told me he was tagging me in something, which didn’t mean much to me, admittedly, but it was another pocket of married life that I wasn’t quite ready to explain to my new– Dance partner? I tried, not knowing how else to complete the thought. It was too soon and I was too old to be anyone’s “girlfriend”. Besides which, I wasn’t sure people even had the “So where is this going…” conversation anymore – unless it was a conversation about being exclusive, which was something else I’d definitely heard David mention.

‘Anyway, no, I’ve never been here before, but I saw this thing on Facebook about a dance evening. All the old classics, that was exactly how they’d phrased it,’ she said with a good measure of amusement. ‘And I found myself thinking, well, I’m an old classic.’

‘And I’m an old classic?’ I asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘Of course you are, Patti, don’t sell yourself short by thinking otherwise.’

I laughed. There was something refreshing about being around someone who embraced their age as much as Sheila seemed to. Even if I couldn’t see how “old classic” was the compliment she clearly thought it was.

The event was happening at a local music hall that had been rented for the occasion. The space was wide open inside, with foldaway chairs and tables pushed against the walls for other events that I imagined took place there. At the far end from where we entered there was a makeshift bar and I wondered how soon was too soon to suggest drinks.

‘Gin, or wine?’ I laughed and Sheila turned to face me. ‘Too soon?’

‘No, no,’ I started to explain. ‘It’s more that you–’

‘And who do we have here?’ A young man – somewhere in his late twenties, with hair slicked into a low ponytail and an all-black ensemble that make him look like an extra from Strictly Come Dancing – stepped out of nowhere holding a clipboard.

‘Sheila and Patti,’ Sheila answered for us. And I dipped my head to try and hide away the width of my smile, stirred from hearing our names paired together like that.

‘Marvellous,’ he said as he ticked us off. ‘Feel free to mingle and get yourselves a drink. We’ll be starting in a few minutes.’

‘Gin or wine?’ Sheila repeated.

‘Wine, but I’ll get the drinks. You do the mingling thing. Is white okay?’

Sheila smiled softly at my offer. ‘White is perfect.’

By the time I was taking drinks over to Sheila, she’d been cornered by a man who looked to be raising the average age of the room by around twenty years – and that’s saying something, for an event targeted at old classics. Sheila was nodding along to whatever he was saying, but the sheer look of relief when she spotted me closing in was undeniable, too. I heard her mutter a quiet apology as she stepped around the man and came to meet me.

‘We need a code word for events like this.’

‘How about…’ I tried to think.

‘How about just shouting “lesbian”?’

I laughed so curtly that people nearby turned to stare.

‘I do love that laugh, Patti.’

‘Ladies and gents.’ The same young man who’d checked us in called for our attentions – and I was glad of it, too, given that a witty response to Sheila’s comment wasn’t exactly forthcoming. ‘If we can gather you all into the centre here, and we’d like to mix and match the couples to make sure everyone has the type of dancer they need.’