Dance Lessons: A Novel

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120 Dance class is over and Cat is just crossing the floor to the studio door when Miss J shouts over all the girls’ chattering voices. “Um . . . Catherine ,” Miss Jarkowski says. “Yes, you. Could you come into the office please?” Crap. So Mum’s Visa didn’t go through again. And now Miss J’s going to kick Cat Cawley out of class. Miss J’s office desk is always packed with papers and DVDs and stuff. “Catherine,” Miss Jarkowski says. Cat braces for the usual speech: like, how the dance studio’s not a charity, blah, blah. “Sit,” Miss J says, nodding at the blue office chair across the desk from where the teacher is standing and smoking. “Move all that stuff.” Cat takes a stack of printed flyers from the chair, sets them on the desk and sits. Then Miss J just stands there inside the window, her black bushy hair and her bony shoulders silhouetted by the open window. She points to this printed e-mail in front of her. “Catherine, there’s this show. I’d like you to audition for it; they’ve got two teenage girl parts open, and you know, I think you could get in. You’re really quite good. Though of course, you absolutely have to practice more.” Then Miss J goes on about other stuff. Cat watches her mouth moving, but the truth is that Cat can’t actually hear anymore, can’t hear the actual words. Because inside her head she’s repeating her dance teacher’s words to herself. A show. An audition. Miss J says I’m good. Then Miss J’s gawking straight at Cat, and Cat knows that she’s just asked her some question that Cat is supposed to answer. Miss J raises her dark eyebrows and goes, “The audition’s on Wednesday night, and I’ll go Dance Lessons * 121 with you, of course. But if you got in, if you got one of the spots, then you’d have to actually be there, twice each week for practice.” Miss J taps the sheet of paper with a pen. “You must commit. No saying ‘yes’ when you actually don’t turn up. You’d—have—to—commit.” Still Cat just sits there letting the words go plop-plop-plop through her head. She’s asking me to audition for a show, a real show. Good. She says I’m good. Miss J gets tired of waiting for Cat to say something. She hands Cat the piece of printed paper. “Look, have your mother take a look at this and then tell her to let me know, yes? Have her ring me by Monday morning, all right? Here. At the office. Or no, I’ll give you my mobile number.” * Cat is on the tube, the Piccadilly line and standing just inside the door, her backpack over one shoulder. The guy next to her smells of fried onions. Mum hasn’t texted her back. Weird. Since Cat left the dance studio, since she ran out of Miss J’s office and down the stairs, Cat has rung Mum three times already. But Mum’s phone just keeps going to voice mail. She’s just got to tell Mum her news. Cat checks her mobile again. Come on Mum. Answer back. Terrence’s car is gone from outside the house. Fab. So now they’ll have the afternoon together, just her and Mum. Cat turns her key in the front door. “Mum! Mu-um! Hey, guess what? You’ll never guess!” Cat goes to their bedroom. There’s a radio playing. It’s Mum’s clock radio next to the bed. But there’s no Mum, just the duvet pulled back and Mum’s nightie there on the floor. Cat checks the en suite, then goes back up the corridor to the kitchen. “Hey! Mum! You here?” Terrence’s overflowing ashtray is still there on the kitchen table, his dirty coffee cup from this morning, the Daily Mail left open at the sports pages. There’s a smell of toast, fresh toast, so at least Mum’s had breakfast already. Wait. There’s someone downstairs, in Cat’s basement bedroom. Mum? No, Mum knows it really pisses her off if Mum just goes down there. Or Terrence? What if Terrence’s parked his car ’round the corner and he’s down there just nosing about in Cat’s stuff? [3.144.230.82] Project MUSE...