Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams by Sue Watson Page A

the finest French patisserie I’ve ever tasted and six ounces of loose Earl Grey Tea. We enjoyed this on fine china with linen napkins. ‘This is what it’s all about,’ he’d said, handing me a pastry fork as we dined by candlelight.
    It was only eight weeks since that October evening when Carole and I first arrived at the zumba class, yet so much had changed for me. I suddenly felt like there were possibilities for me and after all this time I might actually have a chance of a different, bigger life. And as the frosty mornings of winter arrived stripping the trees of their leaves and plunging late afternoons into darkness I was coming alive. To me it felt like summer standing at my checkout, music in my head and steps tingling my toes. I had something more than my job now and I didn’t care about loyalty cards, or someone sneaking in the ‘ten items only’ aisle with fourteen bottles of Coke. And in the middle of winter life was sunnier, more intense. There was always something to look forward to, a new dance, a particular step, a lovely piece of music. Tony had asked if I’d be his dance partner permanently and I was delighted, and we now practiced together several times a week. I loved his dancing and enjoyed his company too – we were becoming good friends.
    He gave me a playlist with music for all the different dances we were doing and each night I’d put them on at home and practice. There must have been about thirty tunes on the playlist – I samba’d to Barry Manilow’s ‘Could it be Magic?’ Tangoed to Eminem and Rihanna singing ‘Love the way You Lie’ and giggled to myself dancing the Cha Cha to Tony’s favourite song, ‘It’s Raining Men’.
    I even practised at work, behind the till, with the music going through my head, my toes tapping under the checkout. I was beginning to feel my hip bones and delighted in a secret hip swivel as I passed the items through the scanner. When I was offered an extra late shift stacking shelves, I leapt at it... literally. All that shiny floor space! As soon as it was quiet, I flew down the Pet Food aisle doing the Cha Cha, with Carole being lookout and singing ‘It’s Raining Men’ at the top of her voice. The following week I called Tony and told him to come to Bilton’s so we could work on a particularly difficult lift. We still used the room at the Dance Centre, but we had to pay for that, so in between sessions this was free space – a gift for hard-training dancers. I volunteered regularly for late night stacking duties, and Tony would turn up and we’d rehearse for a couple of hours uninterrupted. The cereal aisle was perfect, it was long and wide and as Tony pointed out, ‘we can really get a run up into our lifts’. He was an amazing dancer, a wonderful teacher and had the body of an athlete and the strength to lift me up over gondolas of half price biscuits and special 2 for 1 offers on Dog Food. I even began to see Bilton’s supermarket in a better light – everything was so much livelier and lovelier when dancing was involved.

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    Her Name was Lola, She Was a Showgirl...
    I n those first few months I cleared Mum’s house, put it up for sale and while Sophie travelled the world, Mum enjoyed life at Wisteria lodge and I had started my own journey. Tony and I worked on all our dances and I mastered most of the basic steps relatively easily. It sounds dramatic, but it felt like I was born to do this. Much of my spare time was now devoted to training and I attended classes for practice, helping Tony demonstrate steps and helping the other students if they were struggling.
    However, there was one dance I just couldn’t seem to master. Tony was teaching the Argentine Tango and we’d blocked through the basics and demonstrated it to the class, but for some reason I didn’t enjoy it. I loved watching it on ‘Strictly Come Dancing,’ my favourite Argentine Tango performance had to be the wonderful Vincent Simone and Flavia Cacae. They were