A smile across a dance floor
Norman, Newcastle-upon-Tyne
‘Hey, you okay?’ It was the next day. Friday, back at the office.
She raised her head. Refocused. ‘Yeah, fine. Sorry, I was off in a world of my own there for a mo.’ Claire smiled at Andrea; she’d been feeling really tired of late.
‘Well, hun, ’spect you’ve been busy and you’ve got a lot on your mind. When’s the move? Do you know yet?’
‘We’ve got the actual date now. A week to go. And yes, it has been busy, but I’m pretty organized now.’
‘Ooh, house-warming time soon then!’
‘Hah, I haven’t really thought about that yet, to be honest.’ She was still trying to get packed up in time. Hadn’t imagined having a party or anything, was just hoping to move in quietly and collapse for a day or two! The way she was feeling at the moment, a onesie and a mug of hot chocolate in the evenings might be in order for the next few weeks. What she was thinking about, however, was getting herself a kitten to celebrate. A cute cat friend to cosy up with at nights.
‘So …?’
‘Ah, I’ll think on it. Maybe. But I’ll definitely need a week at least to find my feet, get the main stuff unpacked and all that. It’ll be something small, if I do do a party.’
‘Fine by me. And let me come round and help you with the unpacking. Lighten the load. I could call in after next week’s training session. We need to keep them up, Claire. We missed last week’s. I know you’ve been busy and all that.’
‘Yes, you’re right – we must,’ she agreed. ‘We can catch up a bit tonight, at least.’ The Bella’s Babes team had been trying to keep up a regular run, but for the past two weeks life had got so hectic, it had drifted.
‘How does the following weekend sound for a celebratory girls’ night at yours? Or we could tie something in after race day? Our little gang from the office and a few bottles of Prosecco? A joint celebration.’ Emma and Jo were looking across, smiling hopefully. So they’d been scheming.
‘Actually, that does sound quite nice. I might still be in chaos, mind, but yes, I could do something at my new flat. I’ll do a few nibbles if you lot bring the booze. After all, it is a time to celebrate.’
Andrea was grinning from ear to ear. Her plan had obviously worked.
Claire was warming to the idea. Once she’d settled in. She could invite Lou and a couple of her other friends too.
‘Has no one got any news articles to write up round here? Is there nothing happening in the North-East at the moment?’ Julia’s boom of a voice came from the end of the aisle. Oops.
‘Just on it.’ Andrea marched back to her desk, raising her eyebrows as she left Claire’s and pretending to crack a whip behind her back. Claire stifled a giggle, then quickly got on with checking her emails. There were always tons of emails in her work inbox. Approaches for articles, often from the same batty people. Complaints about parking charges in the city centre, or requests to post an image of a lost dog – even if it had been missing for about a year.
Then she spotted one entitled ‘My Magic Moment’. She opened that first:
Dear Claire,
My granddaughter, Sarah, is kindly helping me to write this email. My magic moment was when my Valerie smiled across the dance floor at me at the Oxford Galleries Hall in Newcastle fifty-nine years ago. It gave me the courage to go and ask such a pretty lady to dance. I remember it was a waltz, and boy was I beaming when I held her in my arms. We never looked back. We were married for fifty-eight years, very happily, may I add. I lost my lovely Valerie last year. But never a day goes by when I don’t think of her, or her beautiful smile at me across that dance floor that day.
Yours sincerely,
Norman Jones
Claire’s eyes filled up, and her fingertips trembled at the keyboard. How lovely, how very sad. Life and love and loss. And the world carries on spinning. Each of us on our own journey, sometimes a very bumpy ride, journeys of happiness and sorrow, of love and of pain. Magic moments along with the sad.
Where was her journey taking her?
Another message pinged into her mailbox. Another with a Magic Moment header.
She pressed ‘Open’.
Hi Claire,
Great column by the way. My magic moment was meeting a wonderful, beautiful woman on a rainy, windswept beach. I got to know her a little, danced with her on the sands, and she made me smile again.
E.
Her heart went into freefall. Could it be? Or had she just got all sentimental and wrapped up in Mr Jones’s romantic story and let her imagination run riot? But E … No, come on, there were loads of names beginning with E. Edwin, Elvis … and it might be a lady – who knew? Eleanor, Evie, Emma, Edwina. And even if it was an Ed, there were thousands of Eds around, and thousands of beaches. And England was not a place where rain and wind were unusual. Button the excitement, girl. It was just a flukey coincidence, that was all.
Though … should she reply? Try and suss out the sender a bit more? Nah, she’d look damned stupid and lose her journalistic credibility if it was a total stranger. ‘Oh, by the way, were you the guy that kissed me by the open fire, that slept with me after a candlelit barbecue by the beach? Were you the bastard with a family at home while you were playing away with the next-door neighbour by the sea?’ ‘Sorry, love, no, not me. I was thinking of my girl Suzanne and I’ve never played away in my life.’
No, she’d made enough daft mistakes. There was no point risking her journalistic reputation, embarrassing herself and getting a bollocking from the boss. She’d just send a polite thank-you and add the message to her list of maybes for this week’s post. Mr Jones’s was a definite.
After work that day, and with Andrea’s reminder, she’d arranged for another training session with Bella’s Babes. Yes, she was busy, but the Race for Life was only four weeks away, and they needed to up their game. They had a pre-run warm-up routine organized by Lou, you could tell she was a teacher keeping them all in check, and they had now got up to a mile and a half in one go. And, they could actually manage to breathe and even stay upright thereafter. Onwards and upwards!
The muscles still groaned the next day, which didn’t help with the post-work packing, but it was going to be all for a good cause.
She was round at Sally’s again that evening after her run. Claire watched her nephews out of the kitchen window, as they kicked a ball round the grassy patch out back, Ollie in goal, Jack shooting. They were making the most of the last days of the summer holidays. It would be September next week, summer drifting into autumn. The first of the leaves would soon be starting to drop, the apples were plump and beginning to ripen on the old tree at the end of the garden. They’d be ready soon. In a couple of weeks she might take some apples if Sal didn’t mind, get the boys to fill a carrier bag for her, make a couple of apple pies or something – one for Sal and one for their mother.
Sounds of laughter, the thwacking boot of a ball, filtered through the kitchen window. She’d have loved a family of her own. But that dream seemed so far away. And who knew if cancer had stolen her chances at that too? Oh well … she had so much to be grateful for, she reminded herself. She had her health back, her new home to move into in a week’s time. And she was going to view a kitten soon too – she’d spotted an advertisement for a litter at the local sanctuary and given them a call. They’d be ready to collect from two weeks – perfect timing. She might have to peek in and view them; choose her little girl cat before anyone else got in there.
Her nephews were dashing about, boisterous, happy. She loved being Auntie and spoiling them. She would always have them in her life, whether or not she was destined to have children of her own. (Hah – she mused, that would be pretty difficult anyhow, with no man in her life.) Anyway, it was lovely that she and Sal were close again. Her sister had made her feel so welcome lately; she was making her supper again tonight, as most of her own kitchenware was all packed up and ready to go. One week to go. Sal and Mark were going to help her with that too. Family was just magic.
Sal passed her a cup of tea. ‘How’s the training going? Are you all geared up for your charity run?’
‘Well, the training’s going okay. Still on the build-up to two miles this week.’
‘Do you know what, I quite fancy doing it with you. It’s about time I got back into some regular exercise. I used to be at the gym every week. It’s kind of slipped. Would you mind if I joined in?’
‘Of course not – the more the merrier.’
‘Great. And I’m sure all the mums at the school gate will be really supportive with making donations. I can ask Mark’s work colleagues too, to drum up some more sponsorship.’
‘Sounds fab. You can be one of Bella’s Babes.’
Sal’s brow furrowed.
‘It’s our group name.’
‘Okay, I sort of get it. But … Bella?’
‘It’s the bar we were in at the time.’
‘Well, why not. It has a good ring to it.’
‘It’ll be lovely having you there, sis.’
‘You know, after everything you went through, I’d really like to do it. I’d like to think I can help other people in that situation too. So how do I get signed up?’
‘It’s all online. Just look up the Race for Life, Newcastle.’
‘Okay, I’ll do that a bit later. Once dinner’s all sorted. And I’ll dig out my trainers and get myself motivated again.’
Back at her house later, surrounded by bare walls and cardboard boxes, the phone buzzed into life.
‘Hi, Claire. You know the Race for Life – well, I’m on the website now. There are three dates. Which one are you booked on?’
‘The 24th of September. The Saturday.’
‘Ah … right. Are you sure it’s the 24th?’
‘Yes, I’m pretty certain that’s the date I put in my diary.’ It was the day after Andrea’s birthday, that’s how she remembered. They’d decided to postpone her birthday drinks until after Race Day. A hangover might seriously affect performance.
‘Okay, the muddy one. Did you know you were doing that one, or were you meant to be doing the normal run on the Town Moor?’
‘The normal one, as far as I know. What’s the muddy one all about?’
‘Three miles of mud and obstacles at Newcastle Racecourse, apparently. Thick, gloopy mud by the looks of last year’s photos.’
‘I’ll check with Andrea – she’s the one who booked it. She might have jotted down the wrong date. We’re on the normal run, I’m sure. Andrea wouldn’t want to mess up her hair – a bit of sweat will be bad enough. Leave it with me and I’ll give her a quick call. Get her to check her email confirmation.’
‘Okay.’
Ten minutes later, after explaining the situation and sending Andrea off to check, the call came back.
‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’
‘Go on …’
‘We’re definitely booked in for Saturday the 24th … and it definitely is the muddy one. Soz. I’m not sure how I managed that. It’s still three miles, though. We’re not on a half marathon or anything.’
‘Oh my God. Three miles of mud and grime and assault-course battering. What have you got us into, girl?’
‘We could just rebook on the other one and not turn up for the muddy one.’
‘Mmm.’ Claire’s mind was buzzing. It might actually work better for publicity and sponsorship. The mud-wrestling-style images would work really well in the paper, if Dave let them have a slot. If she could get through cancer, she could get through a bit of mud. It might even be fun in a weird, horrendous kind of way. ‘No, let’s do this thing!’
‘You sure?’ Andrea sounded horrified.
‘I’m sure. Just think of the publicity we could get. We’re bound to raise more money.’
‘Okaaay. I think. What am I agreeing to?’
‘It’ll be fun!’ The slogan of the ‘Pretty Muddy’ campaign had stuck in her mind: ‘Cancer plays dirty, but so can we!’ she chanted down the phone. And she thought about little Reece and his family.
‘Okay, your call, Claire. We’re on.’
‘I’ll just ring Sal back – tell her the good news.’
They both laughed.