In silence Mary, Dante, and Oro left the musty underground station. They stood under the gaze of the merciless July sun. Apparently Cheyenne’s dance studio was opposite, down an alleyway, above a disused launderette.
It had been awkward crossing the centre of Rome, in the rush hour, fighting for space – and air – among commuters and tourists. A frisson of electricity zapped through her body when the moving train nudged her and Dante together. Anger transmitted from him, no doubt. Dante looked as if he were simmering. Despite this, and their argument, her instincts shouted to take Dante’s arm and guide him through the various obstacles, such as luggage on wheels and turnstiles. Steadfastly, she resisted.
Mary swallowed and adjusted her new floppy sunhat, floral and bright and not her usual style at all. Her eyes felt drawn to him, despite the picturesque surroundings, filled with hanging baskets dangling from balconies and shops with quaint italic signs.
‘Making that journey in itself was like a dance – dodging irritable businesspeople and swaying as the underground train sped up.’ She took a bottle of water out of her handbag, for a swig.
‘Brava!’ he said, in a measured voice.
Mary wiped her mouth and her brow furrowed, as she put the bottle back. ‘Well done? What for?’
‘Despite me having my cane and Oro to help, you resisted taking my elbow and leading me through the crowds,’ he said, as if he’d read her mind.
‘The two of you seem perfectly capable on your own – although I can’t imagine having to use your cane.’
‘It gives me a lot of information, especially if I am making a journey among crowds,’ he said.
‘About what?’
‘Textures are important. You see its metal tip?’ His face relaxed a little.
Mary nodded.
‘Are you nodding, Mary?’
‘Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re blind. I mean …’
For the first time since they left Pizzeria Dolce Vita, Dante almost gave a smile.
‘It makes different noises on various surfaces. Helps me differentiate, for example, between asphalt and pavement. That helps me know where the road is and if the kerb is low and hard to distinguish. It also sounds different against glass or wood.’
At that moment a car hooted loudly and he jumped.
‘Naturalmente, it doesn’t warn me about angry drivers.’
‘And does it warn you against clumsy biscuit makers, who make stupid comments about pizza toppings?’ she asked tentatively.
He paused and gave a sigh. ‘People are harder to navigate than travel systems and roads. Since … let’s just say events have taught me it’s best not to get close to too many people. Life is easier if you keep your distance and you …’
‘Stay within the safety of solitude?’
He nodded.
‘Are you nodding, Dante?’ she said.
He shrugged but at the corners of his sunglasses, she could just see his eyes crinkling.
For the hundredth time she longed to find out more about his accident. But the whole family seemed to hush up the events of the past two years. Alfonso hardly mentioned his wife. Even sweet Natale didn’t talk much about her mum.
And who was Mary to argue with their coping mechanism?
‘Come on,’ she said, in brighter tones. ‘I reckon I know which alleyway it is. Let’s cross this road.’
Dante started swiping his cane from left to right, over the ground’s surface.
‘Okay, it’s clear,’ announced Mary, as they weren’t at a pedestrian crossing. She had an image in her head of what Cheyenne and the class would be like. American? That meant she’d be blonde, brash, with the broadest Texan accent. We’re talking sparkles on her clothes and glittery eye shadow. At least Mary hoped so! That would almost fulfil her fantasy of appearing on her favourite dance reality show.
She reached into her cotton trousers’ pocket and ran her thumb over a moonstone. It was one of her favourite crystals, with its translucent shades of white, grey, and blue. It offered professional support, so had been good for her whilst learning the new job. More obscurely, it was supposed to help dancers with self-expression so she’d just had to bring it along to this class.
They walked down a narrow, cobbled alleyway, lined either side with old-fashioned apartment buildings that blocked out the sun, producing some most welcome shade. Mary opened the glass door, to the right of the boarded-up launderette, at a junction, right at the end. They climbed a steep staircase. At the top, rhythmic music wafted through the air and they walked into the dance studio that greatly contrasted with its vintage surroundings.
Mary scanned the airy whitewashed room. It had shiny pine flooring, a large mirror along one wall with a bar across the opposite side. Two other couples were there, both of retirement age. A young, slim woman smiled and came over. Make-up free, with her hazelnut hair tied back, she wore a grey leotard and white leggings. She petted Oro, who clearly knew her, and then she stood up.
‘Ciao, Dante,’ she said and gave him a tight hug. ‘Thanks for making up the numbers. Your sister said you’ve got some pretty cool moves.’
‘She’s good at exaggerating,’ he said. ‘It’s a while since I last danced.’
‘You’ll be great,’ she said softly, and punched his arm. ‘Dancing, if you love it, is something you never forget how to do. Like … kissing.’
Mary took note of the obvious affection Cheyenne felt for him. Affection she’d seen many people display. Why hadn’t he ever shown his appealing side to her?
Cheyenne smiled. ‘Maria? Great to see you here. Natale’s told me about your love of ballroom. It’s awesome that you’ve finally taken the plunge and signed up for a class.’
What a great New York accent. Mary’s guilty pleasure was watching the box set of Sex in the City. It gave her hope that, one day, she might have a circle of friends that would act as a family.
So much for the imagined caricature with peroxide hair and a Texan drawl – with her understated, dark looks Cheyenne could have easily passed for a local.
‘I’m a little nervous,’ said Mary, ‘and relying on Dante to show me the way.’
‘What, the kissing?’ he said.
Cheyenne sniggered and left.
‘You should be so lucky,’ Mary said but her chest glowed. This was new – a bit of gentler humour? Footsteps indicated that the remaining pupils arrived and Mary turned around. Her stomach lurched. One was a middle-aged couple, whilst the other …
‘Rocco?’ she said weakly. He looked almost human out of uniform, in a T-shirt and jeans. She waited for his usual scowl.
Dante held out his hand. ‘So, you didn’t work out a way to say no to your sister?’
Rocco grimaced, clasped Dante’s fingers, and shook them before looking at Mary again.
‘Paola, this is Maria, the new English waitress.’
Paola was even shorter than squat Jill, with raven hair tied back and a boyish frame.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said, with a thick Italian accent, and she beamed. ‘Ciao, Dante.’
He bent down and she kissed him loudly on both cheeks.
‘I didn’t know you liked ballroom,’ Mary stuttered to Rocco.
‘I don’t. I mean…’ He ran a hand over his receding hairline. Out of work he somehow looked younger, or at least like his thirty years. ‘My sister thought … or rather, insisted …’
‘Us men don’t seem to have much say in the matter, do we?’ said Dante and he pulled a face. He and Rocco spoke in Italian for a few moments, about a party of twenty people arriving for dinner at the pizzeria later that night.
Paola looked at Mary and rolled her eyes. ‘Work, work, work … at least this is one hour when I get the full attention of my brother. We don’t see each other often enough.’
Rocco snorted yet his whole face lit up like a lamp that had needed a new bulb. ‘Don’t pretend this has anything to do with quality sibling time. You asked me because no one else would come along.’
‘Non capisco,’ she said, airily, and turned her attention to Mary. ‘Rocco didn’t tell me Dante had a girlfriend.’
‘I’m not his girlfriend,’ she said, quickly. ‘I needed a partner for this dance class. Like you. That’s all.’
‘Right, let’s go everybody,’ said Cheyenne in a singsong voice.
Dante put his cane and sunglasses to one side, on the floor. Next to them, Mary put her sunhat and handbag. Oro guarded the possessions with her life. The others gave darted looks. One question was written all over their faces. How could a blind person learn formal dance?
Cheyenne lined everyone up, men opposite women. ‘Let’s do this,’ she said, in Italian, and grinned. ‘Maria, I will keep my explanations simple,’ she said, speaking slowly. ‘Natale said your Italian is really coming along – but if you need me to explain anything twice—’
‘I can help,’ said Dante.
Cheyenne clapped her hands. ‘Right …’ And off she went, explaining what her plan was. Now and again Dante bent down and briefly summarised in Mary’s ear, in English. Having helped her with her Italian over recent weeks, he seemed to instinctively know which sentences she would struggle to understand. Frequently he translated, his breath warming her neck.
‘Whilst the main aim of our performance, at the Piazza Navona street festival, will be to have fun,’ said Cheyenne, ‘I am passionate about spreading the word about ballroom. The music. The outfits. The intimacy of its dances. And its health benefit. I am hoping that some bystanders will sign up for classes.’
Mary tried to concentrate hard on every word that was said, yet for some reason standing so close to Dante proved to be a distraction.
‘I want us to perform something that looks simple. Complex moves will deter people from joining.’ Cheyenne grinned again. ‘And we do only have three weeks. Therefore, I’ve chosen the waltz, which is all about the body swaying and the rise and fall.’
Mary listened hard as Dante translated the detail.
‘Face your partner, people. Men, put your right hand around her back. Women, put your left hand on his shoulder.’
These instructions were easy enough to understand, thought Mary, as she reached up to Dante and wished she’d worn high heels. As the hour passed, the other couples continued to shoot him curious looks but these became less frequent as it was obvious he could dance. Following his lead, Mary soon picked up the box step and a little gliding. For the last fifteen minutes Cheyenne put on some music. A smile crossed Dante’s face as it came to an end.
‘You had fun?’ Mary asked.
‘I could tell, from your body movements, just how much you were enjoying that.’
She blushed. Mary loved the music and had secretly pretended she was starring in one of her favourite reality dance shows.
As Cheyenne congratulated the other couples on their moves, Mary cleared her throat. ‘And your smile – does … does that mean you’ve forgiven me – for my stupid comment about the pizza toppings?’
The smile spread. ‘Not sure. Did you tread on my toes because you are so maldestro – or was it out of anger?’
‘Dante, Maria,’ interrupted Cheyenne, in English, ‘you can let go of each other’s hands now!’
Mary stepped back as if she’d been caught snogging in the school playground. But it had felt so natural. There was something so comfortable about the way his fingers had interlocked with hers and for just a second some silly romantic notion entered her head.
But then she remembered Jake leaving for Dubai – and one particular set of foster parents who’d announced they were expecting a baby of their own. Nine-year-old Mary had to leave. She’d sobbed and told her Cinderella doll all about it. Then she’d announced fairy tales didn’t exist. Little Mary had even thrown away her princess merchandise. Lesson learnt. Getting attached to people brought pain. And yet Dante … there was something about him she was finding hard to resist.
It didn’t make sense. They didn’t get on. So why was it so important to her to have his respect and his friendship – and, said a teasing voice in her head, perhaps a little bit more …?
Mary stood up straight. For goodness’ sake. No. Where had that thought come from? She needed to remember her resolutions.
Dante shook his head at Cheyenne. ‘Believe me, I have had to steer my partner through every move, so it required a very firm hold, indeed.’
‘Don’t be mean. Maria was awesome.’ Cheyenne laughed. Mary noticed the dance teacher’s eyes sweep over Dante’s frame, before she straightened her ponytail. ‘In fact, let me put on the music, for one last dance. Swap partners. It’s good to mix things up.’
‘Good luck to whoever takes you on,’ muttered Dante and shot Mary a … goodness … a friendly look.
‘Cheeky,’ she replied. ‘Bet I can pirouette as well as any professional dancer.’ Without thinking it through, she stood on one tiptoe and spun herself around, lost balance, knocked into Dante, and slid down his body like a pole dancer. Oro’s ears cocked.
Heat flooded her face as Dante’s arms reached down and easily lifted Mary to her feet. He belly-laughed. A nice sound. A great sound. She’d never heard it before. His laugh became louder and louder – talk about infectious. The others joined in and even Mary giggled as tears ran down his face.
‘Sorry,’ he spluttered. ‘I … didn’t know we were remaking Dirty Dancing.’
Mary dabbed her eyes and the older women patted her sympathetically on the back. Rocco stared at her. He’d been doing it all evening. Her heart sank a little. Did he still believe she had an agenda concerning Dante? With a heavy heart Mary realised she was expected to partner the waiter for the last few minutes.
‘I might step on your toes,’ she mumbled as he placed his arm around her back.
‘You can’t be worse than Paola.’
Had Rocco just missed an opportunity to sneer? He even smiled when their knees knocked during a glide and, for just one second, they exchanged good-humoured glances. He said well done when she got the moves right and he messed up. And he had rhythm. Clearly he loved to dance. What was going on? Where had his standoffish demeanour gone? This was all too much. Could ballroom dance really have melted the frosty facades of both Dante and the waiter?
The dance ended and as if the music had cast a spell, that now broke, Rocco left Mary’s side. One of the older women came over.
‘I just wanted to say,’ she said, in Italian, to Dante, ‘how much I admire you. It can’t be easy.’
He hated to be picked out as different. However, he simply thanked her.
‘Perhaps it is easier for me,’ he said. ‘I have no distractions from the surroundings and can focus fully on my steps and timing. And …’ he stared straight towards Mary’s eyes ‘… my partner is a pleasure to dance with.’
A gush of warmth filled her chest. She noted his soft lips. The determined line of his jaw. She recalled how gently he’d held her whilst dancing. How firmly he’d picked her up from the floor. A poem popped into her head from one of her mother’s diaries. The notebooks had been passed onto Mary when she turned eighteen.
Dearest Mary …
You are the moonlight. Joyful birdsong. A sunrise.
The sugar in my coffee. The best ever surprise.
Rainbows and Northern Lights have nothing on you.
One day I hope you will understand and to yourself be true.
Just remember …
Love knows no good timing – has no thought-out plan.
It comes out of nowhere. It might hurt. It can.
But rainbows and Northern Lights come at a price.
Open your heart and mind. Sometimes you just have to throw the dice.
Mary had never really comprehended the meaning of these words before. Jake was funny and kind of caring but didn’t inspire thoughts about the sun or birds. But Dante, right at this moment … She’d just seen a proper glimpse of the man behind the mask. Throwing the dice. Was love all about taking a chance?
Okay. Now she was being stupid. This was the man who wanted her sent home. Who’d been unfriendly for no apparent reason. Rocco feared that his job was under threat, but what was Dante’s excuse? The waiter and his sister came over. He stared at her and Dante, for a moment, as if digesting some new bit of information.
‘Fantastico, isn’t it?’ said Paola gushing. ‘Cheyenne’s competition idea?’
‘What’s that?’ Mary asked.
‘She’s just been telling us – that the couple voted the best dancers, on the day, by her ballroom teaching friend, will win a free term of classes.’
‘I think that’s what you call a bribe.’ Mary grinned. ‘To attend the three classes a week she’s scheduled in, to get us up to speed.’
‘I hope you’ll be able to attend them all, Rocco,’ Paola said and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Dante? You’ll sort it, won’t you?’
Rocco’s face reddened and he frowned at his sister. ‘Paola. Please!’
‘But it’s going to be such fun!’
Dante put on his glasses. ‘Of course I will.’
Mary and Dante walked down the stairs with Oro and out into the alleyway. Paola had insisted she and Rocco hurry away to the local music store, to find a suitable ballroom CD so that they could practise. Dante had chatted to Cheyenne for a few minutes. He wanted to find out how she was getting on with her new burglar alarm. She’d been robbed, the previous month, and he’d helped her report the crime and make her home more safe.
‘Did you really mean what you said?’ she asked.
‘About what?’
‘Finding the dancing easier than a sighted person? Or was that just a way of deflecting that woman’s nosiness.’
Dante started to swing the cane side to side as they walked along the narrow cobbled ground. ‘She wasn’t being patronising. And yes, it’s true, isn’t it? Dancers don’t look at their feet. It’s all about the rhythm and partnership.’
‘I like Paola. Goodness knows how she got Rocco on board.’
‘Rocco used to dance a lot. In nightclubs. He calmed down a lot, after moving in with Angelo.’
‘Rocco? Nightclubs?’ But then he did have good rhythm.
Dante nodded. ‘More than once he’d come into work with a headache, after partying. Lots of friends he had. They were always piling into the pizzeria for carbs to mop up the previous evening’s wine.’
‘That doesn’t happen now.’
‘Hasn’t happened for a number of years. Perhaps that comes from having an older flatmate. Rocco’s become a lot more conservative since knowing Angelo – unless that’s just a coincidence. He used to tell the craziest jokes. Smell strongly of aftershave. Wear the most colourful clothes. Yet just before I lost my sight he’d started to go for the plain shirt and chino look Angelo favours.’
‘Yes. He was wearing an outfit like that, this afternoon.’
‘I think he looks up to Angelo who is smooth. Stylish.’ Dante shrugged. ‘Or perhaps Rocco has just matured. Guess we all do. Life can’t be one long party for ever.’
Mary went to put on her sunhat and braced herself for the strong rays as they’d soon be on the main road. However, she dropped it as a hand grabbed her shoulder. Mary turned around to see a young man, with a knife, pulling at her bag. She stared at his fingers. Saw ingrained dirt under the bitten nails. He was half-shaven and probably even younger than he looked. He smelt … strange.
‘Va via!’ she shouted and pulled hard on her bag. Oro barked and stood closer to Dante.
His tanned face paled and he stopped. ‘Mary?’ Dante hissed and swung around. ‘What is it?’