Chapter 34

Thankfully, my parents aren't home when I enter the apartment above the studio. I have a short while before Justin and Mark are due to arrive, and then there are a couple of lessons after them.

I'm glad I don't have to face my parents today—despite telling Nick I'd be fine, I'd rather not have another confrontation right now. It feels eerie walking through the empty house, as if it's already been abandoned. In a way, it has. The family unit we had no longer exists, and the more I examine it, the more I wonder if it truly existed as I thought it did. Was I just a puppet for my mum's dreams? The thought doesn't diminish my love of dancing, but it does apply a tainted patina to what my childhood really was. Or rather, what it wasn't. I had none of the experiences and friends that regular children have. It was full of practice and competitions and helping in the school. I didn't have many friends at school either, not enough to bring them home. If it hadn't been for Nick, I would have been an extremely sad and lonely boy. His friendship was solid and unconditional, and he's always allowed me to be myself, supporting rather than pushing, and I am full of gratitude for him. I have no idea what he saw in me back then that made him want to be my friend, or what he sees in me now, but he's more than family—he's the other half of my soul.

As I stand in the quiet kitchen, I idly wonder where my parents are and then push the thought straight back out of my head. It's clear their plans didn't include me, so mine won't include them. Not that I have any plans right now. That reminder flattens my mood, which had been quite buoyant after leaving Nick in his room, flushed and breathless. I smile to myself that I can do that to him, affecting his calm confidence that way.

I collect some more clothes from my room, but I can't keep filling Nick's room up. That situation isn't ideal, and a layer of guilt that I'm being a burden further dulls how I'm feeling right now. Nick, with his starry blue eyes and a million smiles, is the only bright point in my life right now.

I go downstairs to open up the studio. I refuse to wallow in self-pity. I can at least help make someone else's life better instead.

"Congratulations!" Justin says, as soon as he enters the studio. "You were amazing on Saturday."

"You were there?" I ask, a little confused.

"We weren't, but then Mark caught a newsreel reporting that you'd changed partners and were dancing with Nick, and then we just had to find everything we could about it."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say to that.

"Do you know how wonderful it was to see someone from our community dancing?" Mark chimes in. "We've not had that before."

"I guess I didn't," I say hesitantly. I hadn't thought about it, that it might be something others would want to see. I just wanted to dance with the person I wanted to.

"It's validating for us. It normalises it. Every time someone has the courage to go out there and show everyone what can be done, it makes it easier for us."

I'm suddenly drawn into a group hug by both Mark and Justin and it overwhelms me—their emotion, their words. I drop my head, not wanting them to see the effect it's having on me.

"Oh, sorry," Mark says, hurriedly dropping his arms. "We didn't ask if you'd be okay with a hug."

"It's fine, I was just..." I didn't know how to explain it. I hadn't thought about the wider community. It's one I don't actively feel part of outside of Nick and a couple of his friends. I feel I ought to own up to that. "To be honest, I wasn't doing it as a way of being seen. I just wanted to dance with Nick. I'd been told I couldn't, but that changed, and so I did what I wanted."

"For love?" Mark almost squeals and swoons with a hand over his heart. Justin rolls his eyes at him and I laugh.

"Something like that."

"Well, whatever the reason, it's inspirational," Justin says "We said we wanted to continue lessons and now we're thinking we could try a competition, the beginners' level, someday. If you'll teach us." Mark nods his head in enthusiastic agreement.

I sigh, and their eagerness makes what I have to tell them even harder.

"I'm really sorry, but I can't continue the lessons. The school is closing."

"What!" Mark's exclamation is a piercing contrast to his earlier swooning.

"My parents have decided to close the school," I reply, not willing to be drawn into any further discussion on the whys or wherefores.

Both Justin and Mark look ready to ask a million questions, but I direct them instead to their lesson, and make sure they're confident they'll be able to remember it on Saturday.

They dance well and, whilst they might not be foot perfect, they make up for it with enthusiasm and the love for each other that oozes out of them. It's joyful to watch, and I find I'm looking forward to seeing them perform it for real on Saturday. I'm also looking forward to their wedding because I've never been to a wedding before. Is that normal? We have no other family outside of my mum, dad, and sister. Claire isn't likely to be getting married soon, and without a network of friends, I've never been close enough to anyone to be invited. It just serves to remind me of another thing I've missed out on, along with birthday parties and holidays.

As people are arriving for the next class, the beginners, which will be followed by the improvers, the phone rings. I answer it and it's someone enquiring about lessons. I explain the situation to them and return to the studio to start the lesson. The phone rings again and it's the same enquiry, but from someone else. I tell them the same, too. After it rings for a third time, this occasion five minutes after I've started the lesson, I take the phone off the hook. That's more enquiries than we'd received in a week before. For the next couple of hours, I concentrate on the classes, enjoying myself and noting with a sense of sad pride those who are improving, knowing I can't help them continue. They're all full of congratulations, the same as Mark and Justin were, and it's also very difficult to tell them that there won't be any classes after the end of the month. Their disappointment is unanimous, but I tell them there is nothing they can do.

After the same question has been directed at me for the dozenth time, my patience starts wearing thin and I answer more sharply than I had intended.

"Even if I could continue the lessons, there'll be nowhere to dance. This building will be demolished to make way for the new housing development."

"Years ago, we just used to learn in the village hall." One of the clients pipes up, with agreement from the others.

"Yes, we used a church hall; dancing on Tuesdays and Sunday school on Sundays," says another.

"Couldn't you rent a hall for lessons?" someone else asks. "It doesn"t matter where it is for me. I just want to keep dancing."

"I don't know," I respond, because I need to give them some answers. I don't elaborate, as I need to think. Was it something I could do? More importantly, was it something I now wanted to do?

Nick arrives as I'm about to lock up the studio, and I remember belatedly that we're catching the bus into the city centre for the radio interview.

"Hi," he says with a smile, and then looks round the place with a frown. "It feels different somehow."

"You notice it, too." It isn't a question.

"It feels sad," he says, wrinkling his nose slightly, and I know what he means as I feel it as well.

"Shall we?" I gesture to the door so we can go.

"Your—"

"Are not in," I reply, as I know exactly what he's going to ask and I don't want to talk about it. He just nods, and I'm grateful he doesn't push.

We get settled in at the radio station for the interview. I try to give general answers about my upbringing, not wanting to go into too much detail. They ask about my dreams, and I reply that the opportunity to dance at the Nationals had always been a dream that had eluded me for many years. I get caught up in my own words, words that come naturally without overthinking. I said to dance; I didn't say to win. I've always said to win before, and it's with the clarity of distance that I fully comprehend how much I've been shackled by my mum's vision. And just like that, they fall away. A lightness expands in my chest that is both freeing and terrifying. I miss the next question.

"Sorry, what was that?"

The presenter frowns at me.

"Right now I'm playing a song, as we can't have dead air." I must have spaced out in my head for too long. "The question I asked was, "What made you want to dance with Nick?" You have..." The presenter looks at the display in front of him. "One minute and twenty-three seconds until the end of the song, then I'll ask you again. So be ready this time."

I nod in understanding and look across at Nick, who's looking back at me with an amused expression on his face.

The presenter, with ultra smooth professionalism, recaps for the listeners who he's interviewing, and cleverly disguises the fact that I fluffed it—for which I'm grateful. And this time, when he asks his question, I'm ready.

"When you're dancing in top-level competitions in ballroom dancing, you need the right partner. Someone who's in sync with you. It has to be someone you trust implicitly. But even then, there has to be that extra connection, so you can dance with a harmony and fluidity that feels and looks like you're dancing as one. Sometimes you click straight away with a dancing partner, and sometimes it takes a while to develop. Nick has all of that and is a very special person to me. I can't imagine not dancing with him. I'd rather not dance at all than not dance with Nick."

There are a few seconds of silence which, this time, I think the presenter deliberately leaves in and then hits me with another question.

"Is it true that you're also in a relationship with Nick?"

"Yes," I answer, without even thinking. There are a few more questions for the both of us, some about the future, which I avoid answering other than to say that I'm considering my options. Then we're finished and allowed to leave. It's getting late, and we walk back to the bus station. Nick shops for sweets, as he says that was intense and he needs some sugar to cope. He offers me one and I suck on a Love Heart while we walk.

"What you said was beautiful," he says softly. "Thank you."

"Every word was true." I meant every word of it.

"Do you know you just came out on air?" He drops in casually.

"What? Wait! Did I? I just thought everyone knew anyway." I stop and look at him and his expression is a little painful. It tugs on my heart and I get the feeling I've done something wrong.

"Even if others know, there is an expectation that people need to announce it."

"Urgh, that sucks." I grimace and his expression softens.

"I just want you to know that now you've confirmed it, you are more likely to get asked about it."

I hadn't thought about the consequences. I was just answering the question truthfully.

"It just feels so natural that I don't think of it being a thing I need to tell people about. I can't define myself as being whatever label people have for me, for us. I'm yours. I feel you fused into my being in a way that is much deeper than the harmony we have when dancing. It's everything. I think it's been that way for a long time, but I just didn't recognise it."

"You're incredible. Do you know that?"

My answer to his question is left unsaid as he claims my mouth like he's claimed my soul.