Chapter 4

I get through the beginners and improvers classes without really taking much in. I certainly don't remember any of them. Except for Nick's help. His unwavering support and ready smile charming everyone, young and old alike. I don't know how he does it. He looks ridiculous dancing in his beanie, which he refuses to remove, claiming his hair isn't fit to be seen. He's always been like that, taking care over his appearance. I'm far more relaxed about mine, unless I'm getting ready for a competition of course, but most days I run my fingers through my hair and that's as good as it gets.

The last customers are leaving, and Mum's just finishing up the private lesson. She's been teaching a couple who are practising for their wedding-day dance. We get a lot of couples like that, wanting to make that first dance memorable on their special day.

Dad has already gone upstairs. The arthritis in his knees prevents him from dancing anymore, so he normally chauffeurs us to competitions, and does a lot of the cooking and other household chores.

"Nick, will you stay for supper?" my mum asks. He often stays for something to eat after classes, but today I see him waver for a second. He probably thinks my mum will keep up her current complaints about Julia and the Nationals. It is likely, so I mouth a "please" at him, and see the corner of his mouth twitch before he turns back to my mum. "I'd love to, Mrs Franklin. It smells delicious. What is it tonight? Is it Mr Franklin's famous mac 'n' cheese?" He's a consummate charmer. My mum leads him upstairs while I lock up the studio. When I join them in the kitchen a few minutes later, he's already sitting on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, beer in hand, talking to my dad about the best way to make cheese sauce. I grab a beer from the fridge and then start setting the table in the dining part of the open-plan living space.

My mum doesn't disappoint in her predictability throughout supper, and continues to prattle on at length about the situation. I don't bother joining in or, even worse, offering an opinion. There's no point, and it just prolongs the diatribe. My shoulders sag as the sombre hues of desolation settle over me again and I stare down at my food, not tasting any of it, until I feel the bump of a knee against my leg. Only Nick is sitting close enough to do that. I look up and he gives me a small smile. My mouth twitches in response and I'm rewarded with a bigger smile. He bumps my leg again, but doesn't move it away this time, and I feel the pressure of it, lending me strength and fortitude. I'm grateful and can finish the rest of my dinner. At length, my mum runs out of breath, or rather, things to say, at least for now.

"What do you think, Nick?" she asks him, and he looks up from his plate, startled, as if he were miles away.

"I... err, Mrs Franklin, I think it will all be alright," he offers tentatively. I don't think it matters what he says as long as it's a general agreement.

"Well, we shall see. All that work for nothing, though!" She sits back, looking peeved, and I fear she's gearing up for another round. I can't take any more. I need to get out of here. Do something different for once. I can't listen to it for a moment longer.

I rise and start gathering the empty plates and dishes, taking them over to the dishwasher. I place my hands on the counter and lean heavily on them, taking a few deep breaths. The overwhelming air of perpetual disquiet is more than I can take. I need to get out of the house, to get some air.

"I'm going out," I announce, pushing off from the counter and turning round to face them.

"Out? Where?" my mum exclaims. She isn't concerned about me, more that she'll lose an audience. I pity my dad sometimes, but he always seems content, and I think he likes to spend more time in the kitchen nowadays. It's his sanctuary. He gets up, and brings some more dishes over and sets them on the counter.

"I'll load the dishwasher. You go on out," he says, then leans close and speaks quietly, so only I can hear. "She'll calm down in a few days, don't worry."

"Thanks Dad," I say equally quietly, and he nods in acknowledgement.

Nick rises. "Thank you for supper, Mrs Franklin, Mr Franklin. It was a treat, as always."

"You're welcome dear." My mum smiles at him.

"Next time I'll teach you how to make a red-wine sauce," my dad tells him.

"I'll look forward to it, Mr Franklin," he replies, and we head towards the back door, grabbing coats as we go. The back door leads out onto a small balcony with steps down to the ground level, so we don't have to go back through the studio to get out.

"How do you do that?" I ask, as I follow him down the steps.

"Do what?" he asks.

"Just seem to be able to talk to anyone?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "I guess I spent so much time as a kid listening to my mum and her friends talk about anything and everything."

I reach the backyard and tip my head back, spreading my arms wide. I embrace the feeling of not being cooped up in the house, listening to my mother go on like a stuck record. I just hope the batteries will wind down soon. I let out a sound—half groan and half cry.

"Do you want to go up to the park and shout it out?" Nick asks.

I agree, and we head on to the street and along the shops.

"Hold on," Nick says when we reach the convenience store, and he ducks inside. I find him in front of the chocolate stand.

"Well, we did leave before dessert." He makes a mock sad face when he catches me watching him and I chuckle. Nick has the worst sweet tooth I know. He hovers over the assortment of chocolates for a few more seconds before selecting a couple of bars and a bag of gummy sweets.

We turn towards the park. At the end of the shops is a piece of wasteland. There's been nothing on it for as long as I can remember, it's just full of overgrown brambles and litter, but now a hoarding has been erected. I stop and look up at what it says. "Land acquired for development," is in large writing across it, along with the developer's name: D. H. Gregory.

"How long has that been there?" I ask.

"I've no idea." Nick stands beside me, the sweets already open. He offers them and I take a cola bottle. "I've not seen it before." He stuffs a sweet into his mouth.

"Hmm. What do you think they're building?" I muse, mostly just asking out loud.

"Houses probably," Nick offers, seemingly unconcerned. "Aren't the government always going on about how they're going to build so many new homes?"

"I guess." I shrug, dismissing the small, disconcerting feeling I have at just not having noticed it before. "C'mon." I dip a hand into Nick's sweet bag, not at all surprised that they're mostly gone. I've no idea how he can demolish a bag so quickly. I pull out a fried egg and pop it in my mouth, chewing slowly as we make our way to the park.

Dusk has given itself over to full dark as we make our way through the gates and follow the path. We leave the streetlights far behind at the entrance, but we've no need of a light to find our way. We've been following the same route for as long as we've been friends. Our eyes soon adjust to the gloom and we can see well enough. The tarmacked path wends its way through the grassed area, a small copse, and a bridge over a brook until we emerge at the top of a hill that overlooks parts of the city. There is a play park, and we enter it, sitting side by side on a set of swings. We idly swing backwards and forwards for a few minutes, enjoying the silence.

"Ready?" Nick grins at me.

I nod, beaming back at him. We rise and then stand on the swings, bending our knees to push them to get them moving, daring each other to go higher. We've been doing this for years when something has got either of us down, and I feel a warm sense of gratitude that Nick suggested it.

We swing as high as we can, and when we reach the apex of the swing, Nick lets out a howl. The next time, I holler in answer. We continue like that for a while, each cry getting louder and more frenzied, until we sound like a couple of demented madmen. Eventually, I have nothing left, and I let the swing slow until I can jump off. I'm panting and my legs feel wobbly, so I collapse onto the grass for a rest. I lie on my back and hear Nick drop next to me.

"Feel better?" he rasps, clearly as out of breath as me.

"Much better, thank you." I stare up at the sky. There's no cloud cover, so the stars are shining down in all their glory. I love this view. Looking up at something which is far bigger than we are.

"It puts it all in perspective, doesn't it?" I say, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant.

"What does?"

"That." I wave up at the sky. "Out there could be a million other worlds, all full of people just going about their business, or alien races, all exploring and discovering new things. And here we are, a tiny speck on a small world spinning round a ball of fire. I'm worrying about what will happen in a stupid dance competition, when we're just two of a few billion people, clinging to a rock hurtling through space. Everything I do seems so trivial. It feels ridiculous when you think of it, doesn't it?"

"Hey." Nick lifts onto one elbow to look down at me. "Don't you ever think your dreams are unimportant, D. The stars shine brighter knowing you're under them." He takes a breath. "You bring a lot of joy to people. Not only with your dancing but your teaching, too. Allowing people a time in their week when they can forget their troubles. Where they can set aside that they've had a shitty day at work and be someone else for a little while. Never belittle what you do, D."

His words barely register. Instead, I'm struck by his eyes—how they glitter darkly, reflecting the small amount of available light, and looking like they hold the secrets of the galaxy. It feels like I'm noticing them for the first time, and I want to lose myself in their unfathomable depths.

"D? Are you okay?" I blink as his words bring me back to the present, and he has a curious expression on his face.

"Um, yes. I must have spaced out there for a moment." My cheeks heat up as I think he might have caught me looking at him, and I can't explain it to myself, let alone anyone else. I'm glad it's dark, so he doesn't notice the deep shade of red they must be. "Sorry."

"No worries." He's still looking a bit puzzled. Then he smiles and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the chocolate bars he bought earlier and holding them up.

"Which one?" He grins as if it's even a question, and I reach for the Snickers.

"Heathen." He laughs and sinks back onto the grass beside me. The sounds of us eating are the only thing punctuating the silence.