“What happened?”
“She died in a car crash, just over a year ago.”
“Shit,” said Krystal. “Sorry.” She spun her bottle top between her fingers and watched it dance across the bar. “My mum always said I had a big mouth.”
“Sounds like I’d get on well with your mum,” said Danny. He smiled.
“You’d be the only person who does,” said Krystal. She took a sip of water, and the two sat in silence for a minute.
“She was a dancer, actually,” said Danny. Krystal frowned. “My wife. Liz.”
“She clearly never taught you much.”
“No shit,” said Danny. “Thanks for today, by the way. I know you didn’t want to do it, but I’ll probably die in my sleep tonight if it’s any consolation.”
“I thought you were going to croak back there, to be honest.”
“I was close. Everything started to flicker at one point and I remember thinking, So, this is it. This is how it ends.”
“I keep telling Fanny to get that strip light fixed.”
They both smiled.
“Seriously, though, thanks,” he said.
“Don’t mention it. I never thought watching a grown man on the verge of throwing up for two straight hours could be so entertaining.”
“I really don’t know how you do it,” said Danny, wincing as he gently massaged his knee.
“It’s easy. You get up early, you go to bed late, you always make sure you have ice in the freezer, and you go through so much Voltarol that you end up with a borderline diclofenac addiction. You dance six or seven days per week for four or five hours per day, month in, month out, for about five years, and voilà, you too will be qualified to spin around a pole in a dodgy nightclub while crusty old wankers stuff clammy ten-pound notes in your underwear.”
“The way I dance, I’d be lucky if people stuffed ten-pence pieces in my underwear.”
“You weren’t that bad, to be honest. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you were terrible. Like, really fucking terrible. Like, so bad that I actually started to feel sorry for you. But still, you weren’t as bad as I expected. Nothing a little practice won’t fix anyway. Okay, a lot of practice. A metric shit-ton of practice. But you’ll get there.”
“Not until I find some rhythm, I won’t. I’ve got more chance of catching a bullet in my teeth than I do of catching a beat.”
“Now that’s something I could help you with,” said Krystal. She sounded sincere.
“I bet,” said Danny.
“Get yourself a metronome.”
“A what?”
“It’s this thing with a hand that ticks,” said Krystal. Danny followed her finger as she wagged it for emphasis. “You use it to keep time.”
“Isn’t that called a clock?”
“No, you muppet, a clock is— I’m not even going to explain what a fucking clock is. Just google it. Metronome. Get yourself one. And use it. Not just when you’re trying to dance, but whenever you’re doing anything at all. Chopping onions. Washing the dishes. Brushing your teeth. Cleaning the windows. Do it all to the metronome, and you’ll learn to keep a beat without even knowing it.”
“Nothing’s coming up when I search for it,” he said. He showed his phone to Krystal.
“Not ‘metro gnome,’ you fucking— Jesus, give it here.” She snatched the phone from his hand and tapped away at the screen, her nails clacking against the glass. “That,” she said, handing the phone back to Danny. “Buy one. Or even better, download one for free. Just search for metronome apps.”
“Thanks,” said Danny. “Any other tips?”
“Yeah, rewatch all the dancing films you’ve ever watched, and then make a list of all the ones you haven’t and watch them too.”
“That’s going to be a very long list.”
“You’ve never seen a dancing film?”
“It depends on what you call a dancing film.”
“Like a film, but about dancing.”
“Oh. No, then.”
“Flashdance? Footloose? Billy Elliot? Strictly Ballroom? Please tell me you’ve at least seen Dirty Dancing. Tell me that and I can just about forgive you,” she said.
Danny shook his head. “Liz was always trying to get me to watch it with her,” he said, suddenly unable to think of a single decent reason why he never had. “It was one of her favorites.”
“She sounds like my kind of girl,” said Krystal.
“And mine,” he said. He turned his water bottle upside down and watched the droplets zigzag down the plastic.
“Well, watch it. And then rewatch it. Like a hundred times. Everything you need to know is in that film. Not just about dancing but about life.” Krystal slid from her stool. “Anyway, I better go warm up.”
“Warm up?” said Danny. “How are you not warm? You’ve just been dancing for two hours.”
“Different kind of warm-up,” said Krystal. She nodded towards one of the podiums where another dancer was circling a pole with a cigarette pinched between her lips.
“Got it,” said Danny, taking the hint. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Good luck with the whole panda thing,” she said over her shoulder.
“Thanks,” he said, fully aware that he was going to need it.
CHAPTER 16
Will watched Mr. Coleman shuffle the length of the whiteboard, his marker squeaking against the enamel as he scribbled something in capital letters.
“International ‘What Do Your Parents Do for a Living’ Day,” said Mr. Coleman, reading the words he’d just written down. “Anybody ever heard of this?”
Some of the kids shook their heads. Others stared blankly.
“Well, me neither, but apparently it’s a thing, and apparently we have to talk about it today. By the way, for those of you who were wondering, yesterday was International Duck Day—I know, I can’t believe we missed that one either—and tomorrow is International ‘Teachers Are Amazing and Rarely Appreciated and Are Overworked and Underpaid’ Day, so make sure you spread the word.”
The only sound in the room came from somebody’s pencil rolling off the desk and landing on the floor.
“So the point of today is to celebrate, well, capitalism, I imagine, although according to this handy fact sheet that the Education Gods were kind enough to furnish me with, it is, and I quote, ‘a day to celebrate the many and diverse ways in which our parents help to keep the world turning.’ Your parents don’t keep the world turning, just so you know. Physics keeps the world turning, but you get the idea. For those of you whose parents are not currently employed, fear not, the world will not suddenly grind to a halt. It will continue to spin, at least until the day when the sun implodes and vaporizes this sorry little planet we call home. For those of you whose parents are currently employed, however, how many of you know what they do for a living?”
A number of kids raised their hands, including Will, who still had no idea about his dad’s recent change in circumstances.
“Great,” said Mr. Coleman. “How’s about some of you come up here and tell us all a little bit about their work. Mum or dad, it’s up to you. We don’t need a monologue, just a few words.”