“Right,” she said. She looked at Danny and gave him her best what-the-fuck look. “Exactly. Do that again.”
Will repeated the move, emphasizing the twist so Danny could see it better.
“Like this?” said Danny, but even as he spoke he knew that he’d nailed it.
“Yeah,” said Will. “Then you can move into that next section.” He pulled off the next few moves in the sequence while Krystal watched in amazement.
“Have you seen this routine before?” she said.
“No,” said Will.
“Then how do you know so much of it?”
“Because I just watched it.”
“And you’ve already memorized the whole thing?”
“No,” said Will. “Not the whole thing. But most of it probably.”
“Danny, get your arse over here,” she said, sitting down and patting the chair beside her. Danny did as he was told. “Will, can I ask you a big favor?”
“I guess,” he said, a little unsurely.
“Would you mind pressing play on that stereo and showing us everything you can remember?”
Will looked at the stereo and shrugged.
“Okay,” he said.
Danny barely breathed and Krystal hardly blinked for the next three minutes and twelve seconds, their vital functions held hostage by Will as he tore his way through their performance. He couldn’t remember every single move, but he hit far more than he missed, especially the more challenging maneuvers that Danny had struggled with the most; and when the music stopped almost two hundred dance moves later, the only sound that could be heard in the otherwise silent studio was the rasp of Will sucking air into his lungs as Danny and Krystal stared at each other in disbelief.
“How the flipping flip do you flipping know how to dance like that?” said Krystal, her bracelets jangling like wind chimes as she pounded her palms in applause.
“His mum,” said Danny. He smiled at Will, who nodded in agreement.
“You mean to tell me you’ve had a perfectly good dance teacher living under your roof all this bloody time and you didn’t think that information was maybe worth sharing?”
“I didn’t know,” he said, the pride in his voice partly hiding the shame.
“You realize how important this is, don’t you?” said Krystal. She leapt out of her chair. “You understand what this means, right?”
“No,” said Danny, struggling to follow. “What does this mean?”
“Jesus, do I really have to spell it out for you? It means, Danny, that I don’t have to cancel my appointment with Fernando!” She grabbed her coat and made for the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Will, teach him everything he needs to know.”
“Wait!” yelped Danny, but Krystal had already gone.
He stared at the door as it creaked to a halt, sure she’d be back any minute. Then, realizing she was serious, he turned to Will, who was still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, and smoothed his fur with his palms.
“I guess we better get started,” he said.
* * *
Apart from a suspiciously long bathroom break for Will, which only ended when Vesuvius escorted him back to the studio after Will had “accidentally” taken a wrong turn and “accidentally” ended up in the VIP lounge, the two of them didn’t leave the room for the next few hours. Nor did they stop dancing, working their way through the routine over and again while the flimsy walls and loose floorboards shook in time to the song that throbbed from the speakers on repeat. They danced side by side, watching each other’s footwork in the mirror in front of them, Danny looking for guidance and Will looking for faults. Every time Danny fluffed a move or accidentally deviated from the routine, Will would stop the music and walk him through the troublesome step or section before restarting the track and going through the performance from the beginning. If neither of them was sure of a particular move or sequence, they would huddle around Danny’s phone to watch a recording that Danny had taken of Krystal demonstrating the routine from start to finish, which he often consulted during his solo practice sessions. Unlike when Danny would try and often fail to replicate Krystal’s moves directly from the video, this time he watched Will perform them before attempting his son’s renditions.
The approach was something like a dancing version of a game of Telephone, but instead of the message getting lost or scrambled as it so often did in the children’s game, here the process had the opposite effect, taking something complex and making it simple without losing any of its value. Krystal had taught Danny a lot since she’d reluctantly agreed to help him, but her teaching skills often left as much to be desired as his ability to learn. She wasn’t always able to deconstruct her experience in a way that Danny could digest, which led to frustration on both sides as Krystal grew impatient and Danny grew more flustered and more prone to making mistakes. Will, on the other hand, was able to explain everything to him like an eleven-year-old. Because of this, and combined with the skills and knowledge that Danny himself had accrued over the last couple of months, the two of them were able to iron out almost every crease by the time Krystal returned a few hours later. She watched them undetected from the corner of the room while they worked their way through the routine, and only when the music stopped and she started applauding did they realize they weren’t alone.
“That, fellas, was smoother than my lady bits,” she said. “Looks like your new teacher here has been doing a much better job than I have.” She winked at Will, who smiled shyly.
“What do you think?” said Danny.
“What do I think?” she said. “I think I’ve been wasting my bloody time this last couple of months, Danny, that’s what I think. You never needed me. All you needed was this little mover right here.” She gently nudged Will in the ribs. “I guess we’re going to have to split that prize money three ways now. I still get half though, obviously.”
“I hope it’ll be enough,” said Danny.
Krystal shrugged. “You can give me more if you like,” she said.
Danny rolled his eyes. “I meant the performance,” he said. “Do you think it’s enough to convince the judges?”
“If it isn’t, I really don’t know what will be,” said Krystal. “Not unless…” She trailed off, suddenly lost in thought.
“Unless what?” said Danny.
Krystal nibbled her bottom lip and stared into the middle distance. “Where are those couches?” she said.
“What?” said Danny.
“The ones that Fanny chucked out, where are they?”
“In the alley opposite the club, why?”
“You’ll see,” she said, heading for the door. “Follow me. I have a brilliant idea.”
CHAPTER 31
Danny was a little disappointed when he first set eyes on the stage. He’d spent the last month imagining some kind of setup akin to that of a U2 concert, with huge television screens and speakers the size of small apartment buildings; but when he visited Hyde Park the day before the competition to get a feel for what to expect, the venue he encountered looked more suited to a Punch-and-Judy show than the Battle of the Street Performers so boldly advertised on the flyer he’d carried around in his wallet for the last few weeks. The only battle that Danny could foresee taking place was the battle he was going to have trying to perform his routine without falling off the laughably small stage that the crew were still in the process of building. It wasn’t just the stage that hadn’t been finished either—at least, that’s what Danny hoped, because if everything else had been completed, the audience would have a few battles of their own, like how and where to go to the bathroom when there were no toilets, or how they were going to see the stage when there were no lighting rigs to speak of, or how they were going to find the event in the first place when there were no banners, posters, or advertisements.