Читать книгу The Summer We Danced - Фиона Харпер - Страница 18

It took two whole months to get the office straight. By mid-March the piles of paper were gone, sorted into files, shredded or archived, the office had been dusted and hoovered and I’d taken the ancient computer to the tip and had transferred all the dance school files on to my laptop.

‘Oh, it’s wonderful!’ Miss Mimi said, when I finally showed her the fully sorted office. She’d looked so overjoyed that I thought she might burst into a song-and-dance routine. She didn’t, but it made me wonder what it would be like to be that sort of person, to have those all-consuming emotions that took you to the dizzy heights of the rollercoaster but also down into its depths. It was an artistic thing, maybe. Ed had been like that too, his dark moods black and impenetrable, his excitement heady and infectious. In comparison, I’d always wondered if my emotions were too small. Stunted.

I’d continued to go along to the Friday night tap class, and I definitely wasn’t as hopeless as when I’d first started. I was picking up the steps bit by bit, even managing some of the longer combinations and routines. I was pleased with my progress, but disappointed too. I got enjoyment from it, but more the kind of pleasure you get from solving a challenging puzzle than that wonderful sense of freedom I’d had when I was younger. It seemed I’d forgotten how to enjoy that too.

The only time I got anywhere close to experiencing something dramatic on an emotional level was on the days Lucy had her lessons and I knew I might see Tom, then my pulse would skip into overdrive and I’d start feeling all restless. It was pathetic how often I discovered something urgent to put on the noticeboard just as her classes finished. She was terribly scatty, so at least twice a week Tom had to march her back inside because she’d forgotten a cardigan or her school bag, or because she’d arrived at the car with only one ballet shoe. We’d nod our greeting at each other, then I’d return to my desk, face flushed, and try to concentrate on Miss Mimi’s accounts.

It was stupid, I knew. A total waste of time. If Tom hadn’t found the younger, prettier, thinner version of me appealing, there was very little hope of him being interested in the present-day Pippa. Besides, we were both on the tail end of a divorce. Even if something did happen, it would probably only be a rebound fling, and that would be even worse. I’d rather not have him at all than be the mistake he’d rather forget.