Say it with Sequins

Harri reached for another napkin. “What’s her name?”

“Debs,” the waitress squealed. “Wait ‘til I tell her who’s been in!” She turned to Julia: “Course, we get loads of celebs in here, it being so near the TV studios and everything but Harri’s the only one whose autograph I’ve wanted.” She did a double take and looked at Julia more closely. “Oh hell, you’re, you’re -”

“Julia Cooper,” Julia supplied.

The waitress looked from one to the other. “You’re both doing Who Dares Dances aren’t you?”

“That’s right.” Harri, his voice even and controlled, handed over the other serviette. “And that would be a Becks and a glass of house red please, Abi.”

The waitress took another long look at both of them and Julia wondered what was going through her mind. Then she took the hint, nodded and went off to get their drinks.

Julia giggled slightly. This sort of fame was new to her. Apart from a few hardy souls who waited at the stage door for her, she could get through ordinary life unencumbered by such encounters. She was intrigued by how Harri had handled it. “Does that happen often to you?”

Harri raised his dark eyebrows and grimaced. “Not too much when I’m not expecting it, like tonight. It’s different if you’re visiting somewhere, a school or a lifeboat station. Then you get yourself geared up for it.”

“Do you mind?”

He frowned. “No, comes with the territory, doesn’t it? It doesn’t get to me unless they get a bit over the top. One night a girl sat down at the table with us. Wouldn’t have minded but it was a family meal out for my mam’s birthday, see.” He winced. “Not the most tactful thing to do.”

Julia laughed in sympathy and agreed. She lapsed into silence as Abi returned and, with infinite care, served their drinks and left. Then she asked him “So what’s in this for you? Who Dares Dances, I mean.”

Harri glanced at her over the rim of his bottle, took a long gulp, considered her question and finally answered. “What do children’s TV presenters do when they’re too old to jump out of helicopters and make pencil pots out of loo rolls?”

Julia giggled again. “I don’t know.”

“God, they end up presenting naff ghost hunting shows or sail around the Med on their yacht or disappear onto a digital radio station.”

“And none of that is for you?”

Harri shook his head. “No,” he said. “I know what I don’t want but I’m thirty two next year, I’m getting a bit past it for kids’ TV. So what do I do next?”

Julia shrugged.

“Exactly. What I’m hoping for is that I’ll get some kind of offer come in, something to broaden my career, something exciting. And,” at this he grinned again, “at least I’ll have the satisfaction of learning a brand new skill and raising some money at the same time.”

“Ah yes, the money, somehow we all forget that don’t we.” Julia grinned back at him and raised her glass. “To the charity Pennies for Pencils, then. May it prosper from our bumps, humiliations and bruises!”

Harri laughed out loud and clinked his beer bottle against her glass. “To Pennies for Pencils!”

Their quick meal over, they left the Christmas revellers to it and wandered out into the icy night. It had become chilly over the last few days and now the air sparkled with their frosty breath. Julia hugged herself; she loved this time of year. There was something truly magical about it, despite the cheap tinsel and clichéd pop songs.

Harri raised his hand and, almost immediately, a taxi did a neat U-turn and drew up at the kerb. He looked down at Julia, the flashing Christmas lights from the restaurant turning his face alternatively red then white. It made reading his expression difficult.

“Goodnight then, Julia, cariad.” He seemed awkward suddenly.

“Night night, Harri.” She reached up and kissed his slightly stubbly and very warm cheek. As she did so, he moved and his mouth came to within a whisper of touching hers. But, too soon, it was gone. A cold space replaced the fuzzy feeling Julia had enjoyed all evening.

“See you tomorrow then, Harri,” she called, disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her properly. She got into the cab and looked back for him but he’d already disappeared into the neon coloured night.

Step Five.

Julia allowed herself to be led to her mark to receive the verdict from the judges. She could tell yet again that Jan wasn’t pleased, his smile was forced and the arm he held around her was like banded steel – so tense was he with anger.

It was the third show. Julia had scraped through - somehow - without ending up in the dance off but her points had been consistently low. That she was still in the competition was as big a mystery to her as it patently was to the judges. But, for some reason, the public kept ringing in and still wanted her there, fighting her corner and staying in to dance another day.

As if in slow motion she saw Kevin, the most outspoken of the judges, open his mouth. Oh God, she thought, here comes another stream of abuse. Over the weeks, Kevin had reserved his cruellest, most cutting comments especially for her.

“Well, darling,” began Kevin. “You always entertain us, there can be no doubt of that but whether you can dance is another matter.” A cheer went up around the studio at his first comment and boos followed his second. Kevin looked scornfully around him, his disdain for the audience was well known. “Let me finish, please.” He fixed his pale eyes back on Julia and she braced herself. “Julia dear, your posture is still dreadful despite this being the third week of the competition and we’re nearly halfway through, your footwork is appalling and you’re still letting Jan do all the work. On this performance I don’t think you should go through to the next round, I really don’t, darling.”

At this, the audience actually hissed him. It was almost like a pantomime, thought Julia hazily, as Jan’s arm tightened its hold.

Sonya, the sole female judge and the most venomous, piped up through the audience’s booing. “I agree Kevin, it’s week three now and we should be seeing some improvement but each week you’ve come out, Julia, and trotted out the same old stuff. And it’s getting boring. You must listen to Jan; sort out your upper body and neckline and work, work, work on your feet.”

Julia was tired, she and Jan had put in over seven hours training each day that week and she was exhausted. She felt her throat thicken and tears caught at her. This was ridiculous she thought and tried to hide her reaction but it was too late; her shoulders began to shake and tears ran down her cheeks making a trail through the thick stage make up. The audience, scenting blood, quietened. Charlie the compere made an aaahing sound and said something like, “There there,” and then Jan dragged her off the dance floor. When they got to the back room he refused to wait for their scores and left Julia standing in front of Carol alone. Suni thrust a tissue into Julia’s hand.

Carol wasn’t quite sure what to say and stuttered a little until she got a prompt through her ear piece. “And now, after those shocking words from the judges, how do you feel?”

The fatuous question had what was left of Julia’s rational brain dissolving and she broke down completely. Someone tallish and solid took her in his arms and led her away from the cameras. She vaguely heard Carol flapping in the distance as she tried to fill the air time.

Strong arms held her and a soft voice whispered: “Don’t take on so, cariad bach, it’s not worth it.” As her sobs really began to take hold Harri took her through the doors, well away from any prying cameras which may have followed them and into the chilly corridor. He was now swearing quietly in Welsh – or at least that’s what Julia assumed he was doing, there was real vitriol in the tone of his voice which suggested anger.

He took her outside, to the courtyard in the middle of the television studios. There was a low wall which bordered a small garden and Harri led Julia to it. He sat with his arms tight around her until her sobs lessened and she was calmer.

Julia blew her nose into the tissue Suni had given her. “Sorry.”

“Uffern dan! What the hell for?” his accent sounded stronger and his voice was still full of anger.

“I’m such an idiot to break down like that. God, I must look like a mess.”

“You’re fine and it wasn’t idiotic. They really slammed into you back there. I could’ve punched Kevin.” Harri’s hand fisted.

Julia laughed, a little tremulously, but it was a laugh at least. “Thanks for coming to my aid. I really don’t think I could’ve coped with Carol or Jan …” she trailed off; the thought of having to face Jan was horrible. “God, I’ve really messed it up haven’t I?”

“What, by crying?”

“No, by showing I couldn’t cope with the stress.” Julia added mournfully, “I can’t see Cabaret coming my way now.”

“Don’t be so sure, cariad; in the face of what Jan’s made you do, they may see it as gritty determination. And as for the crying bit I think you’ll get the sympathy vote.”

“I don’t want the sympathy vote!”

“Do you want to stay in the competition?”

Julia thought about it. In some strange and possibly masochistic way, she did want to stay in the competition - if only to torture Jan. But she’d really like to prove to herself and the viewers that she could improve; that she could put two feet in front of one another without falling over. “Yes,” she said, in a determined voice. “Yes, I do want to stay in.”

“Well, there you go then. I think the viewers are seeing straight through Mr Moscow and can see how evil he’s being and are voting for you.”

“It’s twisted!”