‘WELCOME, ladies. I hope you had a great Christmas and New Year.’ Valerie stood at the front of the hall and clapped her hands. ‘We have so much work to do for the competition and not a lot of time.’
The first dance class after the summer break was the hardest, Carol knew. She’d eaten too much over Christmas, the heat was stifling and her body felt sluggish. Sitting on the bench at the back of the hall, she squeezed her swollen feet into her tap shoes, took her new towel out of her bag and wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead before joining Sofia in front of Valerie.
The community hall was stuffy and smelt of stale alcohol. Streamers sagged from the wooden beams and burst balloons lay in the corners. It was annoying that the last group to use the hall had done such a poor clean-up. Even so, the hall was better than Valerie’s garage where the class had started five years ago.
Carol joined the uneven rows of women facing Valerie and still chatting about their holidays.
Valerie moved a few steps away, switched on the PA, which gave out a screech, put on the headset and spoke into the microphone.
‘Now I have your attention, welcome back everyone. Before I start the lesson, I want to remind you we’ll have to decide what dance to do for the 2013 Senior Superstar competition. I’ve done more work on the new routine.’
‘That’s great,’ Carol said to Sofia who was beside her in the front row. ‘I’ll have new costumes to make.’
Carol loved designing and sewing a different costume for each dance, taking her inspiration from the old Broadway movies she’d watched with her mother. Focusing on performing at charity events and in nursing homes each year had helped give Carol a sense of purpose for the past five years, something besides running the carpentry business with Dave, minding their grandchildren and visiting her father at the Sunrise Nursing Home. They had sold the carpentry business the previous year, which had freed up extra time, and she was determined they would win the competition this year.
‘Of course, we’ll have to work very hard and have more rehearsals,’ continued Valerie.
‘But wouldn’t it be better to stick with one of the routines we know?’ asked Maude.
Here we go again, thought Carol, a lengthy debate about which dance to perform. She’d been unable to contain her frustration the time they’d argued for weeks about the name of the group. Maude had suggested the Golden Oldies and Alice, the oldest member, wanted the Third Age Tappers. Carol put a stop to the debate by convincing the group to call themselves the Tap Dolls.
When Sofia joined the group a year later, she questioned whether the use of the term ‘dolls’ was appropriate, as many women found it objectifying. This caused more debate in the group about whether to use one of the names which had been previously suggested. Carol argued the term was acceptable in this context, like in the musical Guys and Dolls, and echoed the male tap-dancing group Tap Dogs. Sofia suggested a compromise, which was to use ‘cats’, saying cats are independent and resilient. Maude said she loved cats. When it was clear the rest of the group liked Sofia’s suggestion, Carol reluctantly agreed.
‘I think it’d be fantastic to learn a new routine,’ Carol said, hoping this time she would not have to compromise.
‘But what if we don’t have enough time?’ said Maude, shifting from one foot to the other. ‘I don’t want to let everyone down.’
‘I’m sure we can win if we work hard enough. Think about how many times you’ve learnt new routines, and you’re such a good dancer now.’ Carol nudged Sofia for support.
‘Maybe we could rehearse both,’ said Sofia hesitantly. ‘We could learn the new dance and have one of our favourites as a backup.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ said Valerie, looking from Sofia to the rest of the group. ‘Everyone who agrees, show your support by raising your hands.’
Carol took a sip from her water bottle, raised her hand a little and turned to see the rest of the group with their arms straight in the air. She sighed.
‘It’s settled then – we’ll practise both dances,’ said Valerie.
After warming the class up with the familiar dance, Valerie went over the first steps of the new routine. Carol listened to the sound of the tap shoes on the floor, sharp and clear. At first, she heard an irregular tap, tap-tap, tap-te-tap, with the beats out of sync. Above the sound of their dancing, Carol heard a thunderclap, which was followed by the tapping of the summer rainstorm on the iron roof.
Eventually the rain stopped and Carol heard the individual taps merge into a pattern matching the rhythm of the music.
‘Try to practise the new steps,’ said Valerie at the end of the class.
She quickly packed up and left to finalise her travel arrangements to visit her daughter in Darwin, leaving Carol to lock the hall.
The women dawdled, chatting about the competition while they changed. Carol wriggled into a fresh top and put her sweaty one in a canvas bag. She brushed her short blonde hair, knowing it would spring back into frizzy curls. She had lost control of her hair after menopause. Even her daughter, Emma, who was a hairdresser, couldn’t tame her now rampant locks. Despite the evident signs of her age, Carol firmly held to the belief that you are only as old as you feel and sometimes Carol felt as young as her two children, Emma and Brett.
Carol and Sofia followed the other women along the palm-lined path, which had already dried in the heat, to the Boatshed Cafe.
‘It’s even more humid than before the storm,’ Carol said above the squawking seagulls. ‘At least we can go straight from tap class to an iced cafe latte by the water.’
Carol and Sofia joined the others at a polished wood table at the front of the cafe where they could see across the grass and down the old slipway to the river. Carol chose a seat in the shade of a boab tree and Sofia sat in the sun.
‘I wish they’d stay open later in the afternoon like they do in the holiday period,’ said Carol. ‘Do they think we all have dinner in our pyjamas at six o’clock?’
‘I do,’ Maude said and took the last blueberry muffin from the hand-painted pottery plate. ‘I put on my PJs early and watch The Weird and the Wonderful. We have dinner while the news is on. George often sits up late with Melissa, while I’m in bed by nine-thirty.’
‘Speak of the devil, here’s Melissa now,’ Grandma said.
‘That’s me,’ I said, overhearing Grandma talking as I approached the table after ordering a takeaway coffee. I was nineteen and at that point in my life I’d been living with my grandparents for almost three years.
Grandma introduced me to the women at the table and added, ‘She wanted to ask you a favour, Carol.’
‘Sure. Hi, Melissa.’ Carol pointed to a chair between her and Maude. ‘I hear you’re in the final year of your journalism course? Your article about us was great.’
‘Thanks. I learnt so much doing it. Started with over a thousand words and the editor got it down to one hundred and forty.’
‘So, what’s the favour?’
‘I’m keen to do another one on the Tap Cats. Do you reckon your son would take some photos to go with the piece? Grandma says he’s made videos for the group and he’s good.’
Grandma had told me that Brett was in his late thirties and had recently returned from years of travelling overseas. Unlike his younger sister, who had her own home and family, he was single and staying with Carol. When he expressed an interest in photography, Carol found a course at the Sunshine Coast Technical College where he was now studying. She’d argued that it was important to gain qualifications, a view that Grandma heartily agreed with.
‘I’m sure Brett would,’ replied Carol. ‘I’ll ask him as soon as I get home.’
‘Thanks. That’d be brilliant.’
‘Looks like your coffee is ready, Melissa,’ said Carol. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as possible. See you later.’
I disappeared with my coffee and the women at the table resumed discussing their sleeping, eating and waking patterns.
Carol was very interested in a minor medical procedure Alice recently had and surreptitiously googled the procedure so she could discuss it in detail.
While driving Carol home after coffee, Sofia commented on how knowledgeable Carol was.
‘Maybe you should study, with all your new spare time,’ she said.
‘I might just do that,’ said Carol. While researching courses for Brett, an entrance course to a law degree had caught her eye.
After saying goodbye to Sofia, Carol went into the garage to practise the new routine while she remembered the steps. She used a piece of timber from Dave’s store of building materials, saying it was just as well he never threw anything away. Then she put on the video of the old routine Brett had made for the group.
‘That racket again,’ said Dave from his workroom at the back of the garage where he was building Carol a bookcase for her favourite novels. ‘Sounds like a herd of horses. A man’s garage is just not his castle anymore.’ Carol was used to Dave’s comments and didn’t take them seriously.
Brett, who was taller than his father and less stocky, came into the garage while Carol was packing up.
‘Oh, Brett, Melissa Jones wants you to take a photo of the Tap Cats for the local paper. While you’re at it you could tape our new routine.’
Brett rubbed the fine stubble on his chin. ‘I do have to make a film for my course assessment.’
‘You could include interviews with members of the troupe and video the first heat.’
‘Next step Hollywood?’ Brett laughed.
‘Perhaps you could make money from it,’ said Carol.
Dave made his usual comment that Brett should’ve followed him into the trades. ‘You’d have made more money and could’ve taken over our business, instead of us selling it to strangers.’
Brett shrugged his shoulders and went into the house.
‘Why don’t you let it drop?’ Carol put her hand on Dave’s arm. ‘You know Brett’s not like you. You’re a natural at building just about anything.’
She worried that Dave was still upset about selling their carpentry business the previous year after receiving an offer that was too good to refuse.
Carol collected her tap-dance gear and followed Dave up the stairs to the deck that he’d added to the house using reclaimed hardwood which he said was sturdy and durable. She entered the kitchen, where Brett was flipping through an old recipe book.
‘How about I make dessert?’ he asked. ‘I could make Grandma’s trifle.’
Carol picked up the book and traced her mother’s handwriting. ‘This book brings back such memories.’ Carol’s mother had inherited the recipes from her mother, who brought them from England. The apple pie had won the bake-off competition at the CWA fete and Carol now baked cakes for charity stalls. The most popular was her banana and date loaf, which she modified from her mother’s recipe.
‘My goodness, look at this,’ said Carol. A yellowed card was in the back of the book. ‘My mother gave me this on my thirteenth birthday. I must have put it there for safekeeping. I love this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: The highest compact we can make with our fellow is – “Let there be truth between us two forevermore.” ’
‘Trust you to keep it all these years,’ said Brett.
‘Of course, I did. And it’s so true. Honesty is the highest form of love.’
‘You do know that Emerson also said there is beauty in lies.’ Brett winked at Carol.
‘I’ll take this card to your grandfather at the nursing home. Maybe it’ll stir up memories for him.’
When Carol’s father, Jack Taylor, had first been diagnosed with dementia, he had moved in with them. Dave built a ramp into the house and renovated the bathroom to accommodate him. However, after several years Carol accepted she could no longer care for Jack at home. She searched for the most suitable nursing home and found one close to her house, which she visited daily.