The second day at Just Jive goes by faster than the first. After the initial secretive whispering and finger pointing, Scarlett and Maryam seem to accept that Richa won’t be abandoning me to dance with them. We stay on opposite sides of the room, sticking to our pegs like homing pigeons. This time the girls don’t sidle over at break times and there aren’t any more compliments. The selfies have stopped too.
If Richa notices the high chin snubs and hair flicks she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she tells me again how she wants a phone and talks about the world’s ultimate dance moves. She chats about Gaggle Gangs and the best things to keep in a lunch box that don’t turn too sweaty and nasty to eat. Strawberries and bananas are in the No Go Zone. Frozen Zubes are ranked highest because they keep your lunch – even cheese sandwiches – cool and when you come to eat them they’ve melted into a delicious cold yoghurt drink.
I could listen to Richa chatting forever and not get bored. She is the best talker I’ve ever known and never runs out of interesting things to say. Plus, she puts crisps inside her cheese sandwiches, the same as me. Cheese and onion flavour crisps work just as well as ready salted. That’s something new I’ve discovered from Richa today. Who knew?
When we’re not eating, or taking a break, we’re dancing. It really is one of the best days ever. Even when Brianne and all the others turn up to for the end-of-day performance and I watch again, I still feel happy. Maryam and Scarlett being at Just Jive isn’t spoiling it after all.
Richa dances brilliantly again and Brianne claps loudly for her when the dance finishes. As we wait for Richa to change her shoes and grab her things I steal a glance over to Scarlett and her mum. Maryam and her mum have joined them. The group of four are talking softly and nodding in my direction. Brianne spots them.
‘Want me to deal with that situation, Lion?’ she whispers to me.
I shake my head so hard my hair bounces.
Thankfully my sister lets it go, even though I know she’s twitching to say something. If it was Mum she’d be storming over there, all guns blazing, but it never solves anything. People find it hard to understand why I don’t talk. I can’t write everyone a letter. Most people aren’t worth writing letters for anyway.
‘I’m starving,’ Richa says when she joins us.
‘Let’s go to the chippy then,’ says Brianne. ‘I think Mum’s working.’ She strides away, ignoring the mums and we trot behind her like lambs.
The smell of the fried food hits us as soon as we walk in. Mum is wearing the green fish and chip shop uniform. It has a smiling fish on the chest and the speech bubble says: ‘Here to Help!’ It’s a nice outfit, but if I was a fish in a chip shop I definitely wouldn’t be smiling.
If we thought it was hot outside it’s nothing to being near the fryers. Poor Mum looks redder than the beetroot woman I saw on the bus yesterday morning, but she grins when she sees us.
‘Hello, hello. How was day two of dancing?’ Mum does a pretend waltz with herself behind the counter.
‘You should see Richa move,’ says Brianne. ‘Belongs on Strictly.’
‘Really?’ says Mum. ‘Aw, I’d love to see you two dance together.’ She does the waltz again, her head tilted to one side.
‘We danced together all day yesterday and today,’ says Richa. ‘Leo didn’t want to do the performance at the end, but he’s really good. It would’ve been loads better if you were in it, Leo.’ Richa says the last bit to me and I catch Mum and Brianne share a gooey look, like when they see me talking to Patchy.
‘Maybe you can do a routine at home for us to watch?’ suggests Mum. ‘Alright with just me and Ryan and Brianne watching, isn’t it?’
I nod. When I think about how pathetic that sounds, the dizzying heights of Lion King at the West End seems totally unachievable.
‘What about your dad?’ Richa asks me, ‘Won’t he want to watch too?’
Worry rushes inside me. Talk of dads is not good in my experience. Mum’s reaction is unpredictable.
Luckily Mum keeps calm and just says, ‘No dads around. Brianne and Ryan see their dad now and then, but Leo’s dad, well, the less said about him the better.’ She picks up the tongs and points them at Richa. ‘Your dad could watch, though, and your mum and little Aahan. He’s a cutie, isn’t he?’
‘No,’ snaps Richa.
Mum and Brianne laugh.
‘He can’t come anyway. He has allergies. Patch will make him sneeze and his nose will run. His eyes go really red and puffy.’
‘Poor little boy,’ says Mum and dabs at the sweat on her face with a handkerchief.
‘He’s not a poor little boy. He’s a pain.’
‘Well, we like him,’ says Mum, still dabbing. ‘We like all of you. Couldn’t have asked for better neighbours.’ Mum tucks the handkerchief away in her uniform pocket and turns over a piece of battered cod that sits on its own under the lamps. ‘You never know who is going to move in, do you? But you’re all a Godsend, straight up. Your mum even brought some samosas round this morning. De-lic-ious. Better than the ones off the market.’
‘She must like you,’ says Richa, peering at the unnatural-looking saveloys that turn slowly. ‘She doesn’t give them to just anybody.’
‘I think she was pleased she doesn’t have to walk up to the dance studios every day in the heat,’ Mum says. ‘Not been a soul in here for hours, I can tell you. Still too hot to pop down the chippy. Even on Friday night it was dead.’
‘Everyone is eating sushi in the park,’ Brianne says.
‘I love sushi,’ says Richa.
I love sushi too! Richa just keeps on getting better and better.
‘We’ll be your customers then,’ says Brianne, grabbing a bottle of chilled water from the fridge.
‘I knock off at five. I’ll bring some freebies. Can you wait until then?’
‘We can wait, can’t we, kids?’ Brianne says and hands Mum some coins for the water.
I smile because this means that Richa will be staying for tea.