I Hope You Dance by Beth Moran Read Free Book Online Page A

her eyes on the job but I could see them sparkle. “Yes. For the first time they actually have something in common. Don’t you dare set one foot into that kitchen.”
    Â 
    Over the next few days we fell into some sort of rhythm. Mum rushed about bringing sunshine into the lives of the gloomier residents of Southwell. Dad learned Italian, studied wild flowers and hid behind his newspaper. Maggie scowled, picked at her nails, vented her fury on the internet and was dragged along behind my mother on various act-of-mercy outings designed to show her that “things could be a lot worse”.
    I slept. Cried a couple of times. Stared at the reptile drawings on my wall. Wished I could be like the red-eared terrapin, carrying a rock-solid home all to himself that no bank could take away; hibernating through the harsher months in the quiet solace at the bottom of a pond. I occasionally wondered, in an abstract sort of way, what on earth I was going to do. Did I think about David? What a pointless, heart-wrenching waste of time that would have been.
    By Friday, Mum’s patience had reached its limit. Me scrabbling off the sofa and pretending to be searching for jobs on Dad’s computer as soon as she came in the door fooled no one. It had taken an initial few hours on Monday to search for jobs in the area, followed by a ten-minute check each morning to confirm that no,there were still no jobs requiring the first year of a maths degree, six years of higgledy-piggledy temp work followed by eight months pushing paper for a pervert, no references and a mini-meltdown.
    She arrived back from taking an elderly friend to the doctor’s just after ten, sweeping in with a blast of vanilla. “Is that computer even on? The time has come to stop this imaginary job search. There are obviously no pretend jobs that are suitable. Therefore, I have taken matters into my far more capable hands. You start on Tuesday.”
    I muffled my scream using a green gingham sofa cushion.
    She ignored me. “And to celebrate I have a fun afternoon lined up. It’s the final day of the holiday club at Oak Hill and Eloise Mumford has a dreadful bout of her dicky tummy. Your offer to save the day by filling her place has been graciously and enthusiastically accepted.”
    My head remained in the cushion until she twirled out of the room. I know she twirled, as I could hear her pointy heels clicking out the quickstep on the wooden floor.
    I heaved myself off the sofa and slumped into the kitchen, as she knew I would.
    â€œGo on, tell me about it then. And don’t miss out any details. I am too tired for your schemes.”
    â€œVanessa Jacobs. You remember Vanessa? She was kept behind a year at school. Lived in that orange puffa coat and had a dad who dressed up as David Bowie. Well, she runs a clothes shop in town and needs a new assistant. Twenty hours a week. It will be a breeze for a genius like you, Ruth. And she doesn’t care if you have no retail experience; she is prepared to give a hard worker with a great attitude a go.”
    â€œReally? Vanessa Jacobs is prepared to give me a go?” Oh, yes. I remembered Vanessa Jacobs. Half the girls in the school had copied her and bought puffa coats, but nobody else ever managed to find an orange one. We had not been close, maintaining a mutual mild dislike from a distance. Until I found her arms around the neck of the boy I was in love with.
    â€œI have been cutting Granny Jacobs’ toenails for the past three months while she languishes on the chiropodist’s waiting list. Vanessa owes me one.”
    â€œMum. I know nothing about working in a shop and the thought of having to greet people, smile and say ‘That looks wonderful, madam. How about this matching scarf?’ all day is too much. I can’t do it. I need something simple, no pressure, safe. No interaction with the general public. Or preferably anyone else.” Especially if they happen to