Betrayal of a sort

Alf stood at the doorway of his cramped, cluttered hardware shop moving his feet in small circular movements. He was obsessed with practising his new tango routines, forwards, backwards, pointed toes extending outwards in minute circular movements as if he was moving sand. His wife Gladys watched from behind. Here he was beyond middle aged and balding, weighty around the middle, fancying himself as a tango dancer. He saw the advert in the local grocery store “Tango, for beginners, all ages, all welcome. No partner necessary.” Now that appealed to him. He didn’t even ask Gladys if she might be interested. Just assumed she wouldn’t have a scrap of interest, preferring her bridge evenings with her women friends. Besides, he thought, Gladys wasn’t a great dancer, didn’t have a great ear for music. Though as a child she did take ballet classes, as every little princess did back then.

Alf was more musical and of Italian descent, loved his Italian food which was becoming noticeably obvious. A bit of a romantic. Could be a real charmer with his twinkling brown eyes and mischievous smile. Though Gladys saw little of that now. It was as if they had drifted apart, married though not together. They had little to say to each other anymore.

A creature of habit, Alf would get up early in the mornings, go for his neighbourhood stroll, buy the paper, have breakfast in silence while he listened to the news on the radio. Then take off downstairs to open the shop. The cursed shop his father had left him that Alf had hoped he would leave to his son in time.

           “It’s an heirloom, Gladys” he said to her the day his father passed.

“This shop is an heirloom. We can never let it go. It will always be in the family.”

That was almost fifty years ago, when they were young and madly in love, just married with a lifetime of hopes and dreams, stretching out before them. Hopes and dreams that were never fulfilled. The pitter patter of tiny feet never happened. 

The line “run down to Alf and Gladys’s” for anything from a bottle of weed killer to a child’s plastic potty, could often be heard in households along the road.  Alf’s hardware, as it was called was a mish mash of items from wooden clothes horses to gardening implements, slug killers, bags of bark mulch, plant and veg seeds, cleaning tools. It was a small space, but Alf had packed a lot in, making use of every centimetre available, from floor to ceiling. The locals loved coming into the shop for a browse. Alf always welcomed their chat and of course they never went away empty handed. Gladys stayed in the background. She was more interested in tending to her garden or reading her endless array of books and magazines. She loved reading cookery books and planning what she might cook for dinner that night. But lately there wasn’t much point in cooking a beautiful dinner as Alf was up and gone to his beloved tango at least two nights a week. Wednesday night for class at seven thirty followed by a “practica” until eleven and the social dance they called a milonga on Sunday night from eight to eleven. This meant a rushed dinner on these nights, and a disrupted sleep for Gladys. Alf was never too quiet letting himself in through the shop, kicking off his shoes and stretching in front of the telly for a while. Gladys usually came down to make a cuppa and try and squeeze some information about the night from him. But he would never give much away.

“You and your tango” Gladys would say. “It’s like a secret society of aging men looking for a second chance at youth.”

“Do you really think so? Well, my dear I’ll have you know that all ages attend the classes, young and old. Even older than me, along with some beautiful young Eastern European women. They came out of the womb dancing tango, I’d say.”

“Would you now. Becoming quiet the expert, aren’t you, considering you are only dancing for six weeks.”

“Is that all? It seems like longer. They are like a new family to me now, I never thought I’d fit in. but they all seem to like me.”

“I wonder why? You must turn on the charmers for them, like you did many years ago, for me.”

“Ah Gladys will you give over. Why are you so against me having a bit of a life outside of the shop? You have your garden and your bridge along with your cooking. Its time for me to develop some outside interests too. Besides, they say dancing is good for the memory, keeps the old brain cells oiled.” 

Gladys was as jealous as a young girl betrayed by her best friend. She wished Alf would share a bit of his new interest with her. She would hear him listening to dance music on his phone as he watched YouTube clips of expert dancers. The music sounded quite nice thought Gladys.

She decided to link in herself to a few clips on the nights that Alf was out. One evening she came across a couple teaching tango through zoom on YouTube. Maybe this was her chance to put her dancing and listening skills to the test. Luckily Alf’s tango nights didn’t clash with her bridge nights which were on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Gladys lived for her bridge nights. She loved the challenge of the game but always looked forward to the chat and the innocent gossip too. Her bridge partner Milie was her best friend. They knew everything about each other, were as close if not closer than sisters. Millie was very competitive and took the game very seriously. Gladys was less intense she was a natural at bridge playing. She could deal the best card and keep the conversation going simultaneously. Millie was constantly telling her to “be quiet keep the chat for later” but Gladys found it hard to keep her mouth shut for too long.  After the game they would walk home together often stopping off at the local for a glass of wine over which they would tell each other about what was or wasn’t happening in one another’s lives.

           “So, tell me, how is Alf progressing at the tango?”

           “Oh sure, I know nothing. He doesn’t say a word about it. Comes home, sits down by the TV, pours a glass of wine, and might engage in general chit chat about the weather or what’s on air. I’ve given up asking him about the classes as he doesn’t want to divulge anything. It’s like an undercover society. I’ve decided not to ask any more about tango, avoid giving him the satisfaction of not telling me.”

           “And how do you know that for sure? Maybe he would like to tell you about his night?”

           “Oh, I know by his facial expressions, believe me.”

           “Well, why don’t you do a bit of your own research, explore the world of tango. Go online. Search for classes on YouTube. Learn the steps. Join the forces. Don’t let him stray. You may be surprised. You might like it.”

           “Oh, I don’t know. I was never a great dancer you know.” mused Gladys not wanting to tell Millie that she had already been looking on YouTube.

           “That is rubbish. Everyone can dance, given the time and opportunity. And besides, it will broaden your social circle. I believe one has a great social life with tango. Plus, it is great for the ageing mind. Just saw on the paper where Jim, a man from Waterford who died recently at one hundred and four years and credits tango as being one of the ingredients to his long life. So, go for it, Gladys, you have nothing to lose, only a pound or two” teased Millie casting her mischievous smile in Gladys’ direction.

           “Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

           “Ah, you know that I am only joking. I could do with a bit of something myself, but it won’t be tango.”

On the next tango lesson night, Alf packed his bag with bottled water and his precious dancing shoes and took off with a shout out,

“See you later, hon. Don’t wait up, I might be later tonight. Have a committee meeting after class, before the practica.”

The door banged loudly leaving Gladys standing in the hallway, mouth open to respond, to Alf who was in another world. She wondered if she even mattered to him anymore. What was he thinking just taking up this new passion of his without even asking her whether she would like to join him or even telling him about the classes and the people involved.

At that, Gladys decided to follow Millies’s advice and tune back in to YouTube and see what she could avail of in the tango scene. She was already pleasantly surprised to see there were numerous clips of various teachers dancing and advertising their classes. She was intrigued by one Argentinian couple, Pablo and Anna, who make the dance look so easy, breaking it down to its minute detail of forwards, backwards, cross, ladies follow the leader, stay close, forming a unit in a closed embrace. Gladys cannot imagine Alf in such proximity to another woman. The thought is preposterous to her. He couldn’t, never, he wouldn’t.

“But he does,” a voice in her head returned mockingly.

She was so enthralled by the music and the dance that one hour went by without her realising it. The couple were magical as they glided across the floor, with minimal effort, tempting Gladys to get on her feet and do the same. But unfortunately, she has no partner.

“And for anyone without a partner, we suggest you to use your sweeping brush,” suggested Anna, in her Spanish accent.

At that, Gladys is smitten. She signs up for a 6-week course of lessons for beginners, all available at any time for free. Rooting out her one and only pair of heels, she signs up to spend one hour a week viewing the class and another practising the moves holding the banister to keep her balance. Unknown to herself she began to look forward to her weekly class and practice sessions. Seeing such a variety of people of all ages, nationalities and sizes engaging in the same dance at the same time was fascinating to Gladys. She began to recognise the music genres, loving the waltzes and quick milonga routines. Her favourite piece of all “Por Una cabeza” the theme from the movie Scent of a Woman where Al Pacino invites the young actress to dance, and though blind he guides the novice around the floor making it look as if she has been a dancer all her life.

One night in early December Alf arrived home and placed a red envelope addressed to Gladys on the coffee table. 

           “Oh, what is this?” asked Gladys in surprise.

           “Open it and see for yourself.”

Gladys tore open the envelope and pulled out a festive card inviting her to the annual Christmas party and gala event with a special performance by the tango teachers and club members, including Alf and Teresa.

Hmm thought Gladys, wondering about Teresa. Mind made up if there is a Teresa in the picture she is most definitely going. 

           “I do hope you will come. I think you will enjoy it, Gladys.”

           “Oh, Thank You, yes I would love to come.”

           “It is formal dress for men and comfortable dressy wear for ladies and don’t forget to pack your high heels, for a waltz or two.”

Gladys anxious to impress Alf but more importantly Teresa vowed to text a message to her teacher Anna to ask her what to wear on the night.

The gala event came around quickly and Gladys descends the stairs in her flats and fur coat over her chosen dance outfit. As advised by Anna, she carried her heels and a silken wool pashmina in a separate bag. Her hair was newly done, and her make-up was extra special.

She looked beautiful and Alf was looking handsomely dapper in his black dress suit, white shirt, dickey bow, and new Italian leather shoes. They looked majestic going off in their pre- booked black cab.

Gladys felt a shimmer of excitement as if she was going on her very first date all over again. She was nervous too as she didn’t know what to expect. Alf could sense this and to her surprise he leaned in towards her and whispered,

           “Thank you for coming, I do appreciate it. I think you will like it.”

Gladys took Alf’s hand and squeezed it tightly as she always did when she was nervous.

The night was a huge success, Alf and Teresa did a beautiful milonga together, in open embrace, to Gladys relief. When the music changed to a slower tempo Alf took Gladys’s hand and led her to the dance floor for a “tanda” of waltzes. As they moved into a close embrace, the melody of “Por Una cabeza” transports them around the floor in a captivating waltz. Gladys is in her element swirling around the floor in her swishing red dress and glittery green heels. She follows his lead faultlessly adding her own magnificent decorations at intervals. Alf is in total shock and afraid to say anything for fear of breaking some magic spell. At the end of the tanda he kisses her as customary on both cheeks and leads her back to their table, as if there was nothing extraordinary about the dance. When they were seated, he took Gladys hand, whispering,

“That was superb, the best Christmas present ever. You dance like an angel, when and where did you learn?”

“Ah that would be telling. It might break the magic spell. Perhaps, I too came out of the womb dancing tango.”