The Ballroom Class by Lucy Dillon

wrong between the two of you.’
    She looked up at Jo’s open, caring face, and suddenly felt an overwhelming need to get rid of the guilt and misery and resentment that had built up inside her, week after week. Katie’s mum wasn’t the sort of woman who encouraged unburdening, to or from her daughter; Katie couldn’t ring her now to confess, even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t. More than that, telling someone there were problems would make it official.
    ‘You’re allowed not to be perfect,’ Jo added. ‘None of us is.’
    Her tone was so close to the comforting, practical one Peter the counsellor used that something in Katie broke.
    ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Things aren’t great right now. I mean, we’re not actually fighting or anything, and there’s no way I’d do that in front of the kids, but  . . .’
    ‘Get it off your chest,’ said Jo.
    So Katie told her, a thinned-down, abridged version of how Ross’s martyred, asexual dependency was driving her mad. She didn’t mean to go as far as telling her about the counselling sessions, but somehow, on the tide of confession, it all slipped out, and as she spoke a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders at the same time as a new depression hit her.
    ‘. . .  And I’m mean to him because I’m tired, but I’m tired because I work a full day in the office, then come home and have to put the washing on, because Ross only remembers to wash the kids’ stuff, and make some supper, because he’d just have cereal if it was up to him, and make sure the phone doesn’t get cut off, because the bill’s not been paid on time because he doesn’t pay bills – he doesn’t have time. He doesn’t care about making me happy, just the children. And I really, really miss the kids.’ Katie topped up her own wine glass. ‘I miss Jack. I miss putting him to bed. I don’t get to see him do new things, I just hear about them. Ross gets to look after the children, and I get to look after Ross. Which wasn’t the deal.’
    ‘I know,’ said Jo, sympathetically. ‘You both sound under so much pressure. But you and Ross are a great couple. You really work with each other.’
    ‘So everyone says.’ Katie stared blankly out of the window towards the swing in the garden. Everyone didn’t have to live with Ross – the whiny, needy, selfish husband, not the ‘everyone’s mate’ Dad-of-Hannah-and-Jack. She shook herself. ‘Anyway. We’ve started ballroom dancing classes – homework, by the counsellor – so never let it be said I didn’t try.’
    ‘And did you enjoy it?’ asked Jo.
    ‘If I’m honest?’
    ‘Katie, when are you not brutally honest? Well, did you?’
    ‘Not really.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Oh, I suppose I wanted Ross to sweep me off my feet, and for everything to be magically made better, but  . . .’ She smiled wryly, though she didn’t feel there was much to smile about. ‘We’re rubbish at dancing, Jo. Ross kept stamping on my toes, I kept pulling him around, apparently, and the teacher’s got it in for me, I swear to you. She loved Ross, of course. He gave her his “my wife pushes me about” look, and she couldn’t do enough for him.’
    Jo ignored that. ‘But you’re going again?’
    ‘Yes, we’re signed up for the full course.’ Katie pretended to look horrified. ‘If we don’t kill each other first. I mean, we weren’t the worst ones there, thank God, but Ross is hopeless at leading. I don’t think he really enjoyed it much.’
    ‘No, he loved it!’ insisted Jo. ‘He said he had a great time, and you and he had a bit of a laugh afterwards. I think he— What?’
    Katie stared at her, an unexplained feeling spreading through her stomach. Resentment that Ross now spoke to Jo more often than she did? Annoyance that Ross was lying? ‘How do you know?’
    ‘Oh, he just mentioned it when I saw him at playgroup yesterday,’ said Jo. ‘And before you say anything, I didn’t bring it up – he did. Now, he wouldn’t