Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks with the slightest of blinks and I instinctively reach out to hug my friend. As I pull her in close her heartfelt sobs reverberate through the both of us.
I know its stupid to cry over a film, but it touched a nerve, you know? Simbas so brave, setting out to face the world alone. Look at me! I cant bring myself to leave Sheffield. I even stayed here for university when everyone else buggered off to Leeds and Manchester.
Simba was running away, I correct, brushing a tear from Connies cheek with the pad of my thumb. And so was everyone going to university too, really. Its not the same thing.
I think back to my own three years at university. Id not wanted to go in the first place and I could have got a job in a school without the degree and the student loan that came with it. But Id blindly applied to the same cities as Justin because I hadnt been able to bear the thought of being away from him. Which would be laughable, considering our current situation, if it wasnt so downright sad. As it happened wed ended up staying in Sheffield too, so Connie certainly hadnt been alone.
Connie wipes the end of her nose against the cuff of her chunky-knit lilac cardigan, and takes a deep breath as through preparing to swim underwater. I needed to stay here for Dad, you know? Hes not good at looking after himself. I dread to think of him trying to keep on top of the washing pile, and I dont think he knows how to turn on the hoover. He probably doesnt even know where the hoover is!
She laughs, and even though her cheeks are now covered in a blotchy red blemish and her pure black mascara has smudged, leaving her with panda eyes, she still looks so incredibly beautiful. Theres a serenity about Connie, even in the rare moments like this when shes unravelling.
Sometimes I dream of running away, she admits. Breaking free. Going to Africa and building a school with a community. Pipedreams, I know, but whats the point of being alive if youre barely living?
I place my hands on my oldest friends shoulders and look her in the eye, hoping I can convey how wonderful she is. Youre doing plenty of living. You dance. Youre passionate about food, even though none of us like those vegetable crisps you keep trying to foist on us. And youre a wonderful daughter; staying in Sheffield because of your dad proves that. But you know, if youve got a dream, you should go for it. Youre young! Youre single! Youre free! Make the most of it. Go to Africa and build that school, if thats what you want.
But what about Dad? Hed end up living on mouldy toast and wearing dirty clothes. Hes never had to survive on his own. He lived with his parents until he married my mum, and then theres been the two of us for the last fifteen years.
There are cleaners and theres internet shopping and all sorts of other services that make life easier. You can pay people to do pretty much anything these days.
Connie looks wary. Im not sure hed like having people coming into the house.
Whatd happen if you met someone? Or if you got a flat in town, a bachelorette pad? Hed have to manage then, wouldnt he? Im sure hes not expecting you to stay at home forever.
Hed have to find a way, I suppose.
Although the words themselves border on positive theres a dejected air to Connies tone that leaves me with a sneaky suspicion shell harbour her dream but do nothing about it. I hope shell surprise me by being proactive. Sometimes theres justification for being a little bit selfish.
Just think about it, yeah? Dont give up on your dream too easily. Neither your mum or your dad would want that. Nor me.
Connie pulls at the soggy sleeve of her cardigan. It had swamped her frame to start with and now theyre damp, the cuffs hang down way past her knuckles. Ill think about it.
I squeeze Connies hand, soft as playdough from the expensive hand creams shes devoted to. Thats all Im asking.
Hope and Issy bundle back into the room, their booming voices breaking the serenity. I cant help thinking that maybe its time we all took some chances. Whats that saying, a life without risks is a life half lived?
Hakuna Matata begins to play, the jaunty tune sweeping us along until all four of us are singing along at the tops of our voices.
Isnt it amazing how a song about farts can be so singable? I giggle. I always thought it was hilarious how they got away with it.
Thats what makes it so funny, it feels naughty.
You know you cant sing for toffee, right? Hope says bluntly.
Hakuna Matata! Issy quips back good-naturedly, continuing to sing about Simba and the gangs problem-free philosophy as he grows before our eyes.
Connie trembles, her shoulders quivering, and somehow I know its a result of Simbas maturation and independence presented through this song.
Okay? I mouth silently, hoping my earlier support is enough to stop her feeling alone.
Connie nods. No worries, she mouths back.
We quietly watch on, moving only to help ourselves to the limited selection of snacks and drinks that remain. Its as Mufasas spirit sends the message to Simba to Remember who you are that Connie begins to speak.
Im going to do it, she announces, Im going to find out about the volunteer programmes in Africa. Its what I want to do. Its what Ive always wanted to do. If Mum could see me now shed be devastated that Im working in a stuffy office, typing endless numbers into meaningless spreadsheets. I want to make her proud. To remember who I really am.
An excitable buzz fills the room as me, Hope and Issy fire question after question at an eager Connie.
Do you get to choose where?
How much money do you have to raise? Do you need sponsorship?
When will you go? And how long will you stay?
I dont know! Connie exclaims with a shrug and a laugh. Ive only this minute decided to go for it. But tomorrow morning Im going to start Googling, find out the most reputable charities and how to apply.
Itll be amazing, Issy assures her. A once in a lifetime opportunity thatll make a real difference.
Theres something else, too, Connie adds. She has a fire in her eyes full of feisty determination that Ive not seen in her since our last ballet recital. Naturally shed had the solo, executing perfect fouette turns and pirouettes that made the kids in the junior classes sigh dreamily. Im not putting off the teaching exams any more. She looks directly at me, waiting for my reaction.
No way. Im agog. Youre finally going to bite the bullet and become a dance teacher? At our dance school? I refer to it as ours, even though were only pupils. Weve been going there so long it feels like we have the right to stake some claim over it.
She shakes her head. Im going to try and get a bank loan and start up on my own. It sounds ludicrous, I know. But theres got to be a disused factory somewhere in Sheffield that I can buy, or at least rent. Line the walls with mirrors, put up a barre, get a sprung floor laid after that itll just be upkeep and running costs. And if it doesnt work, then hey ho. At least Ill have tried.
I cant help it, I have to hug her. In my excitement I go in with a bit more force than Id planned, almost knocking her right off her feet. Its a good job all those years of ballet have worked on her core stability. She manages, just about, to stay centred and steady.
Im thrilled for you, Con, honestly I am. After all those years of nagging at you to do it. Miss Gemma will be too.
Connie laughs. Shell never believe it when I tell her shell need to get revising the exam syllabus. I think shed given up hope of me ever putting in for them.
Wed all given up hope, I say. Out of the six of us in our class, Connies the only one who has what it takes to teach dance. The rest of us can hold our own in the showcases, years of practice have ensured that. But theres something in the way Connie moves something elegant and strong and inspiring that sets her apart from the rest of us. She was born to dance, no two ways about it.
Whod have thought The Lion King would be so inspirational, eh? jokes Hope, a glimmer of a smile passing over her face. Maybe youre right, Mon. Maybe its not just for kids after all.
Chapter Three
Friday 23rd September
*The Sound of Music Issys choice*
So, whats it to be?
We all look on eagerly as Issy whips a DVD out from behind one of the tatty patchwork cushions that rest along the back of the sofa, straining our eyes to make out the title of the musical well be watching.
The Sound of Music! Issy proclaims, a triumphant smile on her face. I love this film. It makes me think of my Gran she was a huge Julie Andrews fan.
Connie didnt seem to share Issys enthusiasm. Oh no, its the one with the nuns, isnt it? She clutches her head in her hands in a dramatic fashion. Ive never liked nuns. They scare me.
Maybe I should become a nun, Hope muses. My love lifes in tatters since Amara decided she didnt want me any more. And at least I wouldnt have to worry about bad-hair days if I had to wear one of those floppy sheet things on my head.
I raise my eyebrows in despair. Floppy sheet things indeed. Theyre called wimples. And youd be a terrible nun. Youre far too cynical!
And an atheist, Hope adds, deadpan. That might be a bit of a problem.
This is a real tear-jerker, too, from what I remember, Connie says, trying to rein us back in. Im going to need tissues, arent I? Again. She rifles through her patent red over-the-shoulder bag. Folders, notepads and something that looks suspiciously like a Filofax from the 1980s peeps out of the top, and as she pulls a small rectangular packet of tissues out she adds, It always gets to me. I dont know why, but it does.
Because its depressing, thats why. That was Hope.
Its not depressing, its emotive, Issy insists. And based on a true story too. That poor family imagine how horrific it must have been.
Yeah, imagine having to wear clothes made from floral curtains the colour of wee. It must have been dreadful. The withering look Issy throws Hope cuts her off before she can rant further about the Von Trapps, which is just as well. If she finds her stride, who knows what shell belittle next?
Lets start, I interject, taking the disc from Issy and inserting it into the DVD player. Its not a short film and its already almost nine. And even if you dont like the storyline, you must admit its got a classic score. Edelweiss? Do Re Mi? My Favourite Things? Theyre exactly the kind of songs the Singalong Society was founded for. I think Im going to get a glass of water to go along with my Riesling because Im going to need it to hit those high notes. I hurry to the kitchen, fill a glass with cool tap water and pick up a packet of chocolate digestives for good measure. Julie Andrews might make it sound easy, but its not. Not for us ordinary folk.
Be quick, its starting, Issy yells, but Im already back in the room in time to see the long-lens opening shots of the stunning Austrian landscape appear on the screen. Beautiful castles, rolling green hills, clear blue water and Julie Andrews sporting helmet hair and a shapeless pocketed pinafore.
Before long were all drawn into the film, laughing at the gentle humour and singing the anthemic songs with all our might. Marias love song to her favourite things causes us to dissolve into fits of laughter; Hope declaring that anyone who claims doorbells as one of their favourite things deserves to remain in a convent for all eternity.
What would you sing about, then? What amazing things are there that help you when you feel bad? Issy asks, although shes been as exposed to Hopes doom and gloom almost as much as me. There doesnt seem to have been much thats raised Hopes spirits since she moved in.
White wine, most likely, Hope replies, raising her fourth glass of the evening to the air in a toast.
Friends, I add, without missing a beat. Friends who accept you as you are, warts and all.
Good one, Issy says approvingly. Mine would be weekends. How about you, Con? What fills your heart with gladness and makes your soul sing?
My spiraliser. Connie nods seriously before clocking our disbelieving stares. What? she adds naively.
We live in a world with marshmallows and blossom trees and mojitos and I flounder for something that might be worthy of being Connies favourite thing, Kiehls hand cream, and you say a spiraliser? How much have you had to drink? I tease, knowing full well shes not yet touched a drop. Connie rarely drinks to excess. Its all linked to her desire to be super-healthy and lean.
What can I say? Ive been living off courgetti lately, Connie says with a shrug. But the hand cream is a good shout. Ive a feeling Im going to be really grateful for it come November.
At the mention of hands, I notice Hope look down and study hers, her knuckles bumpy and red where shes scratched the eczema-inflamed skin. Shes not been able to leave it alone lately and when Id questioned her about it she admitted to liking the uncomfortable sensation of her nails peeling the fine, flaky top layer of skin away. She claimed it felt cathartic, but the red, raw marks looked painful, with even the children in her class noticing the angry scarlet patches in contrast to her creamy skin tone. Hope had always suffered with eczema. It had a nasty habit of flaring up when she was stressed, and since she and Amara had finished, she was incredibly stressed. More than stressed, she was bereft. She wasnt sleeping, was barely eating she was a mess.
I snap myself out of my distracted thoughts, only just registering the glint of suggestion in Connies voice. Why November?
Theres a theatrical pause where Connie looks like she might physically burst. Her face is shining with unadulterated joy. Im in! she finally exclaims, clapping her hands together in miniature, yet excited, applause. I wanted to tell you straight away, but by the time wed set up the DVD and got ourselves ready to watch it her voice trails off, but the animated glow remains.