‘Sure,’ I said, furiously pushing the sensation that I should never have mentioned flamenco to the back of mymind. What happened to spending as little time together as possible? Even if there were other cast members there, I already knew that standing together in some sexy, hot, basement bar with sultry guitar music and one of the most sensuous dances in the world being performed right in front of our eyes would be a very bad idea.
‘Do you have time for a drink?’ I asked her. ‘I was going to try to find a café.’
It had rolled off my tongue before I could think better of it. My God, what had happened to me? All my resolve to stay away from Lira because of what was happening with my family seemed to have flown out of the window the second we touched down in Madrid. Perhaps the sun could be blamed, or the fact I felt less anxious now I knew how successful the show was proving to be. And anyway, the truth was, it had been the same in London – I simply could not make the best decisions for myself when I was around Lira James. And I had no idea what I was supposed to do about it, other than avoid her completely, which clearly was impossible.
She looked down at the ground and then back up at me, perhaps having the exact same reservations herself. When our eyes connected, I felt a sensation I had no control over; it was how I felt with her on the dance floor, a sort of longing I could not turn away from. I realized I really wanted her to come for a drink with me. And that I did not want to spend yet another afternoon alone killing time before the show.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Why not?’
‘Great,’ I replied, desperately trying to mask the chaos in my head from being in such close proximity to her.
Earlier, I had passed a bar carved into what looked like a cave, and so I led us there. The sun put me in the mood for a glass of sparkling Cava, but I knew that I could not drink alcohol until after my performance – I was strict about that. I needed to conserve all of my energy for tonight, and daytime drinking risked leaving me feeling sluggish. Lira must have felt the same way, because we both ordered cappuccinos.
‘I am extremely tempted by the churros,’ I admitted to Lira, as a plate of the sizzling donuts was whisked past us and delivered to the table of the two women next to us.
Lira groaned. ‘God, me too. It’s taking all my strength not to say “to hell with it” and order them!’
I laughed.
‘Sometimes the life of a dancer is tough,’ I said.
She nodded. ‘Not that I’ve really felt like a proper dancer, not since I was a teenager. This is definitely an adjustment.’
‘Why did you give it up?’ I asked, settling back into my seat, enjoying the fact that I had Lira all to myself for, at the very least, as long as it took us to finish our coffees. I would be sure to make mine last as long as possible. In Spain, like in Italy, such things – hanging out in a café, drinking good coffee with friends – should be savoured, not rushed.
Lira put her elbows on the table between us, resting her chin on the backs of her hands.
‘You really want to know?’
‘Ireallywant to know.’
She shook her head, a little embarrassed, perhaps. I waited. Because I couldn’t imagine what would make a dancer as talented as her give it all up to work in a studio. I presumed it was something to do with her family, and if anyone knew about familial responsibility – or at least how to avoid it – it was me.
‘So I’m the oldest of three sisters,’ she told me. ‘Although, I think you know that.’
She looked at me with a hint of a smile. She knew, on that first day of rehearsals, that I had remembered this fact about her. Now it was my turn to be embarrassed.
‘I have a vague memory of it,’ I said, trying to play it cool, although it was a little late for that.
‘They’re dancers, too,’ continued Lira, thankfully letting me off the hook. ‘And my mum – she was South African Latin world champion. Twice.’
‘Incredible. What is her name?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘Amahle James?’
‘The most famous Black dancer of her generation?’ I exclaimed, shocked. ‘She was an amazing performer, so ahead of her time. I never knew she was your mother!’
Lira smiled and shrugged. ‘How would you? We’ve never properly talked about our families, have we?’
I was taken back by her directness. My instinct was to move the conversation back into safer waters, but there was something about her willingness to be honest with me that made me feel as though I owed her the same thing.As though she might even understand. I had always been reluctant to be vulnerable in front of others, but what if it helped? What if hearing somebody else’s opinion on my predicament could actually be useful?
‘We have not. But it is not too late to start,’ I said quietly. ‘Please, carry on. I want to hear about your mother, about how this impacted your own career. Was she hard on you when it came to dancing?’
Lira thought about it.
‘In a way. When she sees me perform, or any of my sisters for that matter, she doesn’t hold back. She tells us everything we could have done better, and you have to do something exceptional to get a compliment. Deep down, though, we know she’s proud of us. But she was always so busy with her own career that she didn’t have a lot of time to get to know what made us tick; what we really wanted from life. It was all dance, dance, dance. And as the oldest girl, there was this expectation, steeped in tradition, I suppose, that I should prioritize my family, and whattheyneeded.’
‘Which was…?’ I asked, thinking how achingly familiar this all sounded.
