The Dominoes

What do you do when the third member of your girl band shows up at your suburban semi, hell bent on a reunion?

coat. The years hadn’t touched her figure.

“Right,” she said, “Come on then, let’s see how much you can remember of our old routine! I still have it memorised, I never forget a thing.”

“I can’t even remember where my car’s parked half the time,” Fran admitted.

“Me neither,” I agreed.

“Shuffle. Shuffle. Hip dip. Turn. Look cool.” Melissa started dancing without us… and without any music either.

She’d been the driving force behind our little band. Since she’d studied music at school, she’d done most of the singing, and the composing and everything else in-between. By the time we’d started gigging along to a backing track in local pubs we’d all just turned eighteen.

No one had ever expected a music producer to see us. No one had expected his midget record company to put out a

always astonishing. We’d known when we first met her in junior school that she’d go far. She’d never be the type to marry, settle down, have kids and get a job in the local library – like me for example.

“Didn’t we have the time of our lives?” she called out as she danced the routine with grace and ease.

Ifshe’slookingforherlostyouth,she’s notgoingfindithere, I pondered as Dan interrupted. He came scurrying in, his laptop laid across his palms.

“Mum, look!” His face glowed. His sister’s cheeks were a cherry-red exact match. Were they thrilled or embarrassed? Sometimes I couldn’t tell the difference.

“You could actually dance.” Dan cleared things up a little as he set his laptop down on the coffee table and everybody gathered round.

Melissa wore a wistful expression. “Those were the days.”

We’d been very trim in the nineties, our young bodies tight and toned. We moved in unison on screen. Now and then we glanced at each other, little grins sneaking across our faces. Only, in actual fact we were performing on the stage of a grotty old pub with carpets that squelched.

We’d changed in a smelly toilet. It had one cracked mirror and a dirty lightbulb and we’d barely got paid that night.

Allthisrainbow-colouredreminiscing isamistake, I thought.

“We can’t go back,” I pointed out. “I mean, we’re not going to do any of this again. That would be ridiculous.”

Melissa gave a jolt then a choked cough. Then she turned for the kitchen.

“I need a glass of water.” She clattered off in her heels.

I winced. I’d upset her now. Only surely, she could see the truth. I’m forty-three. I’m a mum. I have a house, kids, a garden and a husband.

This kind of thing was for young girls. I’d have to set her straight.

Ifound Melissa by the fridge, quaffing down great chugs of wine instead of water while sniffling.

“Are you all right?”

From the lounge, I could hear Fran trying to teach my kids our dance.

“Make a bridge with your hands while scratching like a chicken. Two steps forward, pretend to look under a bush…”

“You’re not… I mean, you’re not really…” I took a deep breath and tried again. “Mel, you’re not seriously thinking that we could reform the group? I mean, this was always your kind of thing. Not