FINDING MY FEET AGAIN

Sometimes old passions never die, they just wait in the wings…

Sally had not expected to feel like this. Nobody had warned her. Colleagues had wished her luck on Friday afternoon, seemingly envious of her situation. But now, on Monday morning, home alone, at the start of retirement, Sally suddenly and unexpectedly felt bereft. Philip wasn’t around for her. Sally wondered for the first time how her husband might have felt when he retired last year. She now admired the way he had seamlessly swapped his corporate world for golf and the camera club. He was full of the joys of life with exercise, fresh air and new friends.

Philip said he would spend Thursday with Sally, but that felt like a lifetime away! What would she do until then? Her work calendar had been so full she’d never had time to consider how she would feel having an empty diary, nor how she might fill it. Other than meeting friends for lunch and visiting places with Philip, Sally hadn’t figured out what hobbies she might like to do.

Sally looked at the beautiful notebook among her retirement gifts and set off around the house making lists of everything that needed attention. ‘I’m long overdue to do this,’ she thought. Clear out boxes from Mum, Sally wrote when she reached the spare room; what on earth was in those boxes?

When her mum had passed, Sally had neither the time nor the inclination to go through the boxes, but now she delved right in. Among the school reports and photos, Sally found her scuffed and worn ballet shoes and certificates. Suddenly she was transported back to Clarice Crawford’s dance school, remembering her ballet positions: her plié, her arabesque, her pirouette…

Was the dance school still in Witterlea? Sally’s twin boys hadn’t been interested in learning to dance – they had preferred karate – and Sally hadn’t had cause to return to the dance school in many years.

She continued sifting through the boxes until she was hungry. After her lunch, and yearning for some fresh air, Sally found she was unable to get the dance school out of her mind, so she took herself off in the car the 10 miles to nearby Witterlea.

Sally found the dance school; it was still at the big old Edwardian house down the lane behind the village school. She parked up and got out of her car. Wait – that looks like Mrs Crawford in the front garden! But surely it couldn’t be? ‘Mrs Crawford?’ Sally called out.

‘I’m Miss Crawford,’ came the reply. ‘Can I help you? Oh, I know you – Sally?’

‘Yes! Clare!’

Goodness, they’d been great friends in dance classes. ‘How is your mother?’ asked Sally.

‘Come inside and see her,’ answered Clare.

The years rolled back as Sally entered the building and saw the barre and mirrored wall. She stifled a gasp when she saw Mrs Clarice Crawford, her dance teacher. Of course she’d aged nearly 40 years.

Over tea, biscuits and laughter the three women caught up. ‘So, what are you going to do in your retirement?’ they asked Sally. She hesitated, explaining that she didn’t have the answer to that yet.

‘We now have an adult ballet class here,’ they said. Lively young voices began to fill the building; the first of the after-school ballet dancers were arriving for their lesson.

‘I had such a happy time here,’ said Sally. ‘I loved dancing, but dating and work pulled me away.’

‘You were a great ballet student!’ replied Clarice. ‘And so good with the younger pupils.’

Sally glanced at her watch. ‘Gosh, I need to get home, I promised I’d cook tonight, and I must let you get on.’ They promised to meet again.

Later, over dinner, Philip asked Sally about her day. ‘There’s a look about you that I’ve not seen in a long while,’ he said.

‘Well, I think I’ve found something I’m going to enjoy in my retirement,’ Sally replied with a smile. ‘I just need a new pair of ballet shoes…’