The Speed of Sadness Read online



  The Speed of Sadness

  by

  Sam Sparks

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Copyright © 2015. Sam Sparks. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author. Email: [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  The Speed of Sadness

  The Speed of Sadness

  The dancers entered the studio and took their positions facing each other.

  It was Mark and Fran’s first lesson together. Fran in her late sixties with a look of faded elegance about her. She’s made sure to look her best for the occasion.

  Mark, a few years younger, for his age he scrubs up well, stands at over six foot with pepper and salt hair.

  She’d danced before, ballroom, but this was different, the Tango.

  Mark had taken lessons for a couple of years, not realising his potential, for one reason or another he’d never found a partner practice with; but that was another story. As was today.

  Fran had been due to spend this day, her birthday, on her own. But that changed with an impetuous early morning phone call from Mark.

  They had been lovers thirty years ago. She was in a troubled marriage; there were children to consider. It didn’t work out. Wrong time. Too many complications. Mark had ended their second affair. He also ended the first one. Telling, two affairs, in four years.

  Within the year he had married. On the rebound? Who knows? Ask him that now and he’d have to give it some thought. In a cruel irony, Fran had been divorced soon after his marriage. Dire timing. But that was a long time ago.

  Now, their situations were reversed.

  A chance meeting ten years after they broke up had offered them an opportunity to reconnect. A temptation.

  It remained platonic, a few catch ups and a meal or a film, followed by a period of unexpressed mutual regret about the way things had turned out. It generally took a couple of days for them both to put their respective genies back in the bottle.

  So, when he telephoned her with his suggestion of a dance lesson on her birthday while certainly unexpected, it wasn’t out of the blue. He’d offered her time to think about his crazy idea. She didn’t need time.

  After she put the phone down, in a conversation with herself mixed emotions ran riot. Why now? Why dance? And also, why the Tango? If anything was likely to lead, she stopped herself from further thought on the consequences of what could be described as a vertical expression of a horizontal wish. It was that particular dance. Maybe she’d let herself be entertained by those thoughts another time. She knew he was still married. On prior meets he’d made the odd comment about home life. “Not fireworks“ was the nearest he’d come to expressing how his marriage had played out.

  Questions flooded Fran’s mind. What was going on now? Had he reached a tipping point? Was there another agenda? How would she feel if there was? How would she feel if there wasn’t?

  The call had been made as soon as his wife left for work one morning, he felt instantly exhilarated at Fran’s acceptance, though the deception made him feel less than virtuous.

  He didn’t know quite how long he had been unhappy in his marriage, it was a very slow reveal and how unhappy is unhappy? He asked himself, almost daily. Quite a few of his friends seemed to be in a similar situation.

  He’d begun to think the unthinkable about leaving his wife and in a pipe dream kind of way, maybe setting up home with Fran. If she wanted that of course. But the huge turmoil, hurt and potential implications were too much to dwell on.

  So just becoming dance partners and perhaps the odd Milonga would quell his feelings of loneliness. Something to look forward to and escape the humdrum.

  He imagined the combination of the music of the Tango and the embrace and dance with Fran would be like a hit from a drug, instant gratification. Oh how he craved that. But there would be a downside, an inevitable acute withdrawal afterwards, because very simply, he still loved her.

  He’d asked himself the blunt question, “was he being fair?” and he’d known the answer before the question. Of course he did.

  A clandestine arrangement with Fran was all he could offer her and give himself. To share moments of physical intimacy and understanding, let the music take over. To forget some things and remember others. A dangerous game.

  Carina his teacher for the last two years had gone through some basic steps with Fran in a smaller studio earlier. It was obvious she had danced before, although her lack of eye contact appeared to signal an abundance of nerves. To set her at ease, Carina made some jokey references about Mark. They now had a little understanding between them, a girly camaraderie. She noticed Fran’s ring finger bore no sign of attachment and wondered if Mark would like to be in the same situation.

  The music started. From the speakers, a riff on a Spanish guitar, introduced a low and deep mournful Latin number. Then a slash of harmonica ripping in to spice it up. Carina bade her students to begin. They moved towards each other, their eyes engaged. A smile flickered on both their faces, simultaneously giving way to wistful expressions.

  Mark’s left hand went out to wait for Fran’s; she brought her arm up her hand inches away. He clasped and held it tenderly, looking at it like a prized possession. Mark increased the pressure just a little, to let her know he cared; still. Something she knew despite things not working out.

  Then the all-important embrace. She waited for his hand around her back, before she placed her free hand on his shoulder. The close contact hastened the memories to return, she put them to the back of her mind. She needed to focus.

  Carina knew Mark well, two year’s of lessons from scratch, on and off. She liked him, her first and lasting impression was that maybe he had a darker side. Some unslain dragon lay in wait perhaps. Eventually she would find out more, if not all, then some at least. Between her and The Tango she would winkle it out of him. No hiding place for those who commit to The Tango.

  She also knew Fran was not his wife. Mark’s request to bring “a friend” the next time, rather than “my wife” had explicitly laid that out. But his demeanour just before he asked gave away to trepidation. She didn’t mind in the slightest she was now a part of a potential deception. She could write a book, over the years, she’d met so many looking for escape from all manner of situations through dance. Mostly the Tango, she noted.

  She’d liked Fran instantly. Mark’s introduction of Fran was full of enthusiasm. Almost like introducing a girlfriend to his Mother for the first time. Carina hadn’t seen him quite so animated before. So there was a spark! Clearly either something was going on here, or it had been in the past. There was chemistry for sure. Twenty-five years teaching dance had given her an insight into people’s real feelings. Some students going through the motions, taking the lessons for the wrong reasons. My, how those hours dragged. The awkwardness, the occasional row when one partner couldn’t get the steps. And those were the ones who booked the most lessons!

  Carina watched them as they moved around the studio. What astonished her was Mark. In the many lessons she’d given him, there was always a degree of lack of fluidity. With Fran, seemingly by what she was witnessing he had no such problem.
As if a fairy had sprinkled dust on him. Maybe that’s all he needed; the right partner. True of dance, true of life.

  They moved around the floor easily, Mark was at his best and Fran, despite her inexperience bless her, followed him well. Carina felt a bit teary. So beautiful to watch she thought, a couple enjoying dancing to a piece of Tango music. She watched with even more attention than normal, Mark’s eyes were closed! She felt her eyebrows raise slightly in reaction to seeing him rest his head on hers. She wasn’t exactly fighting him off either. Oh my God she thought, they’re in love!

  Mark led Fran into a Salida, as he passed on her right side his thigh brushed Fran’s leg. A frisson went through them both. The music stopped.

  Mark and Fran realised they’d both been carried away in the moment. Carina ended a brief awkward silence. ‘Yes that was good, well done you guys.’

  Later in the pub across the road Fran and Mark sat eating lunch.

  ‘That was lovely Mark, but what’s going on with you?

  ‘Fair question. Fran, I’m…’ he stared off into space.’

  ‘You’re?’ she invited.

  ‘I feel like I’m playing a part in, someone else’s life. ‘Anything Sophie and I do together, which isn’t much, is done in cold blood. Joyless.’

  ‘Well I guessed as much.’ She said.

  ‘Fran do you want to do this again?’

  She didn’t respond. She swirled her spoon in her cappuccino. He waited. She got up and headed for the Ladies.

  He took a draw on his beer and waited for her return.

  She stopped and ordered at the bar on the way back, in her hand a Gin and Tonic.

  ‘G&T eh? Must be serious.’

  ‘Let’s see how we feel after a few days Mark, I need to see this in the cold light of day. At the moment I’m on cloud nine. The last hour was bliss. I’ll have to wait and see how I really am.’

  ‘OK I understand. All those years ago, I used to hate you leaving and going back home and, there I was, on my own. So sure, take your time.’

  They went back on the train in silence; at the station car park they held each other, for a long time.

  ‘I’ll ring you in a few days then Fran?’

  She nodded, smiled and kissed him good-bye. Neither took their eyes off the other en route to their cars.

  The next morning Mark was desperate, the next day he was worse, the following day the emotions just started to subside. Fran had the same experience; she busied herself and rang friends to meet up with to occupy herself.

  On the fourth day after the lesson, first thing in the morning her phone rang, “Mark’ flashed up on the display.

  She grabbed the phone.

  ‘OK let’s give it a go” where the words Mark heard as soon as she answered.

  And so they met once a fortnight for the next year and a half.

  After a lesson and changing their shoes in the corridor before parting one day.

  Mark said ‘I was reading an article about Tango; the title was called the Speed of Sadness. It was to do with the emotion you feel from understanding the lyrics and mood of the music.’

  ‘Well I don’t think we quite got that do you?’ she replied with a huge smile.

  ‘True. I don’t say I understood it entirely, but I have another spin on it. Our time together starts with an excitement at the expectation of losing ourselves in the music. The quicker we lose ourselves; go deeper as it were the faster the time goes. Until we have no time left and that’s sadness.

  The Speed of Sadness.

  ‘Yes that’s an apt phrase, the Speed of Sadness, I like it, well I don’t, but you know what I mean.’

  Six months later Mark died suddenly, watching and listening through his headphones to his favourite Tango video. His wife saw him start to cry, but made no comment or move. A minute later his expression changed to fear as he clutched his chest and left arm.

  Shortly after, Carina was sat in the kitchen area sipping her coffee, news of Mark’s death had found its way to her via a mutual friend. She wished she had Fran’s number to be able to ring her, then again, perhaps she didn’t know, the situation being difficult. Carina chatted to the office girl Millie.

  ‘Looks like your old romantics have just arrived Car.’

  ‘Can't be. He died suddenly last week, a heart attack. I haven’t spoken with Fran.’

  ‘Swear it was her I just saw go into the loo.’

  Carina put down the coffee and ran in to the Ladies. As soon as she went in she could hear the unmistakeable sound of Fran humming. The loo was flushed and the door opened.

  The sight of Carina sobbing confronted Fran as she emerged from the cubicle. She rushed to put her arms round Carina.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Fran asked.

  When Carina managed to calm herself enough to speak, she told her the bad news.

  The Tango never burdened Fran with its implications again. She returned home, put on the CD he’d made for her, poured a stiff Gin and Tonic and sat down and looked across the fields.