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I met John at the dance summer school He was standing at the lower set of doors towards the bottom of the hall, half-in, half-out, as if he was hoping to be missed Cherri was sitting on the empty stage The other girls had left half an hour ago When she saw her father, Cherri picked up her yellow rucksack and walked towards us, her chunky pink trainers squeaking on the old lino The building had once been a theatre and now served as a community centre As she walked across the hall, I turned to him Mr Smithley, I said, unable to finish my sentence I wanted to say that he should have been there earlier It did something to a child, always waiting for their parents But he smiled, as though he had been expecting me, not the other way around I fingered my pendant, readjusted my neckline I could not tell what he wanted exactly: men were often baffled by my fantastical appearance in a banal environment   He peered at the name badge pinned on my dress Vashti, he said Call me John He held out his hand and, after a second, I had to withdraw mine because it started burning So, he said, looking around me but not focusing on anything What will my daughter learn in the next few months? Barbara’s Premier Touring Dance School Makes Winners in the Essex Region, he read aloud from the promo poster tacked on the wall Cherri waited, rubbing her itchy-looking ankles together She looked nothing like John, with her red skin and fuzzy blonde hair He frowned at her, like she was a fossil in a museum or something else that had once been interesting The girls learn to dance and sing, I replied And even if they don’t go on to a career, they leave with our ethos to guide them through life What’s the ethos? he asked, baring small white teeth Confidence, composure and commitment, I said His confrontational manner implied great self-assurance or deep insecurity I could not yet tell them apart   Have you had a