In at the Deep End. Kate Davies

– it doesn’t matter whether you’re a man or a woman or outside the binary. If you want to try leading, you lead, if you want to follow, you follow.’

      I decided to lead. I hadn’t been leading enough in my life lately. Ella, it turned out, was a follower.

      ‘Shall we?’ I said, holding out my hands, and we learned to do a rock step.

      From the moment Zhu turned on the music – Ella Fitzgerald singing ‘Tain’t What You Do (It’s The Way That You Do It)’ – I was in heaven. I hadn’t danced for so long, and when I had danced it had been my job, tied up with my self-esteem and my body image and whether Cat was going to get picked for a solo over me. I had forgotten what it was like to dance for fun, to be in sync with your partner, with the music. I’d forgotten how free it made me feel. Everyone had their own way of dancing – we switched partners every time we learned a new part of the routine, and I danced with a girl named Annie, who was quite stiff and awkward, and a guy named Ollie, whose arms were loose, like skipping ropes – but everyone, everyone had broad smiles across their faces. You couldn’t not smile when you were swing dancing, it seemed. I hadn’t been so purely happy in years.

      ‘You’re really good at this,’ said Ella when we came full circle and danced together again at the end of the class. Ella was my favourite partner. She flailed her arms and kept kicking with her left leg instead of her right, but she seemed so delighted to be dancing that none of that mattered.

      Some of us went downstairs for a drink after the lesson. I sat with Zhu and Ella and a woman named Rebecca – dark brown hair, a lot of earnest opinions on almost every subject – who had her arm around Bo, very smiley, round glasses, wearing a badge reading They/Them. In fact, all of my new swing dance friends smiled a lot, which was relaxing. I had been worried I’d have to hang out with intimidating people like Jane, now that I was a lesbian.

      ‘Rebecca’s my girlfriend,’ said Bo, unnecessarily. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to have someone who was that proud of going out with you.

      Bo, it turned out, was a freelance coder, which was appropriate, because they moved in a slightly robotic way. Rebecca worked in social media for Greenpeace.

      ‘She met Gillian Anderson for work the other week,’ Bo said, hand on Rebecca’s knee.

      ‘Such a waste,’ Zhu said. ‘She doesn’t even fancy her.’

      ‘She’s a bit too femme for me,’ Rebecca said, shrugging.

      It was wonderful to be surrounded by queer people, casually throwing words like ‘femme’ into the conversation.

      ‘What do you do?’ I asked Ella.

      ‘I’m a dentist.’ She fiddled with her bow tie.

      I stared at her for a moment. ‘Wow.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘Was that like … a vocation?’

      ‘Not really,’ said Ella. ‘But the money’s good, and I have lots of time to do fun things outside work.’

      ‘Look at her teeth,’ said Bo.

      Ella opened her mouth for me to inspect them, like a horse. They were flawless.

      I started gabbling away about the class, talking too fast and too loudly, about how much I had loved it.

      ‘Own up,’ Zhu said in her teacherly voice. ‘You’ve done swing before.’

      ‘I haven’t,’ I said, but I explained how I used to be a dancer.

      Rebecca leaned towards me. ‘How did you feel about that? Working in such a heteronormative world?’

      ‘I didn’t really think about it at the time,’ I shrugged. ‘I wasn’t a lesbian then.’

      ‘Are you a new recruit?’ asked Zhu.

      ‘Very new,’ I said, because I’d had some beer.

      ‘So,’ said Zhu, ‘does that mean you’re single?’

      ‘Zhu,’ said Ella, shaking her head at me, apologizing silently.

      ‘What?’ said Zhu. ‘Fresh meat!’

      I swapped numbers with everyone before I left. Ella hugged me – a really tight hug – and said, ‘Welcome to the family!’

      I felt the loveliest, warmest feeling of belonging.

      As I was walking home from the Tube, I got a message from Ella. Great hanging out with you! Are you coming next week? I was about to text her back to say yes, I was definitely coming next week, when my phone buzzed with another message.

       Come at seven next Friday. Dad’s joined a wine club so there’ll be lots of booze. Don’t tease him about being nearly sixty or about his thread veins, belly, liver spots etc. He’s feeling a bit delicate.