Starlight on the Palace Pier: The very best kind of romance for the Christmas season in 2018. Tracy Corbett

to dance and don’t tell my kid he can’t join in, you hear me?’

      Becca was conflicted. Part of her wanted to give in, especially as the other parents were nodding in agreement, supporting the woman’s grievance. But she knew she had to make a stand. If she didn’t, things would never improve. She couldn’t spend every Saturday morning shouting until she was hoarse. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t agree to that.’

      The woman looked incredulous. ‘Excuse me?’ She turned to the other parents. ‘We’re paying for you to teach our kids ballet, right? Nothing else.’

      A few mothers nodded in agreement.

      ‘So get teaching, or we’re gone.’ The woman folded her arms, ultimatum delivered.

      Becca could feel the burn of numerous eyes on her. She was a pathetic excuse for a teacher. But she was trying her best to remedy that. She was at a crossroads where she needed to make a decision. Give in, or stand her ground.

      There was no real dilemma. She’d rather risk losing half the kids than give in to their bullying parents. Having said that, she’d be a fool if she didn’t try to win them over. Without any pupils, she wouldn’t have a class. Or income. And Carolyn was relying on her to help improve the fortunes of the playhouse. She had to try and turn the situation around.

      She gestured to the kids, who were oblivious to the heated discussion taking place by the piano. ‘If these kids are serious about making it as a dancer, then they need to learn the art of listening.’ And discipline, she added silently, something that was also currently lacking. ‘Until we reach a point where I’m convinced every child understands that if they don’t listen they can’t join in with the class, then I can’t move forward with more complex activities.’

      Becca had spent the last two weeks trawling through numerous videos and articles, and quizzing her mum about teaching. Her mum’s message had been clear. There was absolutely no point in teaching her students about adagio, fouette, jeté or pirouettes, if they didn’t listen. If you didn’t listen, you couldn’t learn. So, much to the horror of the parents, she’d begun today’s class by announcing that from now on there would be rules, and if those rules were broken, there would be consequences.

      ‘Mrs Morris never had a problem with our kids,’ the woman said, urged on by the other mothers. ‘Maybe you’re not cut out to be a teacher.’

      This was entirely possible. But it was Becca’s class, and she needed to develop her own way of teaching. And that didn’t include spending the entire hour shouting and being ignored. If the parents didn’t like it, tough.

      ‘I’m sorry you don’t agree with my approach.’ Becca feigned a confidence she didn’t feel, trying to hide her shaking hands. ‘It goes without saying that I’d love for your children to remain in my class.’ She looked at the parents, some of whom avoided eye contact. ‘But I honestly feel this is the best approach. However, the decision is entirely yours. If you’d prefer to try a different class elsewhere, then that’s your prerogative. I’ll refund you this term’s money.’

      They hadn’t expected that. There was a murmur as the mothers huddled together, discussing what to do next.

      Becca had no idea how Carolyn would feel about refunding the fees. She was taking a big risk, but it was the only way she could wrestle control of the situation.

      She spotted Ben and Phoebe’s mother standing to one side. When Rosie smiled and discreetly gave her a thumbs-up, her panic levels lowered. The woman would probably never realise how much that single show of support meant.

      The ringleader approached with the verdict. ‘I’m taking my kids to someone who knows what they’re doing. They’re good kids. I don’t appreciate you treating them like they’re not. I’ll expect a cheque in the post. I want a full refund, you hear me?’ The woman yelled at her three kids, and then dragged them from the room.

      Becca waited to see who else would follow. Two other mothers scuttled out, heads down, their kids in tow. That left five kids from the original class and two new starters. It had been three, but one mother left before the class started, unimpressed by the state of the dance studio. Oh, well, you couldn’t win them all.

      As the door banged shut behind them, Rosie came over. ‘That must have been hard. But you did the right thing.’

      Becca sighed. ‘I hope you’re right.’

      Rosie smiled. ‘Take it from me – children need boundaries. And they need to learn the consequences of pushing those boundaries. I’m more than happy for you to discipline my kids. Anything that makes my life at home easier.’ There was a sadness to her expression, which lifted as quickly as it had arrived. ‘Just out of interest, why are you getting them to juggle beanbags?’

      ‘It helps improve balance,’ Becca said, watching the kids flipping up the beanbags trying to stay upright. ‘If you watch Lionel Messi playing football, or Roger Federer on the tennis court, they could literally be falling over and yet somehow still make the shot. It’s what sets them apart. And it’s the same with dance. Balance is the most fundamental attribute a dancer needs.’

      ‘I never realised. Maybe I should take it up myself.’ Rosie gestured to her walking stick, which until that moment Becca hadn’t noticed. ‘I always wanted to dance, but never learnt as a child. It’s too late now, I’m forever falling over.’

      Becca didn’t want to pry, but her reaction must have given her away.

      ‘Multiple sclerosis.’

      Becca flinched. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

      Rosie didn’t look more than early thirties. She was slim, with a lovely open smile and wavy brown hair that fell around her shoulders. Life could be so unfair.

      ‘It flares up every now and then. Doesn’t make dealing with two energetic kids any easier. Luckily, I have Dan to help me, my other half. He’s a saint.’

      And Becca had thought dealing with a ruptured Achilles and severed patellar tendon was hard? She vowed never to moan about her injuries again.

      Rosie nodded to the kids. ‘Can I give you a word of advice?’

      ‘Please do. You might’ve noticed I’m new to this.’

      ‘Kids need discipline, you’re right. They also need a lot of encouragement. Good behaviour should always be praised.’

      She touched Rosie’s hand. ‘Thank you, I’ll remember that.’ Becca turned to the class. ‘Excellent work, kids. You’ve done really well today.’ She was rewarded with a few beaming smiles.

      Rosie smiled. ‘See? You’ll have them eating out of your hands in no time.’

      Becca could only hope.

      Despite the first forty-five minutes of the class being torture, the last section flew by. The kids seemed to enjoy the balance games and there was definitely less crying than the previous two weeks. It was too soon to believe progress was being made, but she’d be lying if she didn’t feel relieved that the more ‘vocal’ mothers had quit the class.

      A few of the kids said goodbye as they left the dance studio. Rosie’s kids even gave her a wave. Maybe she was starting to win them over? She hoped so. For Carolyn’s sake, if nothing else.

      Becca decided she needed to address the state of the dance studio with Carolyn. All the advertising in the world wouldn’t improve numbers if the décor put people off.

      She pulled on a pair of joggers over her dance tights and zipped up her hoodie, ensuring she kept her muscles warm. Her knee felt pretty good today, but her Achilles was tight. The scar was itching, something that happened on occasion.

      She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Freak, one of the women had said. It seemed a little harsh. She’d toned down her clothing for the classes, opting for traditional ballet attire instead of her modern dance gear, removing all jewellery and keeping her nails neutral.

      That