Author: I'm amazed at myself, I actually got this chapter done quickly (for me) even if it's only short fodder

Frankie: I like this chapter.

Author: You heard it here first, this chapter is Frankie Platinum approved!

"You're going for afternoon tea at the Mask Estates?" Micky asked

"Mmh hmm," Theresa answered

"On Sunday?"

"That's what I agreed to"

"What're you going to wear?"

"Don't know. Haven't thought about it. What do you wear to afternoon tea?"

"I think you dress smart but not too smart. Are you taking a present?"

"Mick?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we talk about this after practice is over?"

She looked down at him, mostly because at the moment she was suspended in midair with his hands on her hips

"Sure," he put her down, waited a beat, then twirled her outwards before pulling her back in expertly, it was flawless, but then again they had been doing this for a long time, "if you want to be boring about it"

"Oh, I like boring" she did a subtle hop and wrapped her legs around his waist then bent herself backwards slightly, "I'm not terribly keen on this song, though"

"I don't know," he bent forward so that Theresa's head was almost touching the cracked varnish floor, "it's starting to grow on me after 3 weeks worth of dancing to it"

"I'm still not sure about it"

"Mr Dolenz! Miss Chappen!" Their dance instructor called bitchily, banding his walking stick on the ground (he didn't actually need it, he just used it as a method of gaining his students attention) "You are supposed to be symbolising the dreamy memory of the singer about his time with the unnamed woman! This is supposed to be about PASSION! NOT a wedding dance with your sister! SHOW ME DREAMY PASSION!" he instructor went a disturbing shade of dark red, and some plaster dust from the ceiling of the old community hall, where the dance classes were held, fell down as his shouting shook the very rafters (which contained not a small amount of dry rot, but still not enough to make the company responsible for the place actually do anything about it)

Not wanting to bring on a third heart attack in the man (the first two had been dramatic enough) they ceased chatting and turned up the 'passion' and, because the instructor wasn't quite his normal shade yet, threw in some 'mystical' hand gestures, making extra certain their movements were as fluid as possible.

By the end of class, the instructor looked like his usual, not-near-a-heart-attack complexion (to the relief of both Micky and Theresa as well as the eight other dancers in the class, none of whom had been spared a 'you're not doing it right or showing me enough passion!' lecture either)

"Want to go to The Penguin Café before we go home?" Micky asked as they went their separate ways to get changed.

"Mind reader"

"It's why I'm your best friend"

"I thought you were my best friend because we both wanted apple & blackcurrant squash instead of orange at break time and we both liked building castles out of Duplo" she raised an eyebrow at him playfully

"You're very funny"

"It's why I'm your best friend. And is this trip your treat or mine?"

"We can go Dutch"

"What does that even mean?"

"So, afternoon tea at the Mask Estates?"

"Apparently so"

They were now safely ensconced in the warm atmosphere of The Penguin Café, one the new red 'leather' seated booths near the far wall, having changed out of their 'dance' clothes and back into their usual attire; in Micky's case a pair of dark jeans, a button up shirt and a 'suit' jacket and in Theresa's, her favourite tye-dyed shirt that'd formerly belonged to Gramps and her favourite circa-1987 jeans, formerly her mother's.

"How's Kevin feel about it?" Micky began demolishing his cake, despite the athletic build that comes of being a dancer from the age of seven, he had a big sweet tooth and would eat half of his own weight in cake if he thought he could get away with it.

"He's not saying as much, but I can tell he's not thrilled, and 'not thrilled' is probably an understatement on my part."

"So, what about you? You nervous about meeting your, for argument's sake, don't glare at me, father-in-law?"

"Is an overwhelming sense that I should be using Burke's Peerage as my bedtime reading and learning it all off by heart, in alphabetical and numerical order, before I even think about setting foot through the front door of the place a bad thing?" Theresa stopped tearing bits out of her white paper napkin and wrapped her fingers around the cream-coloured china mug, (it contained orange pekoe with honey and some lemon) letting the in-café band's music wash over her.

Her friend considered this, finishing off his very healthy wheat-flour, sultana and 'I-can't-believe-it's-not-honey' muffin as he did (he wasn't vegan, or even vegetarian, he just liked the taste)

"Do you know who the reigning monarch is?" he asked finally

"Housewife Lizzie" she replied promptly

"Then I don't think you need to worry," he paused over his coffee, (black, fair trade decaf and one spoonful of fair trade brown sugar) "though you should probably call her Queen Elizabeth, not Housewife Lizzie"

"If the carpet slippers fit,"

"I bet she doesn't wear carpet slippers; it's probably 'expensive Persian rug' slippers"

That image made them both laugh and then they both took a drink of their respective beverages and listened to the music for a while.

"So, how's Quentin?"

"He's good"

There was an unasked question hanging in the air on Micky's side, after that sentence.

"I like him" Theresa told him, "He seems nice, if I had to imagine you with anyone, it'd be him."

"Really?"

"If I didn't like him, I'd tell you. Remember Jason?"

"Oh yeah…" he shuddered slightly. Jason had been a horrible rebound mistake; and he hadn't realised that until…well…

"I told you that no one should make you dye your hair black and wear blue contact lenses to make you look like his favourite pop star"

"OK, OK, I admitted ages ago that you were right," he leaned over and poked her in the shoulder, she batted his hand away gently as he finished: "no one likes a gloater"

"Me? Gloat? Never!" she gave him a mock coy look, which made him throw the case from his muffin at her, which got him a half-hearted protest and giggle from his best friend, and a warning look from the café staff.

"Sorry…so, what you going to wear?"

"I was going to dig out my Gran's red and black Mary Quant dress. I'm pretty certain I saw it in the attic the last time I went up there"

"I swear to God, your attic is like 1960's Narnia"

"Not true…well, maybe it is. But Gran was a big Mary Quant fan before she went hippie, used to save up all her pocket money then splurge on a dress. She told me once that after all the hard graft, she didn't really want to give them away or throw them out"

"That's fair enough…black tights and shoes?"

"The was the general idea. Objections?"

"Not a one. Since you didn't actually bother much about this sort of thing not too long ago, I think you're doing well. Will you buy me another muffin if I promise help you dig all that stuff out of the attic?"

"Who says you can't buy friendship?" she leaned over as she stood up and gently flicked the end of his nose.

Author: OK, I admit, this chapter was mostly to show that Micky and Theresa are still best friends and still a big part of each other's lives

Micky: I should hope I'm a big part of her life, we've been best friends since we were very little.

Theresa: As if I could ever imagine life without you, Mick (hugs)

Frankie: Aww, that's sweet. (takes a photo)

(for anyone interested, the song they were dancing to earlier is 'who is she?' by I,Monster. Go look it up on youtube. It's one of those songs that seem to grow on you)