Chapter 12

'I can't do it!'

'Now, that's a word I didn't expect you to say.'

'But I can't, John!'

Clara was gradually getting frustrated and very impatient with the untameable heels on her feet. She was messing up every move that would have been perfect without the damned shoes.

'I miss my ballet pumps so much.'

'It's not so different is it?'

Clara shot him a glare that made him reconsider his question.

'Ballet flats are at least comfortable, light and easy to dance with. These are just difficult and awkward.'

'Look, Clara, you need to try.'

'I am trying.' She muttered menacingly. Her mood wasn't improving in the slightest and she had almost fell at one point. It was John's iron grip that held her up. She sighed in exasperation, falling against his chest.

'This is impossible.'

'Nothing is. And you're supposed to be my Impossible Girl, right? If you forget they're there it will become easier. Focus on the moves you're doing.'

'I can't focus because of these dreaded heels, I've been trying for hours. And I know all the moves inside and out instinctively.'

John stared a moment at her eyes, one of those chilling looks that made Clara constantly wonder whether he was being sympathetic or just wanted to tear her brains out. He walked past her, letting go of her hand.

'Let me show you something. Walk in a straight line.'

'How will that help?'

'Just do it, Clara.'

She walked toward him with as much grace and alignment as she could.

'Good, easy. See, you can walk in a perfectly straight line with them. If you can do that, you can dance.'

'That doesn't prove anything,' she laughed.

'Put some effort in. Try.'

With another sigh she took hold of his hands and started dancing. It didn't make any difference, however. They were still incredibly hard to dance in.

'Professional dancing should not be this hard to accomplish with heels and yet it is.'

'You're not concentrating. Look at me, look up. You need to speed your movements up.'

'Hey, you're not the one wearing them! They're much harder than they look so you can shut up about concentrating. Unless you want to have a go you're going to have to be patient.'

He arched a eyebrow.

'Fine then. I'll dance in them, show you how it's done.'

Clara snorted disparagingly. 'I'd love to see you try.'

'Let me teach you how to dance properly in them.'

'Go on, then.'

'I'll just get a bigger size. You have tiny feet.'

She could hardly say anything, her chest full of irritation. His jokes about her size were forever wearing her down. But then again she made jokes at him, too. It was like they were playing a game.

'Right,' he returned, holding up a pair of red heels, 'uglier than yours, but better for me.'

As soon as they were on she burst out laughing. He was towering over her now, and looked so silly she started taking photos of him.

'Hey, hey, hey, those pictures better not end up online. You can't put pictures of me online!' He pointed his finger at her and furrowed his eyebrows angrily.

'Of course not, Dorothy. They're just for me to keep, so whenever you drive me crazy I can look at these and remind myself of how utterly stupid you look in those heels.'

'I wouldn't talk if I were you, you give fashion a bad name.'

'Me? Look at yourself, old man,' she laughed, 'anyway, you give love a bad name.'

'Seriously? Did you seriously just quote Bon Jovi at me?'

'You quoted first.' She raised her eyebrows winningly. She had finally mastered the art of winding him up.

'Tango position, Clara. At this rate we'll never get to the end of the rhumba.'

'Chill out, Disco.'

He smiled coolly at her, and then they were dancing, music influencing their movements.

'How are you doing this?' She asked, watching his smug face at his perfect moves.

He didn't say anything until the dance was over.

'How did you just dance so amazingly with heels on?'

He winked. 'Practice. Would you believe me if I said I'd once danced as a woman before as a joke?'

'Why the hell can you do it and I can't?' It was slowly making her angry, the fact he as a man, could walk, dance and probably run better in heels than she could.

'Right then, let's dance.' She pulled on her heels and never took her eyes off his as they whirled round the studio with precise accuracy, timing, emotion. It was like she was barefoot again, her movements just as starling and powerful as they had been.

As soon as they finished, Clara's heart beating wildly against her chest and her hand resting on the side of his face, she felt truly proud of her performance.

'There you go, see? Determination, competition and a wind up. That's all you needed.'

'I guess so.' she said, as he straightened her back up.

'You good to go on to the salsa? We've got to do every dance so you can perfect it in heels and tomorrow we'll be starting the mambo.'

'Sounds good. Let's go.'

'Seriously?'

'Seriously.'

'Then we're away.'

Dancing with him made it easier to like him more, that despite all the childish arguments and advice from Jack, he was still just so enigmatic and exciting. He captivated her in ways, body language, dancing connectively like they were physically tied. Moments like this were to be cherished. It was just him and her, just John Disco and Clara Oswald in the studio, in their own dimension. He gave so much fluidity and body to the dance, like it was another person between them. Clara could dream while she was dancing with him, dream away like they were on a cloud, oblivious to reality. She realised that every time he smiled at her it went straight through her, making her stomach tie itself into knots.

Clara peered out of the window, hands resting on his shoulders.

'We stayed late again.' She confirmed.

'Of course we did.'

'At least we fit everything in, right?'

'Can't believe you just said that, but yes, we certainly did.'

'I'm so tired. It's your fault.'

'It's always my fault.' He grinned, following her out.