THE SECRETS WE KEEP.

- DRUNK DIANNE (PART 1).

JOES POV:
Rays of sunlight broke through the cloud-covered skies, setting the tone for this overcast Monday morning. The newly chilled Autumn breeze blew throughout London, scattering leaves across the roads and streets. Despite its overcast appearance, today was bringing some excitement into people's lives. This was the start of my fifth week on the Strictly Come Dancing journey, a point I never believed I could reach. At parties I could barely even tap my foot in time with the beat and now, I was dancing Jives and American Smooths in front of the nation. From the start, I had always questioned whether I deserved my place in this competition. Despite constant reassurance from friends and family, my mind couldn't help but stray back to the fact that I wasn't a household name. Sure maybe their children had watched one or two of my videos but these people didn't know me. As much as Strictly is based on your dancing ability it is as much as a popularity contest as well. It is a known fact that being well-known in a show like this will help in your favour, whether you're a fantastic dancer or not. Because of the shows older audience and their unfamilarness with modern technology, YouTube is a different universe to them. Even my grandparents can't understand how my sister and I have made careers out of talking to a camera. I mean, when you're surrounded by a group of well-known celebrities, all full of talent, you knew you stood no chance against any of them. But, proving me wrong, Dianne and I had remained in the competition. Every week, I hoped that all my emotions of wanting to be here for just a little longer were showing through to everybody at home.

The only form of contact I'd had with Dianne since Saturday was a string of early morning text messages full of typos and resending. I guess this was signal one that something just wasn't quite right with her. Since the beginning, Sunday's were the one relax day for everybody. There was no training, no live shows. It felt as though the hustle stopped for just one day, and the world around us fell silent and peaceful. It was also the one day I didn't get to see or speak to Dianne in person. But despite our absences, we continued to flood each other's phones with fan posts and memes we'd come across through the course of the day. Following those blank messages only informing me of our dance and song, was her silence. Her social media went dead for a day; no posts, no stories, no tweets. It seemed that she just dropped off the face of the earth for one day to return back to normal the next. From experience I knew that busy schedules can get in the way of our everyday lives but I just hoped that she could let me know that she was doing okay. I was just one text away.

This week, we had been assigned a waltz to the song 'Rainbow Connection'. The waltz was one of the only names I knew coming into this, just from the constant talking my nan used to do about it. Racking my brain together, from my knowledge I could only guess the waltz was exactly how I imagined. Girls in fitted ballgowns, with a flowing bottom that swayed when they took their first few steps, guys in their tailored waistcoats and schoolboy shirts, waiting for the girls to come towards them, right before they took to the floor. This was a romantic styled dance, usually performed to a slow love song or an instrumental strumming of guitar. Their arms would be held high in a hold, the girl being slightly turned to the audience where her dress would flow in the breeze. Their feet glided elegantly across the floor, a gradual rise as they moved from the ball of their foot to their heel. I was mesmerised by the sight on my screen - a small floor filled with dance partners spinning around but not hitting another once. "God I can't wait to do this with her.." I mumbled quietly, which quickly alerted my drivers better-than- average hearing. He sent me a confused glare in the mirror, to which my face burned as red as the changing traffic light.

Luckily for me, the driver came to a hault outside the training building, where multiple cars just like this one had stopped to let passengers out. Noticing the uncomfortable silence I grabbed everything I needed and thanked him, to only be met by a mumbled 'mhm' before he swiftly drove away for his next pick-up. I guess you can understand how he feels - having to drive from one end of London to the next on an early Monday morning, a day proven to put people in a bad mood just by mentioning it. I continued to reason with myself over his quick departure as I walked down the long hallway to the last room, where Dianne and I's names were written on a piece of paper stuck to the door. I took in a deep breath to shake off all the nervous feelings, something that you couldn't prevent doing this. The professionals on the videos made it look so simple, but I knew that not everything in dance was as easy as 1, 2, 3. These things took time and precision, which was hard to perfect having only five days. After a few minutes of deep inhales and loud exhales, I finally entered into the rehearsal studio. Usually when I walk in, I can expect to see my redheaded dance partner stretching out out on the floor to a familiar song from the radio. She always greeted me with a smile and a tight hug to say hello. But this room, it felt lifeless. The teared curtains formed a barrier for the sunlight to come in, resulting in the pitch blackness. The usual upbeat tunes had died out to create an eerie, dead silence. My previous efforts to shake off my nerves had proven pointless, as my stomach turned at the questions and what-ifs my mind was torturing me with. This seemed to be signal two that things were not right.  Not once had Dianne been late for rehearsals. No matter what she was always there first, either setting up the music or starting on our choreography. Considering her radio silence over Sunday, I couldn't help but feel worried over this, even though I did think I was having a slight overreaction.