Pirouette

by Robyn Bavati

  The photos spanned several years. There were older ones, taken when Simone was five, six, seven years old—a cute Simone in tap shoes, a mini-skirt, and missing teeth—and later ones, when she was perhaps nine, ten, eleven years old. In many of them, Simone held a trophy of some sort, or wore a medal around her neck. In the photos taken in recent years, Simone held nothing but the occasional bouquet of flowers. The trophies must have stopped when she’d started training at the VSD, where students weren’t allowed to compete.

  Hannah circled the room again, taking a closer look at each photo in turn. The more she looked, the more it seemed that something was wrong with the overall picture. At first she couldn’t work out what it was. But the realization gradually grew on her … there wasn’t a single photo of the real Simone. No snapshots of birthday parties, Christmas parties, family gatherings. No photos of her at the zoo, in the country, on a mountain, at the beach. The entire room was like a shrine to dance—with no sign of Simone having a life apart from dancing. Talk about having ballet shoved down your throat!

  Hannah was beginning to understand a little of what Simone’s life must have been like. Suddenly, she was overcome by an overwhelming sadness for her twin.

  She made her way to Harriet’s bedroom and paused. Then, with a stab of guilt, she opened the door, hoping to find photos of Simone astride a horse, on a bike, stuffing chocolate cake into her mouth, or yelling as she rode the Ferris wheel at Luna Park.

  Harriet’s room was as neat and tidy as the rest of the house, with a double bed in the center, a couple of Renoir prints on the walls, and two photos on the dressing table. One was of Simone as a baby. The other was of a much younger Harriet with a good-looking man. They had their arms around each other and even though they were looking into the camera and not at each other, you could tell they were happy. This must be the fiancé who had died.

  Hannah opened Harriet’s wardrobe, revealing clothes folded so professionally they could have appeared in an ad for Home Beautiful. The closet next to it contained nothing but costumes—possibly every costume Simone had ever worn—that hung in order from biggest to smallest. Next to them was a set of drawers … which might contain the kinds of photos she was looking for.

  Hannah hesitated. It was bad enough entering Harriet’s room. Did she really have the right to rifle through her personal belongings?

  The phone rang and Hannah jumped. She closed the closet doors and ran to the kitchen to answer the call.

  “Simone, I’m glad I caught you,” Harriet said. “I forgot to tell you the washing machine was fixed last week, so you can do your laundry.”

  Hannah stared at the phone, too stunned to speak.

  “Simone, can you hear me? Are you there?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Sorry, got to go. Just thought I should let you know so you won’t have to lug your stuff to the Laundromat. You’d better get the washing done today, what with school starting tomorrow. See you tonight, then.”

  The line went dead, and Hannah was still staring at the mouthpiece. Had she misheard? Or did Harriet actually expect her to do her own laundry? Hannah had never used a washing machine before. Her mum had always done laundry for her.

  A scene from the movie Just My Luck popped into her head: Lindsay Lohan trying to work the washing machine, flooding the room with soap and bubbles, losing her footing on the slippery floor and practically drowning …

  Hannah buried her face in her hands, wishing she hadn’t answered the phone, but it was too late now. She took a deep breath and tried to stem her rising panic. She’d call Simone and ask for instructions. How hard could it be?

  twenty-four

  Even after speaking to Hannah on the phone, Simone had lain in bed in a mild state of anxiety, and it was hours before she’d fallen asleep. She woke to the sound of voices calling—or was it a radio blaring? It was a little after nine o’clock.

  She opened the curtains. Below her was a garden, and next to it a patio with a white fiberglass table and six matching chairs. The sky was very blue and clear. Simone opened a window and a warm breeze wafted in.

  It was Monday, she remembered, the only day she had to familiarize herself with her new surroundings before the school year began. She dressed quickly before heading downstairs.

  Vanessa was in the kitchen making pancakes, and Adam was sitting at the table, tucking in. His face lit up when he saw her. “Hey, sis!” he said with a grin.

  “Hey, Adam!”

  Kimmy bounded over to Simone with a joyful bark, springing up to lick her cheek.

  “That dog spent a whole week moping after you left,” Vanessa said. “I can’t say I blame him. All of us missed you.”

  Simone glanced shyly at Hannah’s mum. “I missed you, too.”

  “How many pancakes, sweetie?” asked Vanessa. “One or two?”

  “Just one to start with,” said Simone.

  Vanessa slid one large pancake onto a dinner plate and set it down in front of Simone, then brought her own plate over and sat down to join her.

  “So,” said Vanessa, “tell me all about Candance. I know you’re dying to.”

  “Uh … ”

  “What were the other dancers like? Meet anyone interesting?”

  Simone doused the pancake with maple syrup. “Yeah. The other dancers were really friendly.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders, and suddenly Vanessa was staring at her ears.

  “What?” said Simone, beginning to panic.

  “You got your ears pierced,” said Vanessa. “We agreed that you wouldn’t. Not until you turned eighteen.”

  Simone put a forkful of pancake into her mouth and chewed slowly, stalling for time. She wasn’t sure how she’d explain the pierced ears, even though Hannah had warned her that Manfred and Vanessa would disapprove.

  “You agreed,” she said at last, in what she hoped was Hannah’s carefree tone. “I never promised.”

  “But—”

  “You were worried my ears would get infected, right? But look, I’m fine.”

  “Your father thinks it’s mutilation … ” Vanessa began, but the telephone rang and she went to answer it.

  “Good one, Hannah,” Adam said, giving her a thumbs-up with a devilish smile.

  Simone stuck her tongue out at him as she’d seen Hannah do in one of her photos. Then they were making faces at each other, and laughing, and it occurred to Simone that having a younger brother might be fun.

  When she’d finished eating, she put her plate in the sink, and while Adam tucked into another pancake, Simone went to explore.

  The house seemed different in the light of day. Large windows looked out onto the same well-tended and luscious garden she’d seen from her room. And inside, the furnishings were cozy and inviting, the colors around her rich and warm. There was a spacious lounge-dining room off the kitchen-family room, and beyond that a large study in which stood two desks—one each for Manfred and Vanessa?—as well as a TV and stereo system. But what drew her the most were the three walls lined, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves, all of which were full of books stacked tightly together.

  Simone had never seen so many books in a private home. She stood for a moment, admiring them, before heading upstairs, where she poked her head into each of the bedrooms—Manfred and Vanessa’s, Adam’s, and one she supposed was a guest room. Another door off the upstairs hallway led to a bathroom, where Adam had left dirty clothes and a sopping towel on the tiled floor.

  Resisting the distinctly un-Hannahlike impulse to tidy up, and grateful that she didn’t have to share a bathroom with him, Simone returned to Hannah’s room and grabbed Hannah’s bag before heading downstairs.

  “If she asks,” she said to Adam, not quite able to call Vanessa “Mum,” “tell her I’ve gone for a walk.”

  “Okay,” said Adam.

  As the front door closed beh
ind her, Simone felt herself relax. It was a relief to be outside and on her own.

  She found herself in a curving, tree-lined street where large old trees rose majestically from generous boulevard strips and dipped their heads to form a canopy over the road. The houses—built in a mix of styles, some old, some new—were huge compared to those she was used to, and now and again she passed a grand and sweeping mansion. In between the larger streets ran short, narrow ones, devoid of boulevard strips. Here were rows of shoe-box homes, as small as those in North Fitzroy and not unlike them.

  Simone was still exploring the neighborhood when Hannah phoned.

  “Sim, you’ve got to help me.”

  After Simone had calmed her down and talked her through the process of doing the laundry, she apologized for about the twentieth time. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it,” she told Hannah,

  “but how should I know you’d never done a load of laundry? By the way,” she added, “your mum noticed my pierced ears. She wasn’t pleased.”

  “I warned you,” said Hannah.

  “Do you think she’ll still be mad when I get home?”

  “I doubt it,” said Hannah. “My parents are good like that. They might get mad for a minute, but they let things go.”

  twenty-five

  It’s make my own or starve, thought Hannah, as Harriet left for work without first preparing the kind of packed lunch that she was used to. Luckily, Hannah was up early and had plenty of time. What’s more, Harriet had been to the market the day before and returned with a small but excellent choice of fruit and vegetables.

  Hannah made herself a cheese and lettuce sandwich and packed it in a thermal bag along with some freshly cut carrot sticks, a nectarine, and a bunch of grapes. Then she let herself out of the silent house. Following Simone’s directions, she turned left, crossed Edinburgh Gardens, and boarded the number 86 tram. Her heart was racing, and she barely registered the unfamiliar streetscape sliding by.

  The VSD was a ten-minute walk from Flinders Street Station, and, compared to Carmel College, it was tiny. The school was comprised of three or four buildings, with covered walkways in between and a single courtyard. Hannah had arrived with twenty minutes to spare, in which she intended to familiarize herself with her new surroundings.

  “Good morning, Simone!”

  Hannah spun around. Two people were walking toward her. One was a pleasant-looking man with a neat moustache

  —no doubt Mr. Collins, the school principal; the other was a redhaired girl about her own age who seemed excited but apprehensive, much like Hannah herself.

  “How are you today?” the principal asked.

  “Fine, thank you, Mr. Collins,” Hannah said.

  “I’m glad I caught you. This is Julie. She’s new this year, and she’s in your class. She couldn’t make it to orientation day, so please show her around.” He turned to the new girl. “Simone’s been with us since Year Seven. You couldn’t be in better hands.” Mr. Collins glanced back to Hannah. “Be sure to give her the complete tour!”

  Hannah’s mouth dropped open as he spoke. She closed it again quickly.

  “I’ll see you both at assembly at nine o’clock,” he concluded.

  When Hannah didn’t move, Mr. Collins added, “Go on, then. What are you waiting for?”

  Hannah smiled at Julie, and with as much confidence as she could muster, led her toward the nearest building. She wished she’d paid more attention to the detailed maps Simone had drawn.

  Oh well. She’d just have to figure it out as she went along.

  “And this is the, uh … ” Hannah pushed the door open a crack and peeped inside. There were large worktables in the center of this room, easels at the back, and paints and palettes on the shelves. “This is the art room.” She flung the door open, allowing Julie to see inside. Then she led her along the corridor and up a flight of stairs.

  To her right, a window revealed a room full of books. In case she’d had any doubts, the sign Library dispelled them.

  “This is the library,” Hannah declared, “and over there are the toilets.” She pointed toward the restroom icons across the hall.

  After passing one classroom after another and going back downstairs, they emerged once more into the open air and crossed the courtyard.

  Here were the dance studios, each one fitted out with built-in barres and floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the front and back walls.

  “Here are the studios,” Hannah said.

  Julie’s face lit up as she peered through the windows. “They’re fabulous, aren’t they?”

  The bell rang for the morning assembly. Sweeping Julie along in her wake, Hannah followed the other students.

  They soon entered a building that turned out to be the theater, where assembly was held. The students sat in rows, laughing and chatting among themselves. Hannah could almost see herself dancing on the empty stage, could almost hear the applause. She could hardly wait for her first performance.

  Then Mr. Collins marched onto the stage. He coughed softly into the microphone and the laughter and chatter died down into a respectful silence.

  “Welcome back to the VSD,” Mr. Collins began, “and a special welcome to our new students. Would you please stand up when I call your name.”

  Hannah cringed on behalf of the new students as they stood up, self-conscious and awkward, to polite applause.

  When they were seated again, Mr. Collins continued. “I trust you are all refreshed, well-rested, and ready to work hard in the coming year. May I remind you that every year, hundreds of students audition for our school, and hundreds of students are turned away. You are the lucky few who have been selected. Don’t take that opportunity for granted.”

  Hannah gulped as she listened, aware that she was the only dancer who hadn’t auditioned, the only one there under false pretences. She’d have to work twice as hard as everyone else to prove she belonged.

  “All students are to check their dance schedules on the notice board,” Mr. Collins was saying. “As you know, there will be no dance classes today. This morning you will have introductory academic classes, and then school is over for the day. Dance classes will begin tomorrow.”

  And suddenly, assembly was over, and Hannah found herself herded toward the exit. A minute later, she and Julie were out in the sunshine. Julie was soon lost inside a cluster of dancers, while Hannah’s shoulders were squeezed, her back slapped, and her cheeks kissed by people she was supposed to know.

  A short way away, a girl was waving. “Hey, Simone!”

  Hannah waved back as she tried to figure out who this might be. Simone had said that she mostly hung out with her best friend Jess and a guy named Mitch. Jess, she knew, was half-Japanese, with straight black hair. Was this her, then? It could be, though in Simone’s photos Jess had shoulder-length hair, and this girl’s hair only reached just below her chin.

  “Hi! Great to see you,” said Hannah. “How were the holidays?”

  “Not bad,” said the girl, now close enough to give Hannah a hug. “Dragged a bit toward the end.” She paused, then added: “So, what do you think of my haircut?” Definitely Jess, then.

  “I love it,” said Hannah, thinking that the photos she’d seen of Jess didn’t do her justice. In real life, the petite and graceful girl had such delicate, exotic features.

  Jess smiled. “How was Candance?”

  “Great,” said Hannah.

  Jess looked doubtful. “That’s an amazingly positive reaction for someone who didn’t want to go.”

  Hannah winced inwardly. “I said that, didn’t I?”

  “Only every day for about three months. And in case you’re suffering from some weird form of amnesia, you also said you didn’t want to be a professional dancer.”

  “Hmm! Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Why?” asked Jess, narrowing her lovely, almo
nd-shaped eyes. “What happened at Candance?”

  Hannah shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” said Jess. “Better not be late for class on the very first day.”

  twenty-six

  As Simone put on Hannah’s Carmel College uniform—a navy-and-white-checked knee-length dress, white ankle socks, and black leather school shoes—she felt like she was playing dress-up. She hadn’t worn a uniform since primary school, though in some ways she preferred it—no time wasted wondering what to wear. And if she didn’t feel entirely comfortable at Hannah’s school, at least she’d look like she belonged.

  She was winding a navy ribbon through her hair when Manfred knocked on the bedroom door. “Good morning, Hannah.”

  “Morning, Dad,” she called in return.

  A moment later, Vanessa shouted up the stairs that breakfast was ready, her voice not quite drowned out by the music coming from Adam’s room. Adam was singing along at the top of his voice and out of tune.

  Simone smiled. She didn’t mind the noise. It was friendly and warm.

  After breakfast with the family—apple and sultana muffins

  hot from the oven—she and Adam packed the generous lunches Vanessa had made and headed off, Kimmy whining when they left him behind.

  Adam gave her one of his earbuds and together they listened to his choice of music as they walked to the bus stop on Dandenong Road. When the bus arrived, Simone followed Adam to the back, and after a twenty-minute ride through morning traffic, they reached Hannah’s large and somewhat daunting school.

  As she got off the bus, Simone looked around. To her right were vast ovals, and beyond the ovals, in the distance, were tennis courts. To her left, great expanses of dark gray asphalt stretched out to meet a sloping lawn, and beyond that was a children’s playground. In front of her, spreading wide in both directions, were several buildings—single, double, and multistory.