One Perfect Pirouette

by Sherryl Clark

  ‘The music is all orchestra – doesn’t anyone ever sing?’

  ‘No. There are some really good bits, though.’ Just then, the music changed to the next part and I leapt up. ‘This is the “Dance of the Little Swans”. It’s really famous.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Watch.’ I got into position and started dancing along to the familiar music. I kept my feet moving and my hands crossed as if I were dancing in a quartet. ‘This is four cygnets dancing together, with their hands joined, but there’s only one of me.’ After a couple of minutes, my feet couldn’t keep up and I stopped.

  ‘That is a seriously weird dance,’ said Ricky.

  I folded my arms. ‘You really should come to dance class with me, you know.’

  ‘Nah, don’t be silly. I’m just having a bit of fun, that’s all.’ He pointed at his watch. ‘Time’s up. I’ve got to go and shoot some hoops, get my eye in for tomorrow night.’

  ‘You’re really excited about the team, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, but don’t tell anyone.’ He pulled at his ear. ‘And I’ll still come and help you with the tables, don’t worry.’

  ‘What about the dancing?’ I tried to keep my face blank, like I didn’t care either way, but I could feel my mouth drooping.

  ‘That, too. This bell-ay stuff is helping me get fit to play.’

  He waved his arms around, to pretend he was kidding, but I knew he was at least a little bit hooked on dancing! Maybe one day I could convince him to take a class or two.

  When I arrived home after practice at the youth hall, Mum was on the phone, pacing up and down the hallway, waving her free arm around. ‘Yes, not a problem. We’ll see. Could be two or three, could be swamped. Okay, thanks. Thanks a million. Bye.’

  She pressed the Off button and shouted, ‘Woohoooo!’ Then she grabbed my shoulder and laughed. ‘I’m doing it, Brynnie. Coaching the team. How good’s that?’ She sobered up. ‘Of course, I need a team to coach. I mightn’t get enough turning up. But I’m sure we could advertise.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have one very keen player, that’s for sure,’ I said. ‘Ricky’s busting to play. He’ll be the whole team if you want.’

  ‘This is your friend who’s at the youth hall?’

  ‘Yep. He’s a great player.’

  ‘Really?’ Mum peered at me. ‘Or are you just saying that because he’s your friend?’

  ‘No way. You’ll see.’

  ‘Excellent. One down; eight or nine to go.’ She strode into the kitchen, left the phone on the table and checked the pots on the stove, then paced into the lounge and back again. ‘I’ll need to keep up my exercises, maybe see the physio about some harder ones. I want to make sure my leg’s a hundred per cent.’

  I hated to break into her excitement, but it was important. ‘Mum, can I – can we –’ I swallowed hard. ‘Mum, I need new ballet shoes. I’m sorry it’ll cost more money, but with the extra classes, and the audition getting close –’

  She stopped pacing immediately. ‘It’s all right; it wasn’t your fault. I’ve already squeezed the budget and your dad got some overtime tonight.’ She kissed the top of my head. ‘You can go tomorrow on your own, can’t you? To buy them?’

  Now I was happy enough to dance a jig, maybe even try some of Ricky’s rap. No, on second thoughts, I’d prefer the cygnets’ dance! ‘Absolutely,’ I said.

  The rest of the school holidays went in a whirl of practice with Ricky, classes, running with Mum and Orrin, and watching Mum become as mad about basketball as I was about ballet.

  I tried hard not to think about the NBS audition too much, because whenever I did, my heart sped up and my hands got sweaty and I’d find I was gritting my teeth. One practice session at a time, I kept telling myself. Make this one count, make it your best ever. But then I’d lie in bed at night and the steps and positions would flick through my mind like a crazy movie until I wanted to bang my head against the wall.

  Every night at the dinner table, Mum either babbled on and on about ‘her team’ or sat staring into space. She said she was running through plays in her head. Dad and Orrin and I learnt to ignore her, but we’d all promised to go to the first game, the day after my audition. All she said to me about Ricky was, ‘Talented, but undisciplined.’ I wasn’t sure whether she meant he had real potential or not.

  Ricky still came to the youth hall and helped me with the tables, but then he started saying, ‘I have to train, sorry. Need to work on my ball skills, or Coach will put me on the bench.’ And he’d climb back out of the window and race off to the basketball court. Once I nearly said to him, ‘You know, your coach is my mum.’ But somehow the words never made it out of my mouth. Mum would treat him exactly like the other players, because she didn’t believe in favourites and Ricky didn’t really need to know.

  But I missed dancing with him. On the days when he left me to practise alone, it seemed so much harder to stick to my routine, let alone feel inspired and flowing when I danced. With one week to go before the big day, my legs and arms were heavy logs, my posture stiff, and even Swan Lake couldn’t lift my spirits.

  The audition was going to be a huge disaster, I just knew it. I decided I had to tell Mum that I’d pull out and not waste everyone’s time, but she was buzzing around, drawing plays on an old whiteboard in the lounge, humming to herself. I didn’t want to bother her. And no one else would have understood. I sure couldn’t talk to Ms Ellergren about it – she’d think I was a total failure!

  At each class, Stephanie and Danielle acted like I had the plague and smirked whenever Ms Ellergren reprimanded me. Even David, Antoinette and Kate hardly talked to me, although I thought that was because they were feeling like me – overwhelmed and depressed. I was the only one who had a Friday audition; everyone else’s was on Thursday, and nobody mentioned them, as if it might cause a jinx.

  It was a relief when school started again. Lucy had been away during the holidays and missed Saturday classes and when she saw me, she said, ‘Hey, why the long face? Did you miss me?’

  I nearly burst into tears and bit the inside of my mouth so hard I could taste blood. I bent down quickly and pretended to be looking for something in my bag until I felt able to talk without my voice wobbling. ‘Where did you go for your holiday?’ I asked.

  ‘The Gold Coast. The theme parks were awesome,’ she said, bouncing up and down. ‘You should see my photos of the tigers and me and Mum on the roller-coaster. I screamed so much, I nearly died.’

  I forced a big smile. ‘Sounds fantastic. I can’t imagine my mum on a roller-coaster.’

  ‘Mum said she wanted to cheer me up.’ She shrugged. ‘To be honest, I’d rather have been in class with you.’

  ‘Not with Stephanie and Danielle, though,’ I said. ‘They’ve been hideous.’

  ‘Hassling you? Or worse?’

  I told her about my shoes. ‘What?’ Her mouth dropped open. ‘Did you tell Ms Ellergren?’

  ‘No, Mum yelled at Stephanie’s mother and Stephanie hasn’t done anything else. Except give me the usual nasty comments and looks.’

  Jade loomed up behind Lucy. ‘Hey, girlfriend, where’s your tan?’

  ‘Girlfriend’? What TV show was she watching now? Within a couple of minutes, Jade was trying to drag Lucy away, leaving me on my own, but for once Lucy resisted. We walked into class together and I began to feel a bit more cheerful. I mightn’t be able to explain to Lucy about how depressed I was about the audition, but at least I could tell her about Stephanie and have a laugh.

  For the first time, when I got to the youth hall at four, Ricky wasn’t at the window. I waited for more than ten minutes and then I had to ask one of the boys watching TV to help me with the tables. Why now? I fumed, tying my ribbons and pulling my sweatshirt off with jerky hands. Why would he let me down this week? I went through the barre and centre exercises like a robot, and then realised that with Ricky not there, I had no music. Give up, a little voice nagged me. Give up, what’s the use?

/>   ‘No, I won’t give up,’ I said aloud. ‘I won’t be a quitter, even if everyone else is!’

  I went to the side of the room and stood for a few moments, eyes closed, breathing, trying to quell the churning and twisting inside of me. I visualised rough waves at the beach, a sunny day, the waves calming down, smoothing out, while I breathed and tried to relax the tensed-up muscles in my shoulders and neck. I could do it. I could be a swan, gliding across the water.

  When my body finally felt almost normal again, instead of made of fractured rocks, I opened my eyes. Pirouettes. There was a silver cord, lifting me up, a shining line from head to toe. Away I went – one, two, three, four, five. And again. Five more and back again. Not one wobble, one falter, one misstep. Quiet happiness bloomed inside me and I smiled the whole time I was changing shoes and getting help with the tables – I even smiled the whole way home, knowing I’d sleep that night with perfect pirouettes in my dreams.

  chapter 22

  Our house was in darkness; there were no cars in the driveway. When I let myself in, the doorhandle seemed icy, the air inside thick and stale. I turned the kitchen light on and made myself some hot chocolate, then peeled potatoes for dinner. Still there was no one home. Maybe Orrin was out running, but where was Mum? Or Dad?

  The phone rang, jarring the silence, and I dropped the knife into the sink in fright.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Brynna, you’re home. Thank goodness.’

  ‘Mum? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at –’ She took a deep breath and the sound of it chilled me down to my bones. ‘I’m at the hospital. Your dad’s had an accident at work.’

  ‘What?’ I was sure I’d heard her wrong. ‘What do you mean, “accident”? What happened?’

  ‘Never mind that now,’ she said. ‘Orrin will be home shortly and he’ll bring you back.’

  ‘Orrin can’t drive.’ I seemed to be saying stupid things, but I couldn’t help it. What did she mean by ‘accident’? ‘Is Dad all right?’

  ‘They won’t tell me anything yet. He’s still in the operating theatre.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Look, I haven’t got time to discuss it. Just wait for Orrin, all right?’ Her voice was high-pitched, like she was hanging on by her fingernails.

  She hung up in my ear and I put the phone down gently. My whole body felt like it was made of cotton wool and I had to sit down. My head spun – what had happened? Was Dad going to die? Why wouldn’t she tell me?

  I hadn’t even known I was crying, but now I couldn’t stop. I grabbed a handful of tissues and jammed them into my eyes, held my breath and tried to stop being such a wuss. Mum wouldn’t want me to bawl like a little kid and I didn’t want Orrin to see me in a mess either. The tears gradually stopped and I washed my face in cold water.

  A car horn tooted outside and, a few seconds later, Orrin burst in the back door. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘the taxi’s waiting.’

  ‘Taxi’? I’d been in a taxi maybe once in my whole life. I scrambled out the door behind him and got into the back seat.

  ‘Back to Western General, mate, thanks,’ Orrin said, and the taxi roared off down the street.

  ‘What’s happened to Dad?’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t Mum tell you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He got hit by a forklift. Actually, he got hit by the load of pipes on the forklift.’ He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘The guy wasn’t watching where he was going – he had the load on wrong. It fell off and Dad and another guy got crushed.’

  ‘That’s terrible! Is he going to be okay?’

  ‘Um –’ His mouth trembled and a stab of fear went through my stomach. I held on so tight to the door handle, I nearly pulled it off the door. ‘The other guy’s dead. Dad’s being operated on. They said he’s critical and they can’t tell us anything yet.’

  I couldn’t speak. How could this have happened to my dad?

  The hospital was quiet inside, with nurses bustling along on soft-soled shoes and murmuring to each other. We went up in a huge lift, Orrin leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped around himself. When the doors slid open, he pointed to the left and I followed him down a corridor with a shiny floor. Was Dad back in a room already? No. Around the next corner there was a waiting area with dingy lounge chairs and a couple of low tables piled with tattered magazines. Mum sat in the far corner, staring out of the darkened window at lights in the distance.

  As we got nearer, she looked around and saw me, and held out her arms. I rushed to sit next to her and she hugged me tightly. ‘Brynnie, you’re here.’

  ‘What’s happening? Have they operated on Dad yet?’

  ‘He’s still in there. We have to wait – and it could be long while.’ She smiled at Orrin. ‘Thanks, love.’

  Orrin nodded and slouched in the next chair with his hands in his pockets.

  My tummy rumbled loudly and Mum reached for her bag. ‘You’re right. It’s dinner time and no one’s eaten.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ Orrin said.

  ‘Me neither.’ My stomach said it was hungry, but it also said it was so churned up that eating might not be a good idea.

  ‘You both need to eat and I do too. If I drink any more coffee, my eyes will pop out.’ She gave Orrin a twenty-dollar note. ‘Take Brynna down to the cafe and find us all some food that isn’t too terrible, will you?’

  He took the money and I followed him again, feeling like a sheep. We found the cafe on a lower floor and stood in front of the packets of dry-looking sandwiches and cakes. ‘It’s this, or those pies and sausage rolls,’ he said.

  The pies looked like they’d been in the heater for days. ‘Isn’t there anything else?’

  ‘I guess it’s sandwiches then.’ We picked the ones that looked edible, bought cold drinks as well and carried them back upstairs. Mum said maybe we shouldn’t be eating in the waiting area, but no one else was around to tell us off, so we went ahead. My cheese and ham sandwich was like cardboard, but nothing would have tasted any different. And at least the orange juice was cold.

  The hours dragged on. We all took turns pacing. We stopped to read the noticeboards and stare out the windows, then sat down again. There was nothing to talk about that made any sense, not while we were sitting there waiting to find out whether Dad was going to live or die. Every time I thought about it, my eyes burned and I had to blink hard, over and over, to stop the tears.

  By eleven o’clock, both Orrin and I were lying across the lounge chairs, dozing. I’d keep hearing footsteps and jerk up to see who it was, but it was usually a nurse in the corridor. A couple of times a nurse in a different uniform came and told us there was no news yet, and each time Mum said thanks and we all went back to waiting.

  Just before midnight, we heard doors opening and closing and footsteps in the corridor. We all sat up as a man in pale blue scrubs, his face tired and lined, came into the waiting area.

  ‘Mrs Davies?’

  ‘Yes?’ Mum jumped up, but then she froze, like she couldn’t get her feet to move any closer to him. I couldn’t move either – I could hardly breathe. Had this doctor come to tell us Dad was dead?

  The doctor rubbed his face with both hands as he faced Mum. ‘Your husband’s out of theatre and so far he’s holding his own. We’ll have to keep a very close eye on him now. His head injury was the most serious and immediate thing to deal with. They’ll be taking him up to intensive care in a little while.’

  ‘Right. Thanks,’ Mum whispered.

  ‘Have you got any questions?’

  I knew the question we all wanted to ask – was Dad going to die? But no one was game to say it. Mum shook her head. ‘No. Not at the moment.’

  ‘Right, then.’ He looked at us, then back to Mum again. ‘If you go up to the intensive care ward in about twenty minutes, they’ll let you see him for a few minutes.’

  He left and Mum sank down into her seat again and burst into tears, scrabbling in her bag for tissues. Orrin and
I gaped at her – Mum never cried. But something this bad had never happened to us before.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, taking a shuddering breath, ‘I’ll calm down in a minute. It’s just all been a bit much.’

  ‘You go for it, Mum,’ Orrin said. ‘I might even join you.’

  ‘Are they going to let us in to see Dad?’ I said. ‘Or just you?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll ask when we go up.’

  We sat close together, watching the clock tick over the minutes. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen – the seconds were dragging and Orrin jumped up and paced round the room, his arms folded, shoulders hunched. It was as if he had so much energy pent up inside that he couldn’t stay still. Then he dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups. Mum and I couldn’t believe it, but we said nothing. I wanted to join him, but instead I sat, jiggling my legs and watching the clock again.

  ‘Twenty minutes is up,’ Orrin said.

  It was only seventeen, but we leapt up and rushed towards the lift together. He jabbed at the button for the fifth floor and we stood there in silence. When the lift doors opened, it felt like slow motion as we stepped out and walked over to the nurses’ station. Mum asked about Dad and a nurse pointed to a room two doors down. ‘Only for two minutes,’ she said.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would Dad be all covered in bandages? Would he look like Dad? Maybe he’d be hooked up to a dozen machines and look like a machine himself. But when we were finally allowed into his room, he was still unconscious. I was right about the machines and they beeped and flashed continuously, but I guessed that meant he was alive and doing everything he was supposed to – like breathe and have a heartbeat.

  Mum was almost too scared to touch him. She laid her hand over his – the one that didn’t have a tube going into it – and took a deep breath. Orrin and I stood near the end of the bed.

  The bandage around Dad’s head was the worst bit. It made him look like a mummy, as if he was already dead, and his face was pale and a bit whiskery. After what seemed like only about ten seconds, the nurse said we had to leave. ‘You could go home now, if you like,’ she said. ‘He’ll be unconscious for some time yet.’