Merv mutters into his Swanphone and a human-shaped tornado somersaults over my head and lands at Merv’s feet.
Lottie claps as the boy bows to Merv. ‘Greetings, Merv. I am Han Wu. It is an honour to be paired with you.’
Spencer grins at Merv’s shocked expression. ‘Like you said, Merv, the software’s never wrong.’
‘OK, Spencer,’ booms the Captain. ‘You’re last up – you know what to do . . .’
Seconds later, a flickering, dark figure appears in the aisle. The girl closest to it screams and people stand up to get a better look. The Captain rumbles, ‘Sit down, everyone. It’s only a bliddy hologram.’
The boy runs a hand through his bluebottle-black hair. He smiles a half smile at Spencer.
‘Spencer,’ says the Captain. ‘Meet Ivan Korolev.’
Spencer gives Merv a look of desperation. ‘But Ms Celia said he was the bad guy.’
‘This isn’t the Korolev we all know and love,’ says the Captain. ‘Your mentor is the young Ivan. Isn’t that right, Merv?’
Merv hrumphs.
‘How old are you, Ivan?’ asks the Captain.
‘Fifteen,’ says the virtual Ivan Korolev. ‘Hear that, Spencer? At fifteen, Ivan was a promising dancer and a budding young spy. But the important thing is, he was still on our side, weren’t you, son?’
‘Of course,’ says the boy. ‘I am on the side of harmony and peace.’
‘As are we all,’ says the Captain. ‘Spencer, you can ask your programmer friend why you’ve been paired with Ivan later. We’ve got to get a move on. I’m starving.’
‘Thank you, Captain,’ says Madame. ‘But before zey have lunch, ze children must collect zeir uniforms from Mademoiselle Topping.’
I trudge through the hall after Merv and Lottie and wonder what would happen if I just kept going. Willow Perkins catches my eye and elbows the boy next to her. He barges into me.
‘Oi, Debello.’ Lottie grabs his sleeve. ‘Mess wiv Milly and you mess wiv me, got it?’
The boy sticks up his hands. ‘Sorry, Li. I didn’t know she was with you.’
‘Well, you know now.’ When Lottie links her arm through mine, my insides glow like a Swanphone.
We join a long queue of students waiting for their uniforms. I keep walking through virtual people. It’s very discombobulating, as Bab would say.
Merv sidles away but Lottie nabs his collar. ‘How come you’ve got the second coolest mentor in school?’
Merv wriggles out of her grasp. ‘Like I said, the program assesses our strengths and weaknesses. For some reason, it must think I need Han Wu to help me with self-defence.’
‘Nah, really?’ Lottie digs me in the ribs.
‘If Han Wu is the second coolest mentor in school, who’s the first?’ I ask, rubbing my side.
Lottie’s cheeks dimple. ‘I’ll show you. Yo, Nora!’
A shimmering girl appears in front of us. Her tutu is scattered with lilacs and velvety leaves. Her hair is woven with petals. She’s the loveliest Lilac Fairy I’ve ever seen.
‘Everyone, this is Nora Doone.’
Nora Doone smiles. ‘Welcome back, Lottie. How can I help you?’
‘Can you dance for my friend, Milly?’
‘Of course.’ Nora pirouettes and the air seems to sigh.
Lottie doesn’t even look up from her Swanphone. ‘Fanks, Nora. You can go now.’
Nora Doone curtsies and a wisp of honey hair escapes her bun. I sigh too. ‘I could have watched her for ever.’
Lottie chews her lip. ‘Yeah, she’s a proper legend. Died in action the year I was born.’
I bump back to earth. Madame said the year ahead was going to be dark and dangerous. We’re not here to just dance.
Lottie scowls as a tall blond boy barges in front of us.
‘Hey, Merv,’ says Spencer, ‘what do you think you’re doing pairing me with Korolev?’
‘I didn’t pair you with anyone,’ says Merv. ‘The program did. Probably because you were both kicked out of school. I seem to remember you saying that Trouble was your middle name.’
‘I didn’t think of that,’ says Spencer. He slaps Merv on the back and Merv starts to splutter. ‘So, Merv, you don’t dance. You don’t fight. What exactly do you do?’
Merv looks shifty, or maybe he’s smiling, it’s hard to tell. ‘I’m in charge of IT and cybersecurity.’
Spencer folds his arms. ‘You’re twelve. How can you be in charge of cyber-anything?’
‘I’ve been working for MI5 since I was eight.’
‘Oh yeah. What did you do at MI5?’
‘Can’t talk about that, but at Swan House I oversee all the tech, plus the hidden cameras, microphones . . . can’t talk about the rest.’
‘There are hidden cameras?’ I say. ‘In the school?’
‘That ain’t nuffink new,’ says Lottie. ‘Swan House has always had secrets. The house was built by some spy—’
‘Lord Astus,’ says Merv.
‘That’s the one. Cos some old king—’
‘George the Third,’ says Merv.
‘That’s him. Gave him the land as a fank you for foilin’ an assassination attempt.’
Merv shuffles up the queue. ‘That’s why Swan House ended up being a school. In his will, Lord Astus decreed it had to remain in the service of British Intelligence. So, when it was eventually inherited by a dancer, she had the idea to combine ballet with espionage.’
Spencer yawns. ‘That’s all fascinating, but why’s Crazy Lady taking so long? I’m famished.’
‘It’s Perkins’s fault,’ says Lottie. ‘There’s somefink wrong wiv her new uniform.’
Willow is at the front of the queue, moaning at Topsy. ‘This is much too big,’ she snuffles. ‘I need a smaller one.’
‘I’m ever so sorry, Willow. But there aren’t any more. We’re waiting for the next delivery of extra-stretchy lycra.’
The snuffle turns into a sob. ‘I really don’t want to make trouble, Topsy, but if you can’t find me another leotard, I’ll just have to complain to Madame.’
Topsy grabs her arm. ‘No! I mean, please, Willow. I’ll try to find you one. Just please don’t say anything to Madame. I’m on probation, you see . . .’
Willow dabs her eyes. ‘Thank you so much. Have it sent to my dorm, would you?’ She and Bumble giggle as they head to the refectory.
‘Don’t know how she gets away wiv it,’ says Lottie. ‘She tried blackmailin’ me once. Soon stopped when I showed her why I’d been recruited.’
‘Why were you recruited?’ asks Spencer.
‘Cos of this.’ Lottie grabs Merv’s head in an armlock.
‘Gerroffme!’ yelps Merv.
‘Black belt in kung fu,’ pants Lottie. ‘More fun than flamin’ ballet, I can tell you.’
‘Do you think you’d better let go of him now?’ I say.
‘Oh, yeah, sorry, Merv. No harm done.’
Merv clutches his throat and starts to croak, ‘Han Wuuuu.’
‘Glad she’s on my side,’ says Spencer.
Lottie’s dimples vanish. ‘Who said I’m on your side?’
I almost jump out of my dungarees when Han Wu leaps right through her. ‘How can I serve you, Merv?’
‘Keep her away from me,’ wheezes Merv.
Han Wu bows. ‘As you wish. Would you like me to apply my Snake Hand or my Tiger Claw?’
Lottie is already jabbing her fists. ‘Come on then, Wu, let’s see what you got.’
Merv yelps. ‘I don’t want you to fight her.’
‘Spoilsport,’ says Lottie. ‘I’m itchin’ to practise my Tiger Claw.’
Han Wu frowns. ‘Itching? Does Little Li have a rash? I highly recommend Tiger Balm for most—’
Han Wu vanishes and Merv groans. ‘I think I’ve created a monster.’
Merv is still wheezing when we reach the front of the queue. ‘Ooo, I’ve been looking for you three!’ says Topsy. ‘You’ve got fittings at Meekes the Shoe-maker’s in half a
n hour. Not you, Merv – you’re special.’
My stomach twirls. Meekes used to be my favourite shop in the world.
‘But I’m still growing. I need food,’ says Spencer. ‘Can’t you change the appointment?’
‘Sorry, swanlets – no time. Ms Celia’s going to take you to Covent Garden.You’ll find her in the coach house.’
‘The coach house?’
‘It’s where the lords and ladies kept their carriages in the olden days. You know, when stables had horses snoozing in them, not children. Things have changed a bit since then.’ Topsy glances at her wrist. ‘She should be on her—’
‘Emmeline,’ says a no-nonsense voice behind us. ‘You have lipstick on your teeth.’
Ms Celia has scrubbed her face and changed into another pair of trousers. She’s wearing what Bab would describe as gentlemen’s shoes. ‘Chop chop, Emmeline. Our appointment is at one.’
‘Nearly almost done, Ms Celia.’
‘I imagine you’ve been to Meekes before, Milly?’
‘Oh yes,’ says Topsy, ‘Milly must have—’
‘Let the girl speak for herself, Emmeline.’
I pull back my shoulders. Ms Celia has the kind of gaze that makes you stand up straighter. ‘I used to go with my mum. She had all her shoes made at Meekes.’
I don’t mention that Willow always came too.
‘Naturally – Meekes employs the best shoemakers in the world. We wouldn’t buy our shoes from anywhere else. Emmeline, you have five minutes.’ We watch people make way as she strides down the corridor.
Topsy rubs her teeth with a stubby finger. ‘Isn’t she awesome? You’d better run. Lottie will show you where to go, won’t you, Lottie, please-thank-you.’
‘What about our kit?’ says Spencer.
‘Oh, yes. Silly me. Such a birdbrain.’ Topsy hands out our uniforms and ballet kit. Hoodies, T-shirts, tights and leotards – all embroidered with the school badge.
‘Honk. Honk. See you later, swanlets!’
Spencer and I follow Lottie past the staircase. ‘Quickest way’s fru the door to the lake,’ she says.
We follow her into a large, sunny courtyard. Lottie points at the long red-brick building ahead. Either side of an archway dripping with wisteria are two gleaming garage doors.
Ms Celia is busy loading the boot of her car. It’s the colour of strawberries and cream and makes me think of picnics and The Famous Five. Someone with blonde hair is already in the front seat.
‘Put your uniforms in the boot then jump in the back,’ says Ms Celia. ‘There’s plenty of room.’
‘Didn’t know she was comin’,’ says Lottie.
Ms Celia climbs in. ‘Willow has an order to collect from Meekes. What are you waiting for, Benedict?’
Spencer is hovering near the bonnet of Ms Celia’s old car. ‘Topsy mentioned horses. I think we’ll need them if we want to get to Covent Garden before Christmas.’
‘Finks he’s a right joker, don’t he?’ says Lottie.
‘Young man,’ replies Ms Celia, ‘I can assure you that Winifred goes all by herself. For your information, she’s a Morris Minor 1000 Traveller and a classic to boot. She’s never let me down, which is more than I can say for most people.’
‘Thought this was spy school,’ says Spencer. ‘Can’t see Winifred in a high-speed car chase, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘Rule Two of The Guide to Espionage,’ says Ms Celia. ‘Never judge a car by its bonnet.’
Spencer ducks in next to Lottie and snaps at Willow, ‘Hey, Perkins, move your seat forward.’
Willow turns to glare at him. ‘There’s no need to take it out on me.’
‘Take what out on you?’
‘Being paired with a traitor.’
‘I presume you’re talking about Ivan,’ says Ms Celia. ‘Benedict is lucky – the last child Ivan mentored did very well. Now, belt up, everyone!’
‘Yeah,’ says Lottie. ‘Belt up, Perkins.’
When Topsy said Ms Celia taught ‘other things’, turns out driving is one of them – cars, motorbikes, helicopters, aeroplanes. By the time we arrive in Covent Garden, Willow is green and Lottie is hoarse from whooping around the corners. I’m glad I gave my breakfast to Boris this morning.
Ms Celia screeches alongside the pavement and reverses into a tiny space.
‘You can’t park here,’ says Spencer. ‘They’ll tow your car.’
Ms Celia raises an eyebrow. ‘I’d like to see them try.’
She leads us into a cobbled street tucked between Soho and Covent Garden.
The moment I see Meekes’s shiny red door, the memories tiptoe back. We’re greeted by the tinkle of a bell and a waft of leather, glue and the perfume of a lady with enormous arms and tiny wrists.
‘Good afternoon, Ms Celia. Are these my two thirty fittings?’
‘They are, Mrs Huntley-Palmer. We’ll take three pairs of flats each and the girls also need pointe shoes. Did Emmeline tell you we’ll need them all for tomorrow?’
Mrs Huntley-Palmer tuts. ‘No, she did not. But for you, Ms Celia, we will attempt the impossible.’
Mrs Huntley-Palmer ushers us through the shop at the front of the building. Everything is just as I remember – the whirly carpet, the old-fashioned till, the rows of pink satin ballet shoes.
‘I ain’t been here before,’ says Lottie.
‘That’s because you’re not ready for handmade shoes,’ says Willow.
‘What are you tryin’ to say, Perkins? That I ain’t good enough?’
‘Lottie, remember what I said about self-control,’ warns Ms Celia. ‘It was my decision to bring Lottie, Willow. We have a very important “competition” and we need students with Lottie’s skills to be part of it. I’ve promised Madame that you will work harder at your dancing this term, Lottie. Don’t let me down.’
‘Fanks, Ms Celia. I will try, honest.’
‘Now if you don’t mind, Mrs Huntley-Palmer, I’ll leave the children with you. Wait here until I return, everyone, and do not, under any circumstances, leave the premises. That applies to all of you,’ she adds, staring at Spencer.
When Ms Celia has left, Willow Perkins pushes her way to the front. ‘Mrs Huntley-Palmer, I don’t need a fitting. I’m here to collect an order.’
‘Your maker?’
‘Heart Maker.’
‘Wait here, Miss Perkins. I’ll be with the rest of you in a moment.’
‘Does Heart Maker still work here?’ I ask Mrs Huntley-Palmer.
‘He does indeed. Goodness me, it’s Milly Kydd, isn’t it? Go on down, Milly – he’ll be delighted to see you again.’
The drone of sewing machines gets louder as Spencer and Lottie follow me down a rickety staircase. In the basement, a handful of men in aprons crouch over their benches. We watch as they scrape, hammer, cut and shape small scraps of satin into ballet shoes. I remember Mum saying her shoemaker’s hands were as misshapen as her feet.
‘Well, I never! Is that you, Miss Millicent?’
‘Mr Stubbs!’
Mr Stubbs wipes his bent old hands on his apron before cupping them around mine. His shaggy eyebrows are speckled with sawdust.
‘I knew you’d be back – once a ballerina, always a ballerina, I say. It’s like me Uncle Bob at Meekes – gets in the blood. Still no news of your mum, miss? I think about ’er every time I make a pair of size fours.’
My eyes sting as the tiptoeing of memories turns into a stampede.
‘Aw, sorry, miss – I shouldn’t ’ave said nothin’. She’s a lovely lady, your mum – not many of ’em take the time to come down ’ere and talk to us makers. If you don’t mind me sayin’, you’ve turned into the spit of ’er.’ He peers at my feet. ‘Size fours too now. You’ve ’ad a bit of a spurt.’
‘I have a bit. How are you, Mr Stubbs?’
‘Tickety-boo, miss. Tickety-boo.’ He points at the nook under the stairs. ‘You won’t ’ave met me new apprentice. Come over an’ say ’ello to Miss Millicent, Pip. S
he’s Eva Kydd’s daughter.’
Mr Stubbs’s apprentice glances up from under his fringe. His face is speckled with freckles.
‘Young Pip’s a natural. What are you now, Pip? Eighteen? Nineteen? If you keep up the ’ard work, you’ll be stepping into my shoes one day.’
Pip blushes to his gingery roots. ‘If I get to be half as good as you, I’ll be happy.’ He smiles at me. ‘Heart Maker’s a legend. He’s the only shoemaker Dame Anna trusts to make the Scarlet Slipper trophy. Isn’t that right, Heart Maker?’
Mr Stubbs beams. ‘True enough. Miss Millicent ’as one of ’er mum’s at ’ome.’
‘I’m a big fan, miss,’ says Pip. ‘I saw her dance Swan Lake on the telly once.’ He blushes again. ‘I’ve never forgotten it.’
I give Mr Stubbs’s apprentice the smile I keep for grown-ups I like.
‘Why do they call you Heart Maker?’ Lottie asks.
‘And who’s this young lady? I never forgets a pair o’ plates but I’m not so good at faces.’
‘This is Lottie,’ I explain, ‘she hasn’t had a pair of shoes made for her before.’
Mr Stubbs scratches his nose. ‘Well, it’s like this, Miss Lottie – we makers stamp a mark on the soles of every shoe we craft. See Scarpelli over there – ’is mark is a star, so we call ’im Star Maker. Young Bert’s is a diamond – so ’e’s Diamond Maker. And mine’s an ’eart, so . . .’
‘You’re Heart Maker, I get it,’ says Lottie.
‘You can take a butcher’s at a pair I just finished, if you like.’
Mr Stubbs leads us to his bench and hands Lottie a pointe shoe. ‘It’s for one of your lot. She’s a bit hoity-toity, if you know what I mean – you know who I’m talkin’ about, Miss Millicent. Keeps me on me Marylins, I can tell you.’
‘Marylins?’ asks Spencer.
Lottie taps the toe of the shoe. ‘Marylin Monroes. Cockney rhymin’ slang – means toes.’
‘Sounds like Miss Lottie’s from my neck of the woods,’ says Mr Stubbs. ‘Her Ladyship likes the box to be ’arder than some – layers and layers of ’essian and glue go into those.’
‘You mean Perkins, don’t you, Heart Maker? She’s in the shop wiv Mrs Huntley-Palmer.’
Mr Stubbs taps his nose. ‘Don’t you say I said nothin’ or I’ll be in trouble with ’Er Upstairs.’ The staircase groans. ‘That’ll be ’er, now. I should be gettin’ on.’
Peril en Pointe Page 5