‘Heart Maker,’ calls Mrs Huntley-Palmer. ‘I’m ready for our clients now. Have you got Miss Perkins’s shoes down there?’
‘I’ll take them up,’ I say.
‘Right you are. Good to see you again, miss.’
‘You too, Mr Stubbs.’
‘You take care now – it’s a terrible pity what ’appened at the Scarlet Slippers, but accidents ’appen. Your mum was convinced you was goin’ to bring back a trophy, she said as much that very mornin’.’
Under the stairs, Pip drops his hammer and nurses his thumb.
My heart hammers in my ears. ‘You saw her, Mr Stubbs?’
‘Came in to place an order, she did. She’d be pleased as punch to see you in a pair of pointes again. Don’t you let nothin’ or no one stop you from dancin’.’
8
Cinderella and Other Fairy Stories
By the time we get back to school, it’s time for supper. We all spill out of Ms Celia’s car and watch Willow weave across the courtyard. ‘Don’t fink we’ll be seein’ her in the refectory tonight,’ says Lottie. ‘Fought we were going to hit that double-decker, miss. Never done a wheelie before!’
Ms Celia pats Winifred’s bonnet. ‘In thirty years of driving, the only thing I’ve hit is the brakes.’
‘I take it all back,’ says Spencer. ‘Old Winnie’s faster than my father’s Ferrari. So when do we get to drive?’
‘Year nine,’ answers Ms Celia. ‘However, there is an ocassional exception to the rule.’
Spencer pushes up his sunglasses. ‘When do I start?’
The refectory isn’t like the boring old canteen in St Tilda’s. Sunbeams dapple the deep-blue walls and dance on the chandeliers. I can almost imagine how it feels to be a swan gliding across the lake.
Lottie sees my expression. ‘It’s the old ballroom, ain’t it?’
‘Home from home,’ says Spencer, heading for the counter. ‘I’m starved. What’s the tuck like, Li? Our cook at home is a cordon bleu chef.’
Lottie thinks for a second. ‘Mrs Toppin’s more cordon blurghhh than cordon bleu.’
‘Where do the teachers sit?’ I ask.
‘Don’t see the teachers in here much. Cook’s nosh is a bit rich for them.’
Spencer lifts the lid of a silver dome and stumbles back.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s grey. I’ve never seen grey food before.’
Lottie moves along the counter. ‘It’s mashed potato but I’d stick to the noodles, if I was you. They ain’t as good as my dad’s but I ain’t chucked up yet.’
‘Did you say Mrs Topping? Is she related to Topsy?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, Cook’s her mum.’
Spencer stares into a vat of bubbling grey worms. ‘Explains everything.’
I pick up a bread roll and practise my new unreadable spy-face. ‘Oh well, these look nice.’
‘She’s lyin’,’ says Lottie.
‘You’re right,’ says Spencer. ‘Looks like she needs all the practice she can get.’
We take our plates to a big round table with a stiff white cloth and proper napkins. Lottie tucks one under her chin and Spencer bangs down a bread roll. ‘I could single-handedly take on Ivan Korolev with one of these,’ he says. ‘No offence,’ he adds to the virtual Ivan, who’s sitting next to him.
‘None taken, Benedict.’
‘So what have we got tomorrow?’
Ivan recites the timetable. ‘Every morning your varm-up vill be followed by a two-hour rehearsal. After lunch, you vill study Spy Craft vith the Captain. There are more rehearsals in the evenings.’
‘When’s our free time?’ I ask.
Ivan frowns. ‘I’m sorry, I do not understand. Vhat is free time?’
Spencer blinks at his mentor. ‘It’s what you do when you’re not working – you know, for fun?’
Ivan flickers. ‘I’m sorry, I do not understand. Please repeat the qvestion.’
‘Never mind that,’ says Lottie. ‘I’ll tell you why he was expelled if you turn him off. Don’t feel right talkin’ about him in front of his face.’
Ivan vanishes and Lottie wipes her chin. ‘Poisoned the other finalists at the Scarlet Slippers. Then, pwff, disappeared. We was lucky Ms Celia’s got antidotes for everyfink. When he showed up a few years ago, he’d started a ballet school like Swan House but for kids wiv form, if you know what I’m sayin’.’
‘Form?’ I ask.
‘Crims, you know. Criminals – kids who’ve been in trouble – like him.’
‘I don’t get it,’ says Spencer. ‘What’s the big deal if no one died? There’s nothing wrong with being competitive.’
‘Competitive? Is that what you call cheatin’ in Chelsea? Korolev’s the main reason Swan House ain’t entered the Scarlet Slippers for so long.’
My Swanphone glows on my wrist. Spencer and Lottie check theirs too. ‘They’ve posted our dorms,’ says Spencer. ‘I’m off to bags the best bed.’
‘Who are you sharing with?’ I ask.
‘Mr Special and Danny Somebody. See you, Kydd.’ Spencer flings his jacket over his shoulder. ‘You too, Shorty.’
Lottie watches him jog across the refectory. ‘Not if I see him first. If he was half as cool as he finks he is, he’d have a carrot for a nose. And if he calls me Shorty one more time, I’ll . . . Milly, what’s wrong?’
I feel like I’ve got bubblegum stuck in my windpipe. The pictures on my Swanphone are of Willow Perkins and her friend, Bumble.
‘Are you sure that’s right?’ I ask my Swanphone.
‘Of course. I’m the smartest device on the planet.’
‘Tell me you ain’t got Perkins?’ says Lottie.
‘And Bumble. Is her real name Amy Bee?’
‘Yeah. Look, Topsy’s over there.’ She points at the counter. ‘Ask her if you can swap dorms. I’m wiv Dipti and Fleur. Fleur’s friends wiv Perkins, she won’t mind.’ Lottie pushes back her chair. ‘Sorry, Milly. Got to go. It’s time for my tellin’ off wiv Madame. She’ll kill me if I’m late.’
I’ve been so busy thinking about my problems I’d forgotten about Madame. I wish Lottie luck and she shrugs it off. I have never met anyone like Lottie Li.
Topsy is hoovering up the leftovers. She looks up from a vat of custard and waves me over. ‘Sho yummy. Wish I could cook like Mumsie, but I can’t boil an oeuf.’ She honks. ‘Anyhooo – is everything all right, Milly?’
For one horrible moment I think I’m going to cry.
‘Oh, Milly, what’s the matter? You can tell me anything, you know – that’s what Mummy Swans are for. Well, as long as it isn’t classified. It isn’t classified, is it?’
‘I don’t think so. Topsy, please could you put me in a different dorm?’
Topsy looks puzzled. ‘But you’re with Willow, aren’t you? I thought you two were old besties?’
I bite my lip to stop it wobbling.
‘I’m ever so sorry, Milly, I have to pass my probation before I’m allowed to organize the dorms. You need to speak to Madame – eek. Don’t look so glum. Come on, I’ll take you to her study.’
I plod across the refectory. After this morning, I can’t see Madame doing me any favours.
Madame’s room is opposite Dame Anna’s statue. ‘I’m sure Madame won’t mind, but better touch her for luck,’ says Topsy, nodding at the statue. ‘Wait here and I’ll go and explain.’
Lottie is leaving as Topsy lets herself in. Her cheeks dimple when she sees me. ‘What are you doin’ here?’
‘I’ve got to ask Madame if I can swap dorms. Are you OK?’
‘Yeah. She’s in a good mood for once. Just got to watch my p’s and q’s for a bit. Fingers crossed, we’ll be sharin’ a dorm tomorrow.’
I stand outside Madame’s room and catch the words dorm, and Milly, and teary.
Topsy gives me a double thumbs up on her way out.
When I go in, Madame is frowning at her Swan-phone and doesn’t look up. ‘Zere is a late delivery I must
attend to. Sit down and touch nothing.’
Apart from a grandfather clock and a lovely old cabinet in the corner, everything in Madame’s room is white. I sit on a hard wooden chair and stand up again.
What am I going to do if Madame won’t let me swap with Fleur?
I start pacing in front of the cabinet. How many more lies will Willow spread about me if we have to share a dorm?
A flash of scarlet and gold stops me in my tracks. Behind the glass of the cabinet is a red satin pointe shoe mounted on a shiny gold base. It’s a Scarlet Slipper trophy just like Mum’s. But where Mum’s is engraved with Eva Lilova, this one says Olga Popova. I wonder if Olga Popova is Filipp’s mum.
The trophy is surrounded by old ballet shoes, flowery tiaras and a big leather photograph album. Stuck on the front is a picture of the Popov dynasty. The family is posing on the lawn of a snooty sort of house with more windows than I can count. Pressed against an upstairs window are the blurry features of a little boy.
I touch the cabinet. It’s Filipp Popov. All alone. My insides twang like a broken string.
Ms Celia pops her head around the door. ‘Oh, Milly, it’s you. I was just looking for Madame.’
I drop my hand and my fingers leave smudgy prints on the glass. ‘She had to do something. She told me to wait.’
Ms Celia joins me at the cabinet. ‘Filipp Popov is your mentor, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I don’t know why. He doesn’t like me very much.’
‘Filipp doesn’t have feelings, Milly, he’s just a hologram.’
‘I wish someone would tell him that.’
‘To be frank, Filipp was always a difficult boy. He found criticism rather hard to take. I’m afraid he didn’t do terribly well.’
‘Did the Popovs know he was a spy?’
‘Heavens no. They thought he was simply training to be a dancer. Sadly, that didn’t work out.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘I have no idea, Milly. Dame Anna and his mother, Olga, refuse to talk about him. I think he must have fallen out of love with ballet. I did wonder if that’s why you were paired together.’ I find out that when Ms Celia looks straight at you, it’s impossible to look away.
‘I could never fall out of love with ballet, Ms Celia. But sometimes I think ballet’s fallen out of love with me.’
Ms Celia gives me her lightning smile. ‘Even if that was the case, you’re here now. You have an opportunity to start afresh.’
Isn’t that what Bab said? ‘I suppose so. Why are the Popovs’ things here? If I won a Scarlet Slipper I wouldn’t part with it for all the shoes in Meekes.’
‘They have many more at home. Dame Anna donated the cabinet to the school as a thank you for giving Filipp a place. I believe some of the items are quite valuable – Madame’s most treasured possessions, in fact. Why are you waiting for her? You’re not in trouble, I hope?’
‘Oh no. I just wanted to ask if I could swap dorms.’
‘Honestly, Milly, I thought you’d have risen above that nonsense with Willow Perkins by now. You should be putting petty jealousies behind you. Remember, there are far more important things to worry about at Swan House.’
My head droops. That’s easy for her to say, but she doesn’t know Willow Perkins like I do.
Her voice softens. ‘When you threw yourself in front of the Spencers’ car this morning, you demonstrated many of the qualities you’ll need to succeed at Swan House. If you work hard, you could do very well. Right, I must go. Tell Madame I called in, would you? I’ll speak with her later.’
When Madame returns, she finds me with my nose pressed against the cabinet. Her fingernails tap the desk as I hurry back to the chair.
‘Millicent –’ tap, tap, tap – ‘Miss Topping tells me zat you are unhappy with your dorm. Why is zat?’
‘I’d like to share with Lottie, Madame. I could swap with Fleur Fontaine – Willow and Amy would rather share with her anyway.’
‘Au contraire. Willow was most pleased with ze arrangement.’
‘She was?’
‘Absolument. She is such a forgiving child. Zere is much you could learn from her. In fact, think of zis as an opportunity to make up for ze way you have treated Willow in ze past.’
‘But Madame—’
‘Goodnight, Millicent, I have no more to say on ze matter.’
I close the door quietly and wander over to Dame Anna’s statue. I brush her arm with my fingertips and wish for luck. I’ve never needed it more.
‘Cooo-ee! Milly . . .’ Topsy galumphs alongside me. ‘What did Madame say?’
‘I have to stay where I am.’
Topsy puffs her hair out of her eyes. ‘Oh well, I’m sure Madame knows best. We should be tucked up in Bedfordshire by now. I’ll show you to your dorm.’
Outside, a row of carriage lights twinkles in the darkness. I follow Topsy along a covered walkway that leads to the coach house. The wisteria glows in the moonlight. Through the archway there’s a horseshoe of brick outbuildings. I can’t see the trees beyond, but I can hear them whisper in the breeze.
‘Here we are, the old stable block. Girls on this side. Boys on the other.’
An owl hoots in the distance and Topsy shudders. ‘Spooky, isn’t it? You never know who’s going to creep out of the woods or crawl out of the lake. That’s why Ms Celia takes security sooo seriously. Look, she gave me this.’
I back away as Topsy pulls something shiny from her pocket. The metal glints in her hand. ‘It’s OK, I’ve had special training.’ She tugs a referee’s whistle over her hair. ‘The doors are all alarmed so the only people who can enter are you and your roomies.’
‘But I haven’t got a key.’
‘You don’t need one. As long as you’re wearing your Swanphone and Ms Celia’s given you clearance, you can come and go as you please. If you need me, I’m in the dorm in the middle.’ She points along the line of stable doors. ‘Anyhooo, don’t have too much fun, will you? I was always getting into scrapes when I was little.’
‘You studied here?’
Topsy snorts. ‘No, obvs – Mummy’s been the cook since Daddy died. So O let me live here too.’
‘Who’s O?’
‘He’s Ms Celia’s boss, but no one ever sees him. Eek, is that the time? Nightie night, Milly, mind the bugs don’t bite.’ She snorts again. ‘Just my little spy joke. Bugs. Bugs? No?’ Gripping her whistle, Topsy hurries to her room.
I press my ear against the door and hear muffled voices inside. Why would Willow tell Madame she was happy for me to share her dorm? I listen carefully.
‘Look at this . . .’ Willow’s saying.
‘What?’
‘THIS. The lump on my elbow. It’s from the Scarlet Slippers when Milly Kydd pushed me over.’
‘She’s so vile.’
‘I know. And this is worse.’
‘The mark on your knee?’
‘The scar on my knee. Milly did it when we were in Ballet Tots. She was jealous because I was Cinderella and she was just a pumpkin. Even when we were little, everyone knew I was the gifted one. Her mum said I had the potential to be the next Anna Popova.’
My throat aches. The first bit’s a lie, but everything else is true. Willow was better than me and Mum knew it.
I try to squash the memory down, but it’s no good. When I close my eyes, there I am onstage. A small girl in a puffed-up pumpkin tutu, wearing a garland of floppy leaves in my hair and a scowl that stretches from one green ear to the other.
Just below the stage, Mr Lamont plays the piano and I begin my pumpkin dance.
Behind the set, where only I can see, a smaller girl in Cinders’ rags copies my every move. I twirl like a pumpkin, she twirls like a princess. I jump like a pumpkin, she jumps like a princess. I land like a pumpkin – she trips over the set.
Mr Lamont plays her cue.
‘Hurry up, Willow,’ I whisper. The hand I reach for is hot and trembly. I spin us around. ‘Faster, Willow, do it like w
e practised.’ But Willow’s feet are stuck.
‘I can’t,’ she says. ‘My leg is hurting.’
‘You’ll spoil everything!’ I scold. ‘Come on, you have to change into your party dress behind the screen.’ I start to skip, dragging her behind me.
When we emerge, Willow’s not in her party dress; she’s in tears. I am one extremely cross pumpkin. As she collapses, I fold my arms. I even do a little stomp.
All the parents watching begin to mutter. Chairs shuffle. Mum is the first to reach us.
‘What’s the matter, Willow? Are you hurt?’
‘It’s my leg,’ moans Willow.
Mum lifts Willow’s Cinder skirt. Her tights are pink with blood.
‘Goodness, that looks painful,’ says Mum. ‘What happened?’
‘It was Milly,’ says Willow.
I open my mouth. ‘What?’
Willow sucks her thumb. ‘Milly did it when we were behind the screen.’
Mum’s face turns ever so pale. ‘Someone had better call a doctor. Where’s your mummy, Willow?’
‘I haven’t got a mummy.’
‘Your daddy?’
‘He doesn’t like dancy things.’
‘You poor little mite. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s make you better . . .’
I thought that would be it. The End. But it wasn’t. I never knew who Mum really believed that day, but Willow carried on lying and Mum carried on making her better. Right up until the day she disappeared.
I press my ear back against the door. Behind the door, Willow prattles on. ‘After that, Eva gave me extra lessons. Then when she disappeared, Madame spotted my talent too. She even let me start the term early so Daddy could get back to work.’
I can’t believe it. Now that Willow’s got Madame wrapped around her little finger, she doesn’t need Mum any more. My Swanphone glows red. ‘Alert. The increase in your heart rate and decrease in your cortisol levels indicate that you’re about to do, or say, something you’ll regret. Your anger is most likely a symptom of fatigue. It is now twenty-two hundred hours. Your first ballet class is at zero nine hundred hours and the minimum amount of sleep required for optimum performance is—’
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