If I Can't Have You

by Federica Bosco

  It was true, Betty was a trusted friend, and just having told her I felt like an immense weight had been lifted.

  ‘But you still haven’t told me what these two cards mean. Look, here they are again!’ I smiled slyly.

  ‘Those?’ She stiffened again and then sighed, ‘Look... just be careful with those bloody pointers, okay? What do you call them, the shoes?’

  An injury then? It wasn’t great, but if she saw a career anyway and especially if she saw Patrick, everything would be okay one way or another.

  I went to bed with a myriad of thoughts running through my head, each more confused than the last. My meeting with Patrick seemed light years away now and the events of the evening overlapped in my head without any precise order. It was late and I was tired. I collapsed into bed, hoping that I wouldn’t dream.

  I didn’t see Mum at all the next morning.

  I wasn’t used to sleeping in at the weekend. Usually we would get up and take York for a walk or sit at breakfast and read the newspapers together, but it was obvious she wouldn’t come looking for me that morning. I had to take the first step.

  At least I didn’t have Paul to deal with, as he had to play the perfect husband over the weekend. I wondered if I should called Patrick to arrange to get my bike or if it would have been better to go through Nina. I went downstairs for some tea and toast, but there was no one in. Mum had gone for a run.

  I opened the door to bring in the milk and stared sleepily out at the morning street for a while, before my eyes came to rest on a strange sight. There, in the front yard, secured to the railings, was my bike, cleaner than I’d ever seen it, with the puncture fixed and the tires reinflated. I went down the steps, looked left and right, but there was no one in sight.

  Patrick?

  Then I noticed a piece of paper under the milk, a note addressed to me!

  ‘Hi Mia, I got called away urgently, but your bike is all fixed up now, and I gave it a wash too because it was filthy! Hope you’re feeling better. See you soon - Pat.’

  I brought it to my lips as if to smell his perfume through his words. It was not exactly a love letter, but it was closer to one than I had ever dreamed I would get from him. I felt like I was floating in a fragile bubble, terrified that any second it might burst. I went back to my room and sat on the bed, holding the note I had already learned by heart in my hands and enclosing it in a book like a precious flower.

  Sometimes I hated weekends. They were lost days, useless, long and melancholy. The hours dragged by and I always felt like everyone else had something better to do. I imagined other families gathered around their barbecues or all going on day trips somewhere exciting. We hadn’t gone anywhere together for ages. With the constant tension between me and Mum it wasn’t always easy to play happy families.

  I decided to call Claire who was always more than happy to work on Saturdays. During the week her classes were mostly attended by girls with pushy mothers and beginner adults. She hated dealing with spoilt little rich girls and their snooty mothers who would sit in the room watching their child’s lacklustre performance and then demand to know why she wasn’t in the front row. It was a waste of time for everyone, they would never go anywhere, but she couldn’t be too honest about it, or they would quit the school. As for adult courses, I think she would have preferred to eat soap!

  After all, Claire had danced on the big stages. She knew what it meant to dedicate her whole life to dance, and how much effort, pain and frustration it cost. That was why she didn’t give anyone an easy ride, because this wasn’t a world that where a person without both talent and dedication could survive. There were no influential friends or shortcuts. You could have all the passion in the world, but if you didn’t have good feet, good proportions or even if your boobs were too big you would never be a dancer, and Claire hated giving people false illusions.

  But if she found a talented young person with the dedication to succeed, she dedicated herself heart and soul to helping them. Besides me she mentored a young boy called Chester, who was not even eleven years old, but seemed born to dance even better than Billy Elliot. He was light, agile and strong, and performed his turns and jumps with the energy and grace of a Russian.

  That day Claire was in the mood for torture and so I was tortured, and welcomed it. Fatigue stopped me from thinking. Perhaps if I worked hard enough, I could forget about all of it. If I could perform over thirty fouettes in perfect balance, ignoring the excruciating pain of blisters and cramps, the other pains would take second place. Or at least that’s what I told myself

  The room was cold, the boiler was off at weekends. I was wearing two pairs of socks, leg-warmers up to my knees and two sweaters to keep me from shivering. I went to the bar to start warming up with endless sequences of plié and rond de jambe. Usually, that part was a chore, but today it seemed the only way to banish unwelcome thoughts without being hit on the head!

  ‘Come on, let’s get started!’ Claire said eventually.

  She turned on the stereo and I began to dance Odile’s piece. That day I really felt like a black swan, restless, fragile and somehow different to everyone else, an outsider that nobody seemed to want to really get to know, except for Nina and, briefly, Carl. But like Betty had said, I would never take the first step. I longed for Patrick to stop thinking of me as another sister, and to realise that I was no longer a little girl. Maybe if he saw me dance he would notice me.

  It was a gruelling session that lasted almost two hours without interruption, but Claire said nothing worse than a couple of ‘What a pity’ and ‘Fine if you’re auditioning for Strictly Come Dancing!’ so I supposed it had gone well.

  As I dried and dressed, she came over to me with some papers in her hand.

  ‘Listen Mia, I have the application forms here for the audition to enter the Royal Ballet. We should start thinking about how we’re going to prepare.’

  I wrapped the towel around my shoulders, my sweat was like ice on my skin and my anxiety about what was to come made me feel even colder. I took off my shoes and sat in a corner, and Claire spread the registration forms in front of me. There were seven pages to fill out, in which I made a formal request for an audition to enter the Royal Ballet high school, where I could spend my last two academic years and graduate by studying dance six days a week. I had to give details of my current dance school, my high school, my dance teacher for a reference, and the name of a parent or guardian who the school would contact later to request payment of fees. There was also a grant application form.

  I looked at the papers, shaking my head. ‘How are we going to do this, Claire?’ I asked, discouraged.

  ‘I would say the first thing is to fill out the forms and get them sent off. For now, just put my name as a contact and wait for them to contact me.’

  ‘But here he says that you must declare that you are able to afford the fee and if you want the grant, you must ask for it before the audition!’

  ‘We have to send these forms as soon as possible. We’ll come up with something in the meantime. I’ll talk to your mother and we’ll try to find a solution, it would be absurd for you not to go there just for a matter of pride.’

  ‘Pride and twenty-five grand.’ I pointed out.

  ‘But it would be insane if Chester got in and you didn’t!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I couldn’t believe it. ‘Chester is auditioning too?’

  ‘Yes, he applied to enter the Lower School, so they could begin to teach him immediately.

  ‘Are his parents okay with it?’

  ‘Fine! They’ve organized everything. He would live with his aunt and uncle and.they have a lot of money.’ She shrugged and looked at me apologetically.

  In my mind, I saw the hated child in my grandmother’s painting doubled over with laughter. It was ridiculous that a ten year old could get in and I couldn’t, all because of money. At this rate I would end up on one of those sleazy afternoon talk shows accusing my mother of having ruined my life by forcing me
into a life of hard drugs and prostitution.

  ‘Don’t say anything that might make Elena nervous. I’ll call her in the week and we can talk calmly.’

  When I got home, I decided to take the first step that Betty had been talking about. I went into the living room where Mum was on the sofa knitting and listening to Chopin, a sure sign she was feeling blue.

  ‘Hi Mum,’ I said, throwing myself on the sofa next to her. She didn’t move and continued clicking away with her needles.

  I rested my head on her shoulder. ‘Mamma, I’m sorry I made you worry.’

  She took off her glasses and gave me a kiss, ‘And I’m sorry for thinking the worst of you, but I was so scared.’

  ‘I was scared too.’

  ‘But where were you going?’

  ‘Nowhere. I just needed a chemistry book’

  ‘At that time? And didn’t Nina have one?’

  ‘No, she didn’t have that one.’ I was starting to sweat.

  ‘And then you bumped into Patrick?’

  ‘Yes, luckily, otherwise I might not be here now!’ I said, perhaps a little melodramatically.

  ‘But where exactly did your friend live?’

  ‘Near the city centre.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have got the book today?’

  ‘Mum! Why the Spanish Inquisition? I went to get a book, not a bag of cocaine!’ I rolled my eyes.

  ‘Come here, come on.’ She put her arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Why are we always fighting?’ I asked.

  ‘Because you’re growing up, honey.’

  ‘Do you think we’re going to fight more in the future?’

  ‘I think we might.’

  ‘Like you and grandma?’

  ‘I hope not, Mia.’

  I curled up next to her.

  ‘Why did you and Nonna fall out?’

  ‘Because we are both stubborn and proud, that’s why.’

  ‘And why don’t you speak any more?’

  ‘Why the Spanish Inquisition?’ she mimicked, laughing.

  ‘It’s my turn.’

  I was partly asking to investigate a possible source of funding for next year. The little Chester thing was killing me.

  ‘Nonna didn’t like your father and didn’t want us to come here, I came anyway and she never really forgave me.’

  ‘But will you really never speak to one another for the rest of your lives? That seems crazy.’

  ‘She knows where I am. I’m waiting for her to take the first step.’

  ‘Maybe she’s waiting for you to do it.’

  ‘Then we really will never speak to one another for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘But I couldn’t stand you not talking to me anymore!’

  ‘That won’t happen. I’m not your grandmother.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I promise.’

  She put her glasses back on.

  ‘And now we need to talk a little about you, young lady.’

  ‘Mmh,’ I mumbled without enthusiasm

  ‘Have you thought about what you would like to do?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Apart from the dance I mean.’

  ‘Mum... I’d just be lying to you.’

  ‘I don’t want you to stop dancing, but you can go to Leicester College and finish your studies there, then go to university and continue your dance lessons, and maybe we can find someone with more expertise than Claire. What do you say? ‘

  ‘If I say yes, I’m doing it to make you happy, but it would mean giving up everything I’ve ever wanted.’

  She sighed, ‘We just can’t afford it, darling.’

  I felt like I was in a glass room screaming at the top of my lungs and nobody could or wanted to hear me. All my damn future depended on money. My desires, my talent and my dreams counted for nothing. The only choice available was to study economics or law and take dance lessons from time to time.

  ‘Mum... we could get a grant. You just need to send your P60 to prove you’re earning under a certain amount. Then we would only need twelve thousand pounds a year.’

  ‘Sweetheart, do you not understand how much money that is? It’s just not possible.’ She returned to her knitting.

  ‘But…what if we asked Nonna?’

  She dropped her needles ‘You can put that thought out of your head,’ she said in a tone that didn’t allow for any arguments.

  ‘Okay, Mum, if that’s your decision.’

  ‘It’s not my decision, there’s no other choice.’

  ‘It is your decision! There are always other choices, but you’re only willing to consider things from your point of view!’ I said bitterly.

  I was so disappointed, I couldn’t believe that she was so stubborn as to put her pride ahead of my future.

  I got up to go to my room, but at the door I turned and said, ‘Mum, have you seen me dance. I mean recently?’

  She looked down and shook her head.

  ‘Well, maybe you should.’

  9

  When I arrived at school on Monday morning, the place was in uproar. There were at least forty other kids crowded in front of the noticeboard in the corridor, and I could hear the buzz of excitement as I approached.

  I joined Nina, who was trying to squeeze past two boys who were twice her size.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked, pulling at her sleeve.

  ‘It’s the Christmas show, we’re putting on a musical!’ she replied without turning round.

  ‘A musical?’

  ‘Isn’t that cool?’ she gushed excitedly.

  ‘And what musical would that be?’

  ‘Mamma Mia!’

  ‘Amazing!’ I said dryly.

  ‘Oh come on, Sulks! It could be fun.’

  When I heard her call me Sulks, my heart jumped.

  ‘No, really, I’m thrilled, look.’ I pulled the corners of my mouth upwards with my fingers. ‘Have they assigned the roles?’

  ‘Not yet, we’ve all been summoned to the hall in ten minutes.’

  I turned and saw Carl behind us pretending to look at the bulletin board with his hands in his pockets and a blank expression. I smiled and then looked away and he did the same, then we both turned slightly in the opposite direction to avoid accidental eye contact.

  I started slowly towards the gym, dragging my heels and trudging after Nina as if I were being led to the gallows. Participation in the school play had been mandatory ever since the school had lost its ‘exemplary’ status in the last OFSTED inspection, sending the teachers into a tailspin trying to come up with strategies for winning it back. The rule had been introduced two years ago, to the horror of every awkward teenage introvert in the school. It was supposed to encourage cooperation and self-confidence, leading to well-adjusted pupils who would work harder and enjoy learning. Whether it had worked or not remained to be seen, as the inspector hadn’t been back since. Probably she was worried someone would make her watch the play.

  In previous years it had been revue-style, with groups of friends doing five minute skits, but all of us doing one show together would mean hours and hours of rehearsals, and more to the point, hours and hours of socialising, neither of which filled me with Christmas cheer. We filed into the hall and sat down, waiting for the headmistress, Mrs Jenkins, to arrive. I noticed that Carl made sure to sit a safe distance away, which made me a bit sad. Couldn’t we still be friends?

  Mrs Jenkins came in, smiling and wearing her usual crumpled grey suit, followed by Mr Davies and Mrs Mills. The buzz of excitement spread across the hall. Bibi and Dell were already looking forward to leading roles, while I was hoping they might have forgotten about me.

  ‘Settle down, please!’ Mrs Jenkins began, clearing her throat. ‘As some of you may have noticed, we’ve decided to do something a bit different for this year’s Christmas show. After last year, it has become obvious that the revue format is sometimes.unsuitable.’ She glanced at a group of boys who had decided to change their skit to an impromptu per
formance of Magic Mike the previous year, and had to be ushered off the stage by Mr Davies with strategically-placed revue programmes protecting their modesty.

  ‘It will be a good opportunity - for some the final opportunity - for us all to work on something together as a school, to have fun and, above all to get involved. Is everyone happy?’

  There was a round of applause.

  ‘Go on, clap!’ said Nina, nudging me.

  I tried to pretend enthusiasm, occasionally glancing over at Carl, who, like me, didn’t seem to be going crazy with joy. If he hadn’t decided to start avoiding me, we could have laughed about it together.

  An ever more urgent chorus of voices arose, demanding to know the parts.

  ‘Okay okay! Calm down! Now of course, we can’t give leading roles to everyone, so most of you will be dancers, choreographed by Mr Davies, or in the chorus, led by Mrs Mills. Our production this year will be Mamma Mia!, although the script will be based on the film, rather than the West End Musical, as this happens to be the only version any of the staff have seen!’

  There was polite laughter from my fellow students, amid a general air of impatience. Everyone was eager to know their part.

  ‘Now, for our three male leads, playing the three ex-boyfriends, we have Virgil Dickinson, Michael Yamashita and Thomas Bronson …’

  Whistles and applause arose from the crowd.

  ‘Ugh, typical! Bloody Thomas!’ Nina hissed in my ear.

  ‘In the part of Donna - that’s Meryl Streep in the film - we have Erika Marshall.’ More whistles and applause, ‘.and playing Donna’s friends Tanya and Rosie are Belinda Kossovich and Delilah Grabowsky.’

  ‘Bibi and Dell haven’t got the star parts? Ha! Well I suppose that means we won’t be getting new tutus this year!’

  ‘And finally, playing Sophie and Sky, the two lovers.’ she left a long, dramatic pause, enjoying the suspense, ‘. Nina Dewayne and Carlton O’Malley!’

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then the loudest round of applause yet.