Born to Dance

by Jean Ure

  “This is the way I did it with Mum.” Except that I’d done it when I was small, not when I was eleven years old! “Put your hands on your waist, and your feet together, then bounce. Now! Turn your head to the right and find a spot to look at … anything will do so long as you keep your eyes fixed on it while you turn. Like this!”

  She watched, intently, as I demonstrated.

  “The trick is to keep your eyes on the spot and whip your body round really fast so it catches up with your head … if you see what I mean.”

  She said, “Yes! I think so.”

  “OK! So, I want you to jump and do a quarter-turn to the right, keeping your eyes fixed like I showed you … There! How did it feel?”

  “Um …” She sounded doubtful. “I don’t think I’m doing it right!”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’ll come. Honestly! It’s the easiest thing in the world once you’ve got the hang of it. You’ll find you can turn and turn and not even notice. Let’s try again!”

  And again, and again. I was determined not to give up.

  “I’m being so stupid!” wailed Caitlyn.

  “No, you’re not,” I said. “It’s something you should have been taught ages ago, before you were allowed to even try doing any turns. Nobody can turn till they’ve learnt how to spot. I can’t understand why you weren’t taught! I know you don’t want to tell me where you take classes,” I said, “but wherever it is I don’t think they should be teaching!”

  Her cheeks by now were bright pink. I couldn’t understand why she was so embarrassed. It was hardly her fault if she had a rotten teacher. Her mum should have checked out the school before sending her there. I wondered for a minute if it could possibly be the dreaded Babette Wynstan School of so-called Dance. They had a reputation for pushing people before they were properly prepared. But not even Babette would let her students attempt pirouettes without first teaching them how to focus. It was a real mystery! But for the moment I needed to concentrate all my energies on the task in hand.

  “Again!” I said. “Keep those eyes fixed! There. That’s it! You’re doing it!”

  Caitlyn’s cheeks glowed, but with triumph this time. I felt proud of us both! I could suddenly understand how Mum must feel when one of her students gets to grips with a step she’s been having problems with.

  “Did I do it right?” said Caitlyn.

  “Absolutely!” I said. “You’ll need more practice, but basically that’s it. How did it feel? Did it feel good?”

  Caitlyn nodded, blissfully.

  “You can practise spotting while I practise my ports de bras,” I said. “Mum got so angry with me! She said I’m a total disgrace. She says what’s the point of having twinkly feet if your arms are like sausages?”

  Caitlyn giggled. “You don’t have arms like sausages!”

  “You haven’t seen my ports de bras … look! Tell me what you think.”

  She watched, very seriously. “I can’t see anything wrong with them.”

  “That’s cos I’ve been working on them. You probably don’t need to. I bet yours are fine! You look like they would be.”

  A happy pink blush spread over her cheeks.

  “Go on,” I said. “Show me!”

  I was right. Caitlyn didn’t have arms like sausages! Not even Mum could have found anything to criticise.

  “I think you’re a natural,” I said.

  The pink blush turned slowly scarlet. “Really?” she said. She didn’t say it like she was looking for praise; more like she truly valued my opinion.

  “Not that it’s ever easy,” I said, “but some people just take to it. I mean, it helps, obviously, if you have a good teacher. I’ve been lucky. I’ve had a brilliant teacher right from the beginning. Mum’s really strict, but she’s the best!”

  I paused.

  “D’you want to do it again tomorrow?”

  Her face lit up. “Could we?”

  “I think we ought,” I said. “I’m not going to rest until you can manage at least one decent pirouette! After that – well! We don’t have to concentrate just on pirouettes; we can work on whatever you like.”

  “Fouettés?” she said breathlessly.

  “Mm … maybe. I’m not quite sure you’re ready for them. She hasn’t got you doing them, has she?”

  “No!” Caitlyn shook her head, quite vehemently. “I’ve just tried them out by myself.”

  “Oh, that’s no good,” I said. “You can’t teach yourself. What about going on point? You haven’t tried that, have you? Cos you’re certainly not ready for that!”

  Earnestly she said, “I wouldn’t even think of it!”

  “Well, that’s a relief. You can cause permanent damage by going on point too early. Even I’ve only just started, and Mum still makes me stay at the barre. I’m longing to move away, but Mum is really strict. She says – oops!” I clapped a hand to my mouth as the big clock at the end of the gym suddenly made one of its loud clonking noises. I took one look and went, “Help, I’m supposed to be working on my choreography!”

  “I’m sorry.” Caitlyn sprang up. “I’ll go!”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “You can always stay and watch.”

  “Can I?”

  I said, “So long as you don’t blame me if you get bored. I’m just trying stuff out.”

  “I won’t get bored.” She bounced herself on to the horse and settled there, cross-legged, like an elf. “I could sit and watch all day!”

  It was several days before Caitlyn finally trusted me enough to let me in on her secret. We’d taken to meeting up in the gym every morning, really early. First we’d do a bit of a warm-up, then I’d help Caitlyn work on some of the stuff that she was having problems with, and then, for the last half-hour, I’d try out my latest ideas for Miss Lucas and her dance interlude. Caitlyn would sit quiet as a mouse, on top of the horse, watching intently. Just as she’d promised, she never seemed to get bored.

  I would have done! I would have got really twitchy, being forced just to sit and watch. I’d have been desperate to jump up and try things out for myself. On the other hand it was true that some of the moves were obviously more advanced than Caitlyn could have tackled. I really did wonder who had been teaching her.

  Occasionally my curiosity almost got the better of me so that I was tempted to start badgering her. But we were getting on so well! It would have seemed a shame to go and ruin everything. I found that I was really enjoying myself, taking her through all the basic steps that I’d been doing for years. Some she’d already got; others it was like no one had ever properly shown her.

  I honestly never would have thought I’d have the patience to be a good teacher, but even when Caitlyn couldn’t immediately master something I didn’t click my tongue, or roll my eyes, or show that I was frustrated. I just gently – but firmly, cos you have to be firm – took her through it again. And yet again, if necessary, though it hardly ever was. She was extraordinarily quick at picking things up and, best of all, she didn’t go backwards overnight. It drives Mum demented when she’s spent ages teaching somebody how to do something and in their very next lesson they’ve gone and lost it. Caitlyn earnestly assured me that her body always remembered.

  “I might have forgotten in my mind, but then when I start dancing my body just seems to take over.”

  I said, “Yes, that’s good. It shows you have a dancer’s instinct.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was strictly true but she glowed when I said it. I know from experience that a bit of praise goes a long way. Mum hardly ever praises, and she specially doesn’t praise me (cos of not wanting to be accused of favouritism) but on the rare occasions when she does I get this warm feeling inside me like melted chocolate.

  I’d often wondered how Mum could bear being just a teacher after being a leading dancer, though Mum had always said that anyone who was just a teacher shouldn’t be teaching.

  “We owe it to future dancers to be the very best teachers we can.”


  She’s always claimed it’s deeply satisfying, but I’d never really believed her. Now, at last, I was beginning to do so. I felt so proud of Caitlyn – and of myself! – when she got the hang of something. I was sure I was a far better teacher than whoever it was she’d been going to. Maybe still was going to. But I was determined to bite my tongue and not push her. One day, hopefully, she’d feel ready to tell me, and until then I would do my best to be patient.

  Just as well I wasn’t put to the test for too long. Patience is a really difficult virtue! But one morning, quite suddenly, as we finished our warm-up, Caitlyn just blurted it out.

  “You know you said you didn’t think the person that was teaching me was up to it?”

  I said, “Yes?” I didn’t mean to pounce. But at last! Was she really going to tell me?

  She took a deep breath. “There wasn’t any person.”

  Oh, I thought, not this again!

  “It was me.”

  I said, “You?”

  She nodded and hung her head, like it was something to be ashamed of. I stared at her in disbelief.

  “You’ve been teaching yourself?”

  I’d never heard of anyone teaching themselves ballet! I didn’t think you could.

  Meekly she said, “I know I haven’t made a very good job of it.”

  “But you have!” I said. “You’ve done a fantastic job.”

  She looked at me, uncertainly.

  “Honestly! I only said about not being up to it when I thought you had a proper teacher. What’s really incredible is you don’t seem to have developed any bad habits. That,” I assured her, “is just, like, totally amazing!”

  “But I couldn’t even learn how to focus properly!”

  “No, cos there comes a point when you need help. You can’t teach yourself everything. What I don’t understand—” I hoisted myself up on to the horse and sat there, dangling my legs. “Since you’ve obviously got talent, and it’s very, very wrong ever to waste talent, why aren’t you having lessons?”

  She didn’t say anything to that; just perched beside me on the horse, her knees hugged up to her chin.

  “You need to tell your mum, before it’s too late! Or your dad,” I added, not wanting to be sexist, though most of the dads I’ve met don’t seem to be all that interested. My dad’s different cos of having been a dancer himself. But it’s always the mums, the pushy ballet mums, that Mum complains about.

  “It’s really important,” I said, “to get started. Leave it any longer and it’ll be too late!”

  She heaved a sigh. “I know. I’ve wanted to learn for simply ages! Ages and ages! Ever since I saw The Nutcracker. I went with my school and I just loved it so much.”

  “So … why don’t you have lessons?” I was at a loss. If she’d wanted to do it for so long—

  “I can’t!”

  “But why not? Have you tried asking your mum? Or dad.”

  “I haven’t got a dad. He died when I was a baby.”

  “Oh.” That threw me. I couldn’t think what to say. I’m not very good in these sorts of situation.

  “It’s all right,” said Caitlyn. “I don’t really remember him. But I can’t ask Mum! It would upset her if she thought there was something I desperately wanted to do and she couldn’t afford to let me do it. I know she couldn’t cos she worries about money all the time.”

  “Suppose you told her you’ve got real talent? You could tell her that I said you had. You could say how I’ve been helping you and how I said you needed to start having lessons right away before it’s too late. And then you—”

  “I couldn’t!” She shook her head, vehemently. “It would just worry her even more.”

  “But you’re being held back! Surely she could manage just one lesson a week? That wouldn’t cost much! We could ask my mum. I bet she’d take you. Just once a week? I could still go on helping you. I really think you should ask her. I think you should do it tonight! Soon as you get back from school.”

  “I can’t,” said Caitlyn. “I can’t!”

  “Can’t even ask for just one lesson a week?” I couldn’t imagine anybody not being able to afford just one lesson. Nobody could be that broke! “Just one lesson,” I said. “That’s all you’d be asking for!”

  She looked at me, tragically. “You don’t understand.”

  “I don’t think you do!” I probably said it a bit more sharply than I should have done. But all my life I’ve heard Mum saying how ballet is a precious gift and should be fed and nurtured. (Not quite sure what nurtured is. Taken care of, I think. Certainly not just tossed to one side cos of someone claiming their mum couldn’t even afford one measly little lesson per week.)

  “If you don’t start with a proper teacher right now,” I said, “you might just as well forget all about it cos it’ll be too late.”

  She muttered, “Yes. I know.”

  “Well then, if you know—” I stared at her, exasperated. Why was she so stubborn?

  Even as I watched, a tear rolled down her cheek, and then another, and another, until her eyes were brimming over. I thought, Omigod, I’m behaving like Mum!

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said, “but there’s no point pretending. If dancing really means anything to you, if it really, really means anything—”

  “It means the whole world!” She sprang down off the horse. “But so does my mum!”

  I was about to retort that if a person wanted to get anywhere as a dancer they had to be prepared to be totally single-minded and not be put off by anyone or anything, but at that moment the door opened and Miss Lucas appeared. It was probably just as well. Caitlyn was already quite upset enough without me making matters worse.

  “Oh, girls!” chirped Miss Lucas. “You’re still here! I’m glad you’re so keen – you’re obviously working extremely hard – but you do know the first bell has rung?”

  We hadn’t even heard it! Caitlyn, white-faced and miserable, was already halfway out of the door. I jumped down off the horse and set off after her.

  “Do I take it,” said Miss Lucas, “that you’re getting on all right?”

  I said, “Yes! Fine.”

  “Good! I’m very much looking forward to seeing the result – when you’re ready, of course. Only when you’re ready! I don’t want you to feel under any pressure.” She gave me an understanding beam. “I know you artists can’t be rushed. I’m sure your dad doesn’t like people hovering over him.”

  “Dad goes raving mad,” I said. “He’s very intolerant.”

  “Well, he’s a gifted choreographer. He has every right to be.”

  I thought, Tell that to Mum! Not that Mum is the most tolerant person in the world. Sean once said that she and Dad were like a couple of hand grenades, ready to go off. Not what you would call comfortable people to have as parents. But of course I am quite proud to belong to them, and I have to admit it impresses people. Miss Lucas, for example. You’d think Mum and Dad were royalty, the way her voice goes all oozy.

  “So, off you go,” she said, making little shooing motions towards the door. “I don’t want to be accused of making you late for lessons!”

  I went on my way, feeling vaguely guilty. I hadn’t done any work at all on her dance interlude that morning, I’d been too busy trying to bully Caitlyn. I could see, now, that I’d been a bit unkind. It’s true it maddens me when people won’t stick up for themselves, but being all pushy and upfront probably wasn’t very helpful. Especially with someone like Caitlyn. I didn’t want her going back in her shell and not talking to me again.

  I managed to catch her while we were filing out of the hall after morning assembly.

  “Please don’t worry,” I whispered. “We’ll find a way around it!”

  I would find a way around it. I am one of those people, I just refuse to be beaten.

  I was considerably annoyed when we were back at our desks and Jordan, hissing like an angry wasp, demanded to know what I’d been whispering about. I felt like saying, “What’s it
to you?”, but she probably felt she had a right to know. We weren’t used to keeping secrets from each other.

  “It wasn’t anything very interesting,” I said.

  “So why whisper?”

  “Cos we weren’t supposed to be talking!”

  “It’s rude to whisper,” said Livi. “I can’t understand what you see in that girl. Someone said you were in the gym with her this morning. What was she doing there?”

  I said, “Helping me, if you must know.”

  “What, her?”

  “We’re working on that thing for Miss Lucas.”

  “Why her? She’s not a dancer!”

  “Actually,” I said, “as a matter of fact, she is.”

  Jordan snorted. “Doesn’t look much like a dancer to me.”

  “She looks exactly like a dancer,” I said.

  I knew they were probably a bit jealous, and I could sort of sympathise cos of the three of us having been best friends for practically ever, but I had more important things to worry about than soothing ruffled feathers. There was a problem to be solved and it looked like I was the one who had to solve it.

  I made a start that same evening, after class. I waited until Mum and I were back home by ourselves again, and Mum was relaxing with her glass of wine, then said, “You know that girl I was talking about? The one who said she didn’t do ballet?”

  “Not her again!” said Mum.

  Well, at least she’d remembered who Caitlyn was. That was something.

  “Turns out I was right,” I said. “She does do it.”

  Mum said, “Ah. OK. Good.”

  “Just not with a teacher,” I said.

  “No?”

  She wasn’t listening properly! If she’d been listening properly, she’d have said, “How can someone do ballet without a teacher?” And then I would have explained. And then, maybe—

  Then maybe Mum would sit up and take notice, like, “Do you want me to have a look at her?” Then Caitlyn could show Mum what she was capable of and Mum would be so impressed she would immediately offer her free lessons! Maybe.

  “She’s trying to teach herself,” I said.

  Mum gave a little snort of laughter. At last! I had got her attention.