by Jean Ure
“Do you suppose it’s possible?” I said.
“No way,” said Mum.
“That’s what I thought! But honestly she’s really talented. She hasn’t developed any bad habits. Not as far as I can see. And I r—” I broke off at the sound of the front door opening.
“That’ll be Sean,” said Mum. “He said he’d be home early.”
“Oh. Right. Well, like I was saying, I really—”
“In here!” called Mum.
“I really think sh—”
But already Mum had lost interest. What little she’d ever had. Sean is her big favourite. I don’t really mind cos he’s my favourite, too. He’s everyone’s! Mum says he has way too much charm for his own good. And he’s better looking than anyone has a right to be. He takes after Dad, which is to say he has black hair and these really bright blue eyes, whereas me and Jen are more like Mum. Actually, to be honest, Jen is very like Mum. They are both redheads, green-eyed, with cheekbones to die for.
I am also a redhead, though more chestnut than Mum and Jen, and sadly I do not have cheekbones to die for. Mum says that my face is “distressingly round”. Dad, trying to make me feel better, says that I am cheeky-looking. But who wants to be cheeky-looking? When they’re hoping to dance all the great classics? Swan Lake and Giselle and Sleeping Beauty?
“Madeleine O’Brien made a cheeky-looking Giselle …”
I don’t think so! I live in hope of growing thin and haggard as I get older. Never mind cheeky, I want cheekbones!
All the rest of the family have cheekbones. Life is very unfair. But not, I reminded myself, as unfair to me as it was to Caitlyn.
I said, “Honestly, Mum, I do think she needs to have proper lessons. I th—”
“Yes, yes,” said Mum. “I hear you. How did this morning go?” she asked, as Sean came in.
“Yeah, fine. We’re getting there.” He was talking, I think, about the new production of The Nutcracker that the company were putting on. He saw me and raised a hand. “Hi, Beanie.”
Don’t ask! Just do not ask.
I said, “Have you got the evening off?”
“I have. If that’s all right with you?”
“I s’pose they can manage without you,” I said. And then, quickly turning back to Mum before she could lose track of what we’d been talking about, “See, if she doesn’t have lessons soon—”
“Tell your brother,” said Mum. “I’m going to make a cup of coffee.”
I sighed.
“Tell me what?” said Sean, flinging himself down on the sofa.
I settled next to him, prepared for a cosy chat. Unlike Mum, Sean is someone who listens.
“It’s this girl,” I said. “This new girl. Caitlyn. She does so want to do ballet! She’s been trying to teach herself, but—”
Sean groaned.
“No, she’s good!” I said. “Really she is! It’s just that her mum can’t afford lessons and I’m worried about all that talent going to waste.”
“So, what exactly were you proposing to do about it?”
Eagerly I said, “Well, I thought if I could just get Mum to take an interest—”
“Get her to take an interest? How do you ever get Mum to do anything?”
“I’d keep on at her,” I said. “I’d just keep on and on until I wore her down!”
Sean shook his head. “Not a good idea. You’ll need to be a lot more subtle than that.”
I frowned. “How d’you mean?”
“I mean the only way you can ever hope to get Mum to do something she doesn’t want to do is by letting her think it was her idea rather than yours.”
“Oh.” I crinkled my nose. “How would I do that?”
“Don’t ask me! That’s your problem.”
“You could do it,” I said.
“Why me?”
“Cos you’re her favourite! She listens to you.”
“But I don’t know the girl! I don’t know anything about her. Why this crusading zeal all of a sudden?”
“I’m just thinking how it’s a crime to waste talent,” I said. “That’s what Mum’s always telling us.”
“Mum’s always telling us lots of things.”
“But what am I going to do?” I wailed. “I promised Caitlyn I’d solve the problem!”
“Shouldn’t have done that,” said Sean.
“Well, I did! And now I’ve got to. I thought if Mum saw her she might offer to teach her for free?”
“Oh, you poor deluded thing!” Sean reached out and ruffled my hair. I usually hate it when people do that. Sean gets away with things; he always has done.
“You’re not being very helpful,” I grumbled.
“If I could be, sweetheart, I would. I just don’t see how I can help. Ah!” He sat up. “Coffee!”
Before I knew it, he and Mum were deep in company talk. Even though it’s been years since Mum last danced, she’s still keen to hear all the latest gossip. So am I, as a rule, but I was too bothered about Caitlyn and the promise I’d made. I could see, now, that I’d been a bit rash. Mum was too used to pushy ballet mums parading their untalented little darlings in front of her and expecting her to welcome them with cries of delight. It was a bit disappointing. I mean, I was me. I was her daughter! She should know by now that she could trust me. I wouldn’t expect her to waste her time on some flat-footed pudding face of a girl. (Mum’s words, not mine.)
I kept thinking of what Sean had said about letting Mum think it was her own idea. I couldn’t immediately see how I was expected to make that happen, but I was already beginning to hatch a plan. Of sorts. If I could go on working with Caitlyn, even just for a short time every day, then perhaps by Christmas I’d feel she was ready to show Mum what she could do, and then somehow – though I wasn’t at all sure how – I could get Mum to look at her. And once Mum saw for herself how talented she was – well! I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t offer to help.
I was on my way up to bed, later on, when Sean called after me.
“Hey, Bean! I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?” I spun around, hopefully.
“This girl you’re so eager to help—”
“Caitlyn!”
“Did you say she went to your school? Because, if so, how come her parents—”
“Her mum,” I said. “That’s the problem! They’re a one-parent family. They haven’t got much money.”
“Whatever! The question remains.”
I said, “What question?”
“School fees?” said Sean
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that.
“It’s obviously a question of priorities. On the one hand school fees – on the other ballet lessons. The mum plainly reckons it’s more important to send her to Coombe House than to pay for her to learn ballet. Doesn’t seem to me there’s very much you can do about that. Sorry, kiddo!” He ruffled my hair again. “You can’t fight everyone’s battles.”
I knew that Sean was right. If Caitlyn’s mum thought school fees were more important than ballet lessons, there wasn’t very much that I could do about it. Not even if I went and explained how Caitlyn was talented and how talent shouldn’t ever be wasted. My mum never seemed to listen to anything I said; why should Caitlyn’s?
It was a bit disheartening, but I wasn’t going to let it stop me. One way or another, Caitlyn was going to have lessons! After all, it was hardly her fault if her mum had her priorities wrong. I decided that just for the moment I would exercise what Mum calls discretion. Discretion is apparently something I don’t have very much of. It means, as far as I can make out, not bombarding people with personal questions, no matter how much you might be dying to know the answers. I actually felt I deserved some answers, seeing as I was willing to give up my precious time to help her; though I supposed, to be fair, it was my choice. It wasn’t like she’d asked me.
I couldn’t understand, though, why her mum had chosen to send her to Coombe House. It’s not as if it’s a top school or anything. Mum a
lways calls it tinpot. She only sent me there cos it’s not very academic and means I can devote most of my energies to dancing and not have to cope with mounds of homework every night. But if, for instance, I’d wanted to be a brain surgeon or something, she’d have done better sending me to Shenley High. Why hadn’t Caitlyn’s mum sent her to Shenley High? Everyone says it’s one of the best comprehensives in London. I couldn’t understand it. It seemed the minute I’d solved one mystery about Caitlyn, another came popping up. But just for the moment, I reminded myself, I was going to be discreet.
Caitlyn wasn’t there when I arrived at school early next morning. She came creeping into the gym a few minutes later, looking a bit uncertain, like maybe I was going to tell her I didn’t want anything to do with her any more. I assured her that nothing had changed.
“I’ll just go on teaching you until – well! Until I can find a better solution. But it’s all right for now. I bet there are loads worse teachers than me!”
I didn’t tell her that I was already hatching a plan. That somehow – even if I still didn’t quite know how – I was determined on getting Mum to take notice of her. I just couldn’t believe that Mum wouldn’t be impressed! I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t offer Caitlyn free classes. Not the way she went on about how it was such a crime to waste talent. She went on about that almost as much as she went on about pudding-faced girls with legs like tree trunks.
At the end of our session, as we left the gym, I said, “I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you come round after school one day and you can see the DVD Dad made of Mum when she was dancing?”
“Oh!” Her face lit up. “Could I?”
“Don’t see any reason why not. Unless you live miles away, like Liv.”
Livi had a really long journey every morning. She came by Tube – ten stops on the Jubilee Line! It meant I didn’t very often see her out of school. It wasn’t really practical for either of us to just drop by.
“We’re in Old Church Lane,” I said. “Where are you, exactly?”
I was surprised when she said “just the other side of the main road” cos that’s the big estate, Coopers Field. I’d never met anyone from there before; it doesn’t have a very good reputation. Caitlyn’s cheeks had turned a bit pink. I immediately felt ashamed of myself. What did it matter where she lived?
“You’re so lucky,” I said. “That means you can walk to school! And you’re near the Tube. Sean would be so envious! He’s always complaining about having to get the bus home after a performance. Two buses. The Tube would be so much easier. Specially when it’s freezing cold or pouring with rain. Specially after you’ve been dancing all evening.”
I was burbling, mindlessly.
“So, anyway,” I said, “ask your mum! Ask her if you can come over next Monday. Monday’s the best cos I don’t have a class on Mondays.” I didn’t have classes on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, either. What was more important was that Mum didn’t have classes on a Monday. It was her evening off, so she would almost certainly be at home. That meant I could introduce Caitlyn to her, and who knew? She might immediately think, Oh! That girl is a dancer, same as I had. At any rate, I thought, it was worth a try.
Caitlyn reported next day that her mum said it was fine for her to come and watch Dad’s DVD, “So long as I’m home by five cos of it getting dark.”
“No problem,” I said. “The bus goes straight down the hill from our place to the main road. It only takes about ten minutes.”
Or maybe I could get Mum to give her a lift, though on second thoughts it might be best not to tell Mum where Caitlyn lived. Not immediately, at any rate; not until she’d seen for herself how talented Caitlyn was. Mum gets these ideas into her head sometimes. She’s convinced the whole of Coopers Field is inhabited by muggers and drug dealers. Sean laughs at her about it, Dad rolls his eyes and Jen goes, “Mum, for heaven’s sake!” I am never quite sure what to think. I just hoped, for Caitlyn’s sake, that Mum was wrong. I wouldn’t like to think of Caitlyn living amongst muggers and drug dealers.
Mum was downstairs when we arrived home after school on Monday. Downstairs is the basement, where we eat and sometimes just lounge about.
I took Caitlyn down there and proudly presented her. I said, “Mum, this is Caitlyn. She’s come to watch your DVD that Dad made.”
Mum said, “That old thing! What on earth do you want to show her that for?”
“Cos she’s interested,” I said. “She’s—”
I was about to remind Mum who Caitlyn was – “She’s the one I was telling you about!” – but right at that moment Mum’s phone rang. Always something!
Mum mouthed at me across the room: “It’s Jen! Do you want to get yourselves something to eat?”
We went back upstairs with some yoghurt and fruit and settled down to the DVD. We were about ten minutes in when Mum appeared.
“Maddy, I’m just popping over to Jen’s for a bit. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. OK? Nice to meet you, Caitlyn! Hope you’re enjoying that DVD.”
“I am,” Caitlyn assured her, but Mum had already gone.
“Honestly, this house,” I said. “Everybody always going somewhere. Why can’t they just keep still?”
Five minutes later, Sean appeared. He popped his head around the door and said, “Hi, Beanie! Mum around?”
“No,” I said, “she suddenly went rushing over to see Jen.” And then, very quickly, before he could vanish: “This is Caitlyn. My friend from school.”
Sean said, “Hi, Caitlyn!” He flashed her a dizzying smile and shot off into the house.
“Are you staying in?” I shouted.
“No! Due at the theatre.”
I heaved a sigh. Wasn’t anyone interested?
Caitlyn, bright pink from the effect of being smiled at, giggled in a slightly embarrassed way and said, “Why does he call you Beanie?”
“Oh, that’s just him being silly,” I said. “It’s cos when Mum was having me she got one of those picture thingies they take when the baby’s inside you—”
“A sonogram!” said Caitlyn, enchanted.
“Something like that.” What was there to be enchanted about? Just because we were talking about my soppy brother? “Sean couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be. He said it looked like a bean.”
“They do, sort of,” said Caitlyn. “My auntie had one.”
“Yes, but he seemed to think Mum actually had a bean growing inside her … he was eight years old,” I said. “Mum always says Sean keeps his brains in his feet.”
“Like me,” said Caitlyn; and then, covered in confusion, “I didn’t mean … I mean, I just meant …”
“You remember things with your feet,” I said, kindly.
Seconds later, Sean’s head reappeared round the door.
“Did you say Mum had gone to Jen’s? It’s not the baby, is it?”
“You mean the bean,” I said. Caitlyn giggled, and immediately clapped a hand to her mouth. “It’s not due till the end of December.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. OK, I’m off!”
“See what I mean?” I said. I tapped my head. “Brains in feet. Jenny’s my sister, by the way. Mum’s very angry with her.”
“Really?” Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “She didn’t sound angry.”
“No, but she is.”
“Why? What’s she angry about?”
“She doesn’t believe in people having babies and giving up their career.”
“But your mum had babies!”
“She didn’t give up her career, though. Not till I was born and by then it was time for her to stop dancing, anyway. And as a matter of fact,” I said, “it’s me more than Mum who ought to be angry. If it wasn’t for Jen, I’d be at ballet school by now. She was allowed to go when she was eleven. I’ve got to wait.” It was a sore point with me. “Mum says she wants to make sure I know that it’s what I really want to do. She thinks Jen wasn’t dedicated enough. All that talent just wasted!”
“What about—” Cait
lyn hesitated, then brought it out in a rush. “What about your brother?”
Her face had gone all pink again. She’d got it really bad. Too embarrassed even to say his name!
“Oh, well, Sean,” I said. “He’s Mum’s favourite. He can get away with anything.”
“So, when did he go to ballet school?”
“He waited till he was thirteen, but that was his own choice. I’m just dying to go! I’d have gone this term if only they’d let me.”
“That means I wouldn’t ever have met you,” said Caitlyn.
“Well, not unless you somehow managed to have lessons and ended up as a dancer … It’s such a small world, we’d be bound to meet sooner or later.”
“Not if I didn’t manage to have lessons.”
“No …”
We both gazed for a while at the screen, where Mum was coming to the end of the mad scene in Giselle. I reminded myself, very firmly, that I was being discreet. No more questions! Not for the moment, anyway.
Caitlyn heaved a blissful sigh. “Your mum was so beautiful.”
I said, “Yes, though Giselle wasn’t ever really her best part. She was actually more suited to Queen of the Wilis. That’s what Dad says.”
Caitlyn heaved another sigh. “I dream about dancing Giselle.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “It’s your sort of part. I’m more of a Swanilda.”
“Oh, yes! I adore Coppélia! I can just see you as Swanilda … I love the bit where she’s pretending to be a doll.”
We both immediately sprang off the sofa and began jerking our arms and legs, humming the music as we did so.
“Is it something you dream about?” said Caitlyn. “Dancing Swanilda?”
“I don’t exactly dream about it,” I said. “It’s more like I’m trying to be realistic. You have to face facts … I’m not really cut out to be a great classical dancer. I’ve got the wrong sort of face, for one thing. And the wrong personality. Like that day Miss Lucas had us all walking across imaginary tightropes? You took it seriously: I just wanted to make people laugh.”
“Swanilda makes people laugh.”
“That’s why she’s my sort of part. I’m never going to be like Mum.”