by Jean Ure
“I didn’t not like you.”
“But you were incredibly rude,” I said. “When I asked you where you did ballet?”
“Yes.” She hung her head. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to be so horrible. It was just … I’ve dreamt of being a dancer for so long, and all of a sudden there you were, with your mum, and your dad, and your brother, and how could I admit that I would’ve just died to have your chances?”
She tugged her hair out of its ponytail and shook it loose, like she was trying to hide her face.
“You know after I’d seen Nutcracker and I wanted more than anything on earth to have ballet lessons? The school I was at then, I had to walk past your mum’s place every day. The Anderson Academy of Dance.” She sighed. “I did so want to go there! But my gran had just died and Mum had to give up her job and go part time cos there wasn’t anyone at home to look after me and I just knew it wasn’t going to happen and there was this girl in my class who did ballet, and sometimes she’d bring her ballet shoes with her, all lovely and pink and satiny, and I did soooo envy her!”
“Did you envy me?” I said. “Did you resent me?”
“No! Well – maybe. Just a bit. Not cos you had lessons and I didn’t, but cos you seemed to take it all for granted.”
Quickly I said, “I don’t if I stop to think about it. I know I’ve been lucky! But you still haven’t told me why your mum thinks school fees are more important than ballet lessons?”
“It’s not so much she thinks they’re more important, just that she can’t afford both. She worries so much about money!”
“So how come she m—” I was about to say, How come she manages to pay for you to go to Coombe House, but that sounded really rude. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“It’s all right.” Caitlyn pushed her hair back and sat up very straight, legs crossed, hands clasped in her lap. “When my gran died, she left this money to be used specially for my education.”
“But ballet’s education!”
“Yes, I know, but it’s not what Gran would’ve wanted. She wanted me to go to Coombe House! She used to work there once upon a time, and she always told Mum it was her dream that I should go there. She thought it was such a lovely school!”
“Oh, well, of course it is,” I said, desperately trying to remember what I’d said about it. I surely hadn’t told Caitlyn that Mum referred to it as tinpot? “What did your gran teach?”
“She didn’t teach,” said Caitlyn. “She was a dinner lady. For years and years! She said the girls were all so polite and the teachers were really friendly. Not like where she was before, when they hardly even spoke to her. Not the teachers or the boys.”
“Where was that?” I said. “Not Hallfield? Oh, I must tell Sean! He’ll be so glad he didn’t go there. He’d have talked to your gran all right! Sean talks to everybody.”
“Even dinner ladies?” said Caitlyn.
“Everybody,” I said. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I’d sounded rather rude again. I didn’t mean to! I’d just meant that Sean is really friendly and outgoing. Unlike Mum and Dad, who tend not to notice people unless they happen to be part of their own world.
“There’s Mum!” Caitlyn bounced herself off the bed. “Let’s go and have some tea. And please, Maddy, please! Remember what you promised?”
If you are rash enough to make a promise, you are duty-bound to keep it, but sometimes, I have to say, it is far from easy. In my head I’d rehearsed all the things that I would like to say to Caitlyn’s mum if I ever met her. I’d planned to make these long, impassioned speeches about how it was a crime to waste talent. And then I would beg her and plead with her to give Caitlyn a chance.
“She needs to start lessons now, before it’s too late!”
And I couldn’t say any of it!
We had a proper sit-down tea, which we almost never have at home cos nobody’s ever there, and Caitlyn’s mum kept asking me the sort of questions that well-meaning grown-ups always ask when they want to show an interest, but can’t quite think of what to talk about, like, “How do you get on at school, Maddy?” and “What’s your favourite subject?” I didn’t mind as I could see she was just trying to make me feel welcome, but Caitlyn kept shooting these agonised glances across the table, like she was just waiting for me to say something I shouldn’t. And then her mum asked me the one that grown-ups always, always ask: “So, what are you planning to do when you leave school, Maddy?”
Caitlyn wailed, “Mum! She’s going to be a dancer. I told you … all her family are dancers. Her mum, her dad, her brother, her s—”
“Yes, of course! I’m so sorry, Maddy.” Caitlyn’s mum smiled apologetically at me. “That was a silly question, wasn’t it?”
“Well, not really,” I said.
I couldn’t help liking Caitlyn’s mum, in spite of the terrible crime she was committing. She was small and pale, like Caitlyn, and seemed really anxious to make me feel at home. Unlike my Mum when I’d brought Caitlyn back with me. My mum had hardly even noticed she was there.
“Thing is,” I said, “not everyone who comes from a ballet family goes on to become a dancer. Though I probably will,” I added.
“Caitlyn’s always said she wants to be a teacher. Haven’t you?”
“I did once,” said Caitlyn.
“Her gran would be so proud of her! It was her dream, you know, that she should go to Coombe House. Wasn’t it?”
Caitlyn nodded.
“And now she’s there and really enjoying herself. And all thanks to her gran!”
After we’d finished tea, Caitlyn said, “We probably ought to take Maddy home now, or her mum will start to worry.”
She wouldn’t, but I didn’t say so. I could see that Caitlyn was growing increasingly uneasy in case I broke my promise. She needn’t have been so anxious; even if I hadn’t promised, I wouldn’t have said anything. Her mum had been too nice! I could understand why Caitlyn didn’t want to upset her.
I nearly did upset her, though. Or upset Caitlyn, cos I’m sure it would’ve done. When she’d said she and her mum would take me home, I’d automatically thought she meant they would drive me back. I was quite puzzled when we left the estate cos where did they keep their car? I was about to ask when Caitlyn cried, “There’s the bus!” and went racing off to the bus stop, waving her hand.
It was then that I realised: taking me back meant putting me on the bus. Unless it meant actually coming on the bus with me?
It did! I couldn’t believe it. Mum would never go to so much trouble! She’d just say, “Call a cab.” In spite of having a car, which Caitlyn’s mum obviously didn’t. I tried telling her that she and Caitlyn really didn’t have to come with me, it wasn’t that dark, but she said she wouldn’t hear of letting me go on my own.
“Whatever would your mum say?”
I didn’t think, probably, that Mum would say anything. I was just glad that I hadn’t said anything, like, Oh, don’t you have a car? I squirmed with embarrassment just at the thought of it. Me and my big mouth! Except that for once I hadn’t actually opened my big mouth. I felt quite proud of myself. I was learning!
One Friday when we were in the gym the door opened and Miss Lucas appeared.
“No, no!” She waved a hand. “Carry on, don’t mind me.”
“We were just warming up,” I said.
“Quite right! I’ll just sit quietly and watch.”
Behind her back Caitlyn pulled an agonised face. I didn’t mind Miss Lucas watching, I never mind anybody watching me, but I could see it was embarrassing Caitlyn. She still wasn’t really sure of herself.
“Actually,” I said, “we were just about to start rehearsing.”
“Oh, good!” Miss Lucas settled herself comfortably on one of the benches. “That was what I was hoping. I don’t mean to pry; I was just wondering how you were getting on?”
“Shall we show you?”
“If you would! That would be splendid.”
I ran over to start the CD player. “
Ready?” I said to Caitlyn.
She shook her head, vehemently, and hoisted herself up on to the horse. “You do it!”
I could have insisted, but I didn’t want her doing anything she wasn’t comfortable with. She might rise to the occasion – but, then again, she might not. I didn’t really know her well enough yet to be certain, and I was scared it might destroy her confidence.
“Oh!” cried Miss Lucas, as the music began. “Albinoni’s Adagio!” She clapped her hands. “An excellent choice!”
I reflected once again that if it hadn’t been for Caitlyn I might still be using the first piece I’d chosen, all spiky and jazzy. I couldn’t help wondering what Miss Lucas would have made of that.
As I reached the end of the sequence and sank down, frail and exhausted – I could be frail and exhausted! Dancers have to act as well as dance – Miss Lucas stood up and clasped her hands to her bosom. “Oh, Maddy,” she said, “that was quite wonderful! Exactly what I was looking for. Thank you so much! Do you know, I was originally going to suggest some music that might be suitable? I’m so glad I didn’t! I might have known I could trust you.”
I said, “Well, but Caitlyn has helped. We’ve been working on it together.”
“Wonderful! My thanks to both of you. I can’t tell you how happy I am! Caitlyn, I shall make sure your name appears in the programme … choreography by Madeleine O’Brien and Caitlyn Hughes.”
I could see Caitlyn opening her mouth to protest. “Oh, but I really didn’t—”
Quickly, I cut in. “Caitlyn’s my understudy. She can dance it as well as I can. So if I go and fall under a bus—”
“Oh, Maddy, please!” Miss Lucas looked horrified. “Don’t joke about such things!”
“Well, you never know,” I said. “That’s how Mum got her first solo.”
“Someone fell under a bus?” said Caitlyn, sounding shocked.
“No, they fell down some steps and broke their ankle.”
Miss Lucas clicked her tongue, disapprovingly. “That’s not going to happen here. But I’ll tell you what, next year you must both do something. It’s so nice, Maddy, that you’ve found a fellow dancer. I know last year you weren’t very— well!” She put a finger to her lips. “Let us draw a veil. Best forgotten.”
“What did she mean by that?” wondered Caitlyn, as Miss Lucas whisked herself away.
“Just that last year she wanted me to do something with this other girl, Poppy Johnson.”
“The one in Year Eight?”
“The pudding face.”
Caitlyn giggled.
“It was just awful. Clump, clump, clump, all over the stage. And she insisted on pointe work when she wasn’t ready for it and kept wobbling and nearly falling over. And I got Mum to come watch and now Mum probably won’t ever come to anything ever again!”
“By the way—” Miss Lucas’s old grey head had appeared around the door again. “I meant to say … it’s pouring with rain so we’ll all be back up here for PE, but there’s no need to pull that face, Maddy! I have something exciting lined up. Something I think you’ll both enjoy.”
“Not Greek dancing?” I said.
I know it was a bit cheeky, but I couldn’t resist it. Fortunately Miss Lucas has a sense of humour.
“For that,” she said, “you almost deserve Greek dancing! But no, this is something far more energetic. And just be warned … I shall expect some real performances from you two girls!”
I couldn’t believe it when we all trooped up to the gym later on for PE and heard this really cool music coming from the CD player. Definitely not classical! We all exchanged wondering glances.
“Rock ’n’ roll,” said Miss Lucas, with a big beam. “And we are going to dance to it! Has anyone heard of a dance called the jitterbug?”
Slowly we shook our heads.
“Well, it was very popular in America in the 1930s. It was quite a craze! People were jitterbugging all over the place. It’s a young person’s dance; I’m far too old to demonstrate. If there were young men here, they’d be sweeping you up and swirling you round … upside down, over their shoulders, every which way. As there aren’t, you will just have to make do.”
Livi and Jordan gave loud groans.
“I know, I know,” said Miss Lucas. “Life is very unfair. Now, there are no set steps so it’s entirely up to you what you choose to do. But lots of imagination, please! Listen to the music … be inspired. On your marks … get set, go!”
Within seconds everyone was jitterbugging like crazy all around the gym. I didn’t have a chance to see what the others were doing, I was too bound up with the music. It was like having a big spring unwinding inside you, sending your arms and legs shooting in all different directions, at the same time as your hips were gyrating, your knees now knocking, now apart, your feet turning in and then out as you jerked to and fro across the floor. As different from classical ballet as could possibly be.
Afterwards Miss Lucas had us all dancing two at a time in front of the rest of the class. There was lots of movement, but watching with a critical eye (the way Mum had taught me) I could see that most people were just flinging themselves around without any real invention. Me and Caitlyn were kept till last and almost immediately we found ourselves dancing as a pair, mirroring each other’s movements, coming together, breaking apart, following, circling, this way, that way. At the end there was a simply huge burst of applause, more than I’d ever had before.
“That was so fun,” said Caitlyn. “Didn’t you think so? Or was it—” She hesitated. “Was it something your mum would disapprove of?”
“Oh, Mum wouldn’t disapprove,” I said. “I mean, she’d probably whack me across the back of the legs if I tried turning my toes in during one of her classes—”
Caitlyn looked alarmed.
“It’s what she does,” I said. “She’s like a maniac! She’s always whacking people – or prodding them, or poking them. But she’s not against other forms of dance. And anyway you know in Rite of Spring? They actually do dance with their toes turned in! Well, in Nijinsky’s version they do.”
“Really?” said Caitlyn.
“Like this.” I demonstrated a few steps. “Haven’t you ever seen it?” I had a sudden idea. “If you came round tomorrow afternoon, we could watch it and then you could stay to tea. It’s only fair,” I said. “You had me over for tea. Now it’s my turn! Plus we could do some more glitterbugging, maybe.”
Caitlyn giggled. “Jitterbugging!”
“Whatever.” I waved a hand. “We could be the Glitter Girls! We could work out a whole sequence.”
And maybe Mum would be there, and maybe she would stop to watch, and then maybe, at long last, she would see for herself that Caitlyn had real talent.
“Shall we do that?” I said.
Caitlyn nodded, blissfully. “Yes, please!”
“Come at about three o’clock,” I said. Mum would almost certainly be home by then. “If you text me from the bus, I’ll come and meet you.”
Wouldn’t you just know it? Mum wasn’t yet back by the time Caitlyn arrived. She should have been! She finished her classes at half past two. Dad wasn’t there, either. He’d come back from New York, but then gone whizzing off again, to Holland this time, which meant we had the house to ourselves. It was good, in a way. It meant we could glitterbug, as crazily as we liked, all over the hall. Caitlyn kept saying, “It’s jitterbug, it’s jitterbug!” But I thought that if there wasn’t a dance called the glitterbug there ought to be, and we were inventing it.
I’d unearthed a rock ’n’ roll CD and the music was pounding so loud, and we were flinging ourselves around so wildly, that we didn’t immediately realise we were being watched. Not until a familiar voice said, “What’s all this, then?”
It was Sean and his friend Danny. They must have been downstairs.
“We’re glitterbugging!” I cried.
Caitlyn didn’t correct me. She’d either given up the unequal struggle (as Dad is fond of sa
ying) or she’d been struck dumb. Struck dumb was my guess.
I did a knock-kneed zigzag towards her, daring her to stop.
“Yes, carry on, carry on! Let’s all have a go!”
Before I knew it, Sean had sprung forward. He never can resist the temptation to join in! Very soon we were all three glitterbugging to and fro across the hall. If there were young men here, Miss Lucas had said, … they would be sweeping you up and swirling you round … upside down, over their shoulders, every which way.
Jordan and Livi would have been so jealous! Sean is only my brother so I am quite used to dancing with him, he doesn’t overwhelm me; but Caitlyn confessed later on, a lot later on, that it had made her go “all funny”.
Danny, meanwhile, had got his camera out and was snapping away as fast as he could go.
“Don’t worry,” he assured us. “I won’t use anything without your permission.”
“Why would he want to use our photos?” Caitlyn wondered, when Sean and Danny had gone wandering off to another part of the house, leaving us on our own.
“Cos he’s a photographer,” I said. “He does photos of the ballet – well, and other things, too, but ballet’s what he most loves. He’s Sean’s boyfriend,” I added.
I don’t quite know why I added that. I didn’t do it on purpose to see if it would make her blush; it just seemed like a normal bit of conversation. Like if Jen and Steve had been there, I’d have said, “Steve is Jen’s husband.” But it was enough just to mention Sean’s name to turn her bright pink. She obviously had a massive crush on him!
“We thought for a bit,” I said, “he was going out with this girl in the company who’s a real prima donna. Really pushy. Always reaching out and grabbing. Just me, me, me! It’s one thing,” I said, “to seize every opportunity, but that doesn’t mean trampling all over everybody else. I mean, I’m quite pushy, but I wouldn’t ever trample.”
I was only burbling on to give her a chance to turn a bit less pink. I am so glad I don’t blush!
“Danny’s really nice,” I said. “Mum says he’s a good influence cos he’s older than Sean and he’s got more sense. I think our glitterbugging went really well, don’t you? I might ask Dad if he could do a glitterbug ballet. Or we could do one! Just for ourselves. We could call ourselves the Glitter Girls. Hey, Sean!” I yelled. “We’re the Glitter Girls! D’you want to do some more?”