by Davina Bell
Although Mama was thin and weak and couldn’t get out of bed, she had survived, and she seemed to be over the worst. Now she could chat a little on the days she felt stronger. Mabel insisted it was the onions that had cured her, but Alice wondered if somehow Papa Sir had something to do with it, wherever he was now.
At the greenhouse, Alice threw off his dressing gown and shivered in her dance tunic as she wound the gramophone. She felt excitement tingle through her, as if she were winding herself up, too, ready for all the leaps and twirls and stretches.
The day Mama had got sick had been the day that Alice had danced the part of the Fairy Snow Queen, which was the first ballet she’d done in a long time. After the war had ended, she hadn’t wanted to start again; she hadn’t thought she’d be as good as she was when she’d practised so much for the audition with Edouard Espinosa, the famous ballet teacher from London.
And she hadn’t been. At first she’d been puffed by the end of every dance, and her legs had felt stiff and wooden. When she’d turned pirouettes, she hadn’t been able to keep her balance – not even on the single ones. But now that Mama was getting better, Alice had doubled the length of her practices, waking up earlier and staying up longer, and she could feel that she was a better dancer than she had ever been. When Miss Lillibet came each night to teach her, Alice could see that she thought so, too.
A sharp tap at the window made Alice wobble. She turned to peer out into the sunrise and, silhouetted against the pink sky, she saw Teddy, two steaming mugs in his hands. She ran to let him in.
‘Cocoa,’ he said in a flat, lifeless voice. ‘For when you’re finished. May I watch?’
‘Yes,’ said Alice in surprise, running to get his old painting chair from where it was folded in the corner. Teddy hadn’t shown any interest in her dancing since he’d come home. If he was anywhere near when Miss Lillibet arrived, he usually lowered his head and slunk off. He hadn’t shown any interest in anything, really, except sitting on the verandah and glaring at James, the kindly one-armed soldier who was part of their family now. He didn’t paint anymore, and he rarely smiled. That cocoa’s the nicest thing he’s done since he’s been back, Alice thought as she changed the gramophone record, feeling a little puzzled. I wonder why he’s come.
By the time Alice had worked her way through her pieces, she was so warm that she would have preferred water to cocoa, but she sat on the floor beside Teddy and drank it anyway as she did the splits. She’d worked hard and danced well, but Teddy had just stared at her blankly. It doesn’t matter, she told herself as they sipped in silence. He came – that’s something.
‘Do you think I should get a job?’ Teddy blurted as she stood up.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked. She had never thought of Teddy working as anything other than an artist. She’d never really thought of him working at all, but as she looked at him now, she realised that he wasn’t a child anymore; he was a man, and men worked, didn’t they?
‘Well,’ she said uncertainly.
‘I know there aren’t many jobs. And all the soldiers who’ve come back are after them. But with Papa Sir leaving us here alone, well, shouldn’t I?’ His voice was hard, and he wouldn’t meet Alice’s eyes. He sounded angry – angry with Papa Sir for dying.
‘But what about art school in London? Isn’t that what you were going to do?’ asked Alice. ‘And travel around Europe, with those artists who paint with little dots? When you feel better, I mean.’
Teddy crunched his teeth against each other. The way they squeaked made the hairs on Alice’s arms stand up, and suddenly she wasn’t so warm.
‘Papa Sir left us buckets of Grandpa’s money,’ she added hurriedly. ‘You don’t need to work. Just get better.’
‘Well, someone will need to stay when you go.’
‘Go where? What do you mean?’
‘Don’t act all innocent,’ he snarled. ‘It’s you who’ll be going to London, Alice. To be a famous dancer. And you’ll take Miss Lillibet with you.’
Alice froze.
‘I read that letter,’ he continued. ‘From your audition. Mama asked me to turn the mattresses over, and I found it under yours. Are you going to London to that fellow’s dance school?’ Teddy swallowed, and his voice was tight and reedy. ‘Because he’s right about your dancing. It’s . . . good.’
There was a time when Teddy had loved Alice’s dancing more than anyone – when hearing that someone believed she was talented would have made him puff up with pride. But now he sounded as if it were something hateful.
‘No,’ said Alice quickly. ‘I’m not going to London – or anywhere. I wouldn’t leave you all.’ Yet as the words tumbled out, she felt as if some precious part of her was being ripped away. Though she hadn’t admitted it to herself, her dream of going to London to Edouard’s dance school had never died, not even in all those months when she’d given up ballet. Perhaps it was what had kept her strong when the war had cast its deep shadow over their lives.
But how could I leave them now? she wondered. They had come so close to losing Mama that it seemed cold and heartless to even think of it. Teddy had a point: with everything that had happened, it wouldn’t be right.
Alice looked up to see Teddy glaring at her.
‘Do you give me your word?’ he asked with a quiet sort of menace.
No no no! shrieked a little part of Alice’s mind. But she nodded and said, ‘Of course.’
Seeming satisfied with that, Teddy left, not remembering to pick up the dirty cocoa mugs. But as Alice folded up his painting chair and put it back against the wall, she felt her neck getting hot. It’s not fair – it wasn’t my choice that Papa Sir died, she thought. It isn’t my fault that Teddy has turned so nasty. If he was happy and normal and kind, I wouldn’t feel so bad about leaving.
And then a familiar feeling came over her – one she knew now wasn’t very helpful, but that overtook her so strongly that she couldn’t help giving in to it. It was the feeling that perhaps she could fix the problem herself – that if she could do something to help Teddy, it would turn out all right.
‘There must be something I haven’t already tried,’ she whispered as she charged up to the kitchen. She grabbed a scone from the sideboard on her way through, and sprinted upstairs, gobbling down the buttery goodness. Outside Mama’s bedroom door she brushed the crumbs from her dance tunic and knocked.
‘Entre!’ Mama called, her voice sounding merry.
Alice dived onto Mama’s big bed, kissing her hollow cheeks. She was as tiny as a doll and her eyes seemed as huge as Little’s now.
‘Ma petite, good morning! ’ow was your practice? Oof – your face is cold.’
‘Not bad. Mama, I need to know something. What was the happiest moment of your whole entire life?’
‘Alors – that is a difficile question. I must take a minute to think.’ Mama put her chin in her slender white hand, and looked out her window at the river, which was grey as slate against the rosy sky, its surface rough. She was quiet for a long time, and in the still silence, Alice lay her head in Mama’s lap. How could I bear to leave this? she wondered.
‘There was a night, a magical night,’ Mama said eventually, ‘when your father took me to Venice, and rowed me on a boat in the moonlight – all the way out to sea. And he told me he would never stop loving me, not even when his heart stopped beating.’ She looked up at Alice and smiled, even though her eyes were shimmering with tears. ‘It seemed as if our leetle boat was floating, held up by love. I ’ave never felt as happy.’
Alice wanted to say to Mama that Papa Sir still loved her – that Alice was sure of it. But she wasn’t sure. What happened when people died? Could they even love, or was it silly to hope so?
‘Mama?’ Alice began. ‘It’s so nice . . .’ She stopped. It seemed strange to say ‘that you’re still alive’.
‘I’ll get you some tea,’ she said instead.
Mama caught Alice’s hand. ‘I would not change it – not a moment. Even thoug
h he is gone. Love is with us forever. You understand?’
‘Oui, Maman.’ And Alice truly believed she did, because suddenly it all made sense: it was love Teddy needed – not crabs to eat, or a job, or a new paintbrush. He needed someone to love and to love him back – so much that he’d feel as if he were floating.
‘Ma petite?’ called Mama as Alice was walking out the door. ‘Can you fetch me my ring? It is in –’
‘The top drawer. I know, Mama.’ Alice went over to Mama’s beautiful oak bureau and pulled out the tiny drawer at the top, which held only one thing: a ring that made Alice clasp her hands to her chest. The gold was a rosy colour, and the stones were diamonds, one big one in the middle, and nine little ones around the outside, like blossom petals. As Alice handed it to her mother, she thought for the millionth time how perfect it was, and how elegant, just like Mama.
‘I ’ave promised it to Teddy, to give to ’is bride, when he finds her. But today I will wear it and think of Papa Sir and Venice. Thank you, ma petite, for reminding me.’
A boat ride! thought Alice, as she went back downstairs to put the kettle on the stove. The Zephyr, a dear old steam ferry that chugged up and down the river, did night-time boat rides to Point Walter, which was just the other side of the sandbar. There was a dance hall there, Drake’s Pavilion, and music, too. And the ferry left at 8 pm, when the moon would be high in the sky. I’ll buy two tickets and I’ll find him a beautiful girl and pack a delicious picnic, and then they’ll be sure to fall in love – a love so big it will go on forever – and Teddy will be happy again.
But who was nice enough to marry Teddy? Alice’s best friend, Jilly, had always wanted to, but she was still eleven and probably a bit too young, which was a pity.
Then Alice felt a memory fluttering at the edge of her mind. There was a girl he fancied, wasn’t there? Before he left to fight? A girl who’d only been interested in soldiers. As Alice fetched the pitcher of milk from the ice box, she tried to remember. Elizabeth Evans? Elsie Abbott? No, neither of those seemed quite right. Hmm. It would bother Alice all day unless she could make herself rem –
‘Eleanor! Eleanor Eyres,’ she said triumphantly.
‘The golf champion?’ said a voice, and Alice spun round to see Mabel standing in her pyjamas, her hair sticking up in tufts. ‘By the way, I’m having a duvet day today, so I won’t be going to school, Alice. Is there any cream for those scones?’
‘What do you mean, a golf champion?’ asked Alice.
‘I’ve seen her in the newspaper getting trophies – lots of times,’ said Mabel. ‘She’s awfully pretty. Why are you standing about saying her name like that, anyway? I’m serious about the school thing, just so you know.’
‘Unless you can give me three good reasons, you’re going,’ said Alice, who had heard all this from Mabel before. ‘And none of them can be about school destroying your creativity,’ she added, as Mabel opened her mouth, and then had to close it again.
he weather was fine on Saturday morning, which meant that the local golfing ladies would be down at the club. The golf course was right near the kiosk where they sold tickets for the Zephyr. This is working out very nicely, thought Alice, as she skipped down Lovers’ Walk in the sunshine, her pockets jangling with coins.
But the tickets turned out to be more expensive than Alice had expected, and the next ones available weren’t for ages.
‘Sorry, love,’ the captain said. ‘The soldiers are buying ’em up to celebrate their freedom and dance their worries away. I’ve none for at least a fortnight.’
Alice sighed. ‘That’s all right. I’ll take the next you have. It’s just that I urgently need my brother to fall in love.’ She counted her change into piles and though she was sixpence short, the nice captain let her have them anyway.
As Alice crossed the road and walked into the humming clubhouse, she realised that she had no idea what Eleanor Eyres looked like. Though she recognised most of the women, she felt very out of place and too shy to ask anyone. Eventually a young girl bustled past her, carrying a tray of dainty cakes.
Alice took a deep breath. ‘Excuse me, but is Eleanor Eyres here today?’
‘Over there, ma’am,’ said the tea girl, ‘sitting to the side of the putting green.’ She tipped her frilly cap towards a slender young lady sitting on a deckchair, a china cup in her hand.
‘Hello there, Eleanor,’ said Alice as she approached. ‘My name’s –’
‘Alice Alexander, if I’m not mistaken. The young ballerina.’ Alice must have looked very confused, for Eleanor added, ‘You’re the same age as my sister Liza – different school now, though – so I know all about you.’
‘Oh! I remember Liza,’ said Alice. ‘I should have recognised your last name.’
Alice could see why Teddy had fancied Eleanor Eyres. She had a very small up-pointing nose and she wore a sapphire brooch at her throat and her blue eyes were sharp but merry. Her hair was creamy yellow, like butter, and when she smiled, Alice felt lucky – for what, she wasn’t sure.
‘I’ve come to ask . . . well, I’m wondering if you might remember my brother Teddy.’
‘Teddy Alexander. The Handsome Painter, we used to call him. He’s back?’
‘That’s right. He’s been off fighting,’ said Alice proudly. ‘In France. But now he’s home, and I’d like to cordially invite you to take a moonlight trip with him across the river.’
Eleanor Eyres looked amused. ‘I’d cordially accept,’ she said. ‘But I don’t take moonlight trips with soldiers. Shame, though. He really was rather dashing.’
‘But before, you were only interested in soldiers,’ Alice protested. ‘I know you were!’
‘Soldiers are a sorry lot, poor fellows,’ said Eleanor sadly, ‘drinking their worries away, or going round picking fights. Mad, most of them. And those coughs . . .’
‘Teddy’s not mad. And he’s still handsome. He’s just not a painter anymore. For now.’
‘I’d rather not try my luck. Particularly with someone who has to send their little sister begging.’
‘He didn’t send me,’ said Alice hotly. ‘And I’ve just bought the tickets!’
‘I’m sorry about that, but I may as well tell you that you’re wasting your time. There’s only one girl for Teddy Alexander, and she’s been in love with him for years. I wouldn’t want to step on her patch, and that’s another reason I’m saying no to you, Alice, even though I wish I could help.’
‘What? Who do you mean?’ Alice asked. ‘There isn’t another girl – Teddy’s only ever told me he loves you.’
Eleanor frowned. ‘Oh, go on. You can’t tell me you don’t know.’
But Alice didn’t know, so she just looked at Eleanor Eyres and waited.
‘It’s Lily, your dance teacher – the one all you little girls moon over.’
‘You mean Miss Lillibet? That’s just silly,’ said Alice. ‘Teddy doesn’t love her – James does. And she certainly doesn’t . . .’
Oh, but she did! Suddenly Alice was remembering things, fitting them together like puzzle pieces: Miss Lillibet’s blushes and glances; how happy she had been when Teddy came home safe from war; how sick she had looked at the Swim-Through when Alice suggested that James fancied her.
‘Good grief,’ she said to Eleanor. ‘You’re right. And I need to sit down.’
‘Alice,’ said Miss Lillibet during their lesson in the greenhouse that afternoon. ‘You don’t seem like yourself today. Are you all right?’
Alice stared at Miss Lillibet, not knowing where to start. All day she had felt churned up. Miss Lillibet would be the most beautiful wife. But now that Alice thought about it – really thought about it – could Teddy be a nice enough husband for her? Would love be enough to bring him back from the awful, punishing place he was in now? She looked at Miss Lillibet and tilted her head. ‘You love Teddy,’ she said simply.
‘Alice!’ said Miss Lillibet, her cheeks suddenly scarlet. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
&
nbsp; ‘You don’t have to pretend, Miss Lillibet. Have you ever told him?’
‘But how did you . . . ?’ Miss Lillibet shook her head slowly and took a deep breath. ‘Before the war, why, he was only a schoolboy. There’s only a couple of years between us in age, I know, but it didn’t seem right. Then I promised myself I would say something if he returned from the fighting. But since he’s been back . . .’ She didn’t have to finish the sentence; Alice understood. Since he had been back, Teddy had hardly been alive. Alice had never been in love, but she knew how her heart hurt when she saw Teddy sitting listlessly on the verandah, his mind back in the mud and horror of the battlefields. Poor Miss Lillibet.
‘What are you going to do?’ Alice asked. ‘Are you going to say anything?’
‘I don’t think it would be fair. Poor Teddy has enough to worry about. My feelings would only be a burden. So I’d appreciate it, Alice, if you’d keep it to yourself. And in the meantime, I will carry on as always, and watch over you and your dancing. Which reminds me . . .’ She stood up and went over to her bag, pulling out a bundle of tissue paper. She knelt in front of Alice and handed the parcel to her. ‘For you.’
Alice peeled off the paper curiously. She gasped and looked up at Miss Lillibet. ‘Really?’ she whispered.
‘Really,’ said Miss Lillibet. ‘You’re ready.’
It was a pair of ballet shoes, never worn. But they weren’t soft and leathery, like all the pairs Alice had worn before. They were a pearly pink so pale it was almost white, and the ends were squared off in hard blocks.
They were pointe shoes.
‘Alice?’ said Miss Lillibet hesitantly, as Alice stroked the satin shoes, which were as beautiful as a princess’s slippers. ‘I’ve never liked to ask, but what happened with Edouard that afternoon when you went to audition? Did it go badly?’