by Davina Bell
Not wanting to worry anyone, especially when they’d been so worried about Miss Lillibet and the baby, Alice had written home of a life filled with friends and bonny times. ‘Lies, really,’ she said to herself as she folded the letter into its creamy envelope, holding her lips to the ink of Papa Sir’s handwriting with its friendly curls.
Alice hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell them yet that she wasn’t to be in the chorus line of The Nutcracker after all. She was Clara, the star of the Royal Academy’s Christmas performance, and that was one of the reasons she wasn’t in the parlour, playing charades.
The other girls had all wanted the role, and talked of nothing else for months. Some of them were older and had danced longer and been in other ballets – famous ones. When Alice had first arrived and found all this out, she had felt too young and suntanned and ignorant to line up alongside the tall, creamy, haughty girls at the barre. Their chins were angled so elegantly, their shoes looked as if they’d only been cracked that morning.
But as soon as she pulled on her battered old pointe shoes, all that had fallen away. There had just been Alice, and the music, and the same exercises she had practised in the greenhouse back home a thousand times – probably a million. To dance was to be home. And as the months wore on, Alice needed more and more to be reminded of home.
Alice could tell that Edouard was fond of her, having found her that day long ago. But he mostly taught the older girls, and only appeared occasionally to turn out someone’s foot or knee with a friendly tap. It was Madame Nonette who taught them each morning, and Monsieur Igor who took them in the afternoons. And that was the trouble – or the start of it. Both had been world-famous dancers in their time, both were marvellous teachers, but they didn’t agree on anything.
Madame was French, classical to her fingertips, whereas Monsieur was a young Russian, wild for trying new ideas. He loved nothing more than blindfolding them for entire classes to teach them to ‘know the air’.
The only thing the teachers agreed on was that Alice was the most extraordinary dancer they had seen. But how to teach her was the source of screaming matches that went on and on, mostly in front of the class, who would stand around, bored, glowering. If Alice hadn’t loved Miss Lillibet so much, she would have given it away altogether and gone back home. But Miss Lillibet wouldn’t have wanted her to dance any less than her best, and so Alice tried her hardest each day, and took all that came with it.
‘Imbecile! It is the repetition that will make her great! Again, again, again – this is the way of the prima ballerina!’ Madame Nonette would fume, rapping her walking stick on the glossy wooden floor.
‘She already is the great, you stupid bird!’ Monsieur would bellow in his interesting English. ‘Again again will boring the muscles. New and new! She needs!’
‘Er, I could try both?’ Alice would suggest, trying to keep the peace. ‘And we could move on to the battements?’
Alice didn’t blame the other girls for hating her.
Because Alice wasn’t invited on outings and didn’t have family nearby to visit, she filled the lonely hours with more practice than ever and so she picked up new things quicker than anyone, which only made things trickier. And now that she was Clara, the star, with her own dressing room and costumes, their chilliness was almost unbearable for Alice.
I should really be doing exercises right now, she thought as she stood up with a sigh. But the back of her foot – her Achilles tendon – was burning with pain, as if a hot blade was being thrust down it. It had been like that for ten days now. She had gritted her teeth and danced through it, but tonight it was worse than ever. She had sat down on her bed because she’d started to feel a little light-headed.
Should I tell Mrs Twyford-Moore? Alice wondered. But Mrs Twyford-Moore hated Alice even more than the other girls did. She hadn’t taken kindly to Alice’s suggestions about writing lists to run a more efficient household. When Alice had tried to drop gentle hints about the delicious ways that Little cooked (which the boarding mistress definitely did not), Mrs Twyford-Moore had said ‘Well!’ as if Alice had uttered a curse word, and got up from the table to slam a log on the fire. Not long after that, Alice had been moved from her comfy room by the servants’ stairs to the attic. Mrs TM had said it was on account of the noise Alice made when she did her barre work by the windowsill, but Alice wasn’t so sure.
Only Finn knew about her injury. Quiet, handsome, thoughtful Finn, who said so little but took up such a big bit of Alice’s thoughts. Finn was to be the Prince in The Nutcracker – the other main part. Even in the depths of winter, his skin was nut-brown. ‘Don’t tell,’ he had said to Alice with a wink when she’d asked about it, ‘but I think our family’s part gypsy.’
Finn and Alice had been rehearsing with each other all winter, and by now Alice had grown to trust his light, strong touch. She felt she knew all the whispers his limbs made when they moved, and just how his hair would fall when he’d finished whipping through a series of pirouettes. With each day, they danced better together. With each duet, Alice’s heart beat a little louder as he lifted her so that she soared above her worries, above cold, grey London, and was carried off somewhere else.
Finn thought Alice should tell someone about her foot. ‘You wouldn’t want to do something that stopped you dancing for good, now, would you?’ he had said gently, pushing his curls out of his eyes as he always did when he was being serious. ‘I couldn’t bear it. Achilles injuries are serious – I asked Monsieur Petr about them. You can recover, but you have to be in plaster for ages. You’d hate it, Alice.’
She thought of Finn now as she limped over to her tiny window and peered out into the misty evening. In the distance, she heard the jolly rumblings of a bus, and then the magical hum of the carolers. While she’d been busy rehearsing, Christmas had snuck up on her.
It was only a few days now until the premiere of The Nutcracker. Perhaps Finn was right. How on earth will I manage the whole two hours if I can’t even walk? Alice thought miserably.
If her performance wasn’t perfect, Maeve would sneer. Georgette would say she only got the part because she was the teachers’ pet, and everyone would agree. Madame Nonette would tell Monsieur Igor it was all his fault, and the other way around as well. Perhaps Edouard would change his mind about having her at the academy.
As Alice pressed her hot head against the freezing glass, she couldn’t think of anything worse. All dancers feel pain, she reminded herself. It’s how you tackle it that matters.
She was about to close her eyes when something caught her attention – the clip of quick footsteps, a cluster of people coming noisily along the footpath, their voices ringing out in the crisp air.
‘I told you it was this one! I don’t care what your map says. I’ve got a feeling.’
‘Geography is a science, and not to be muddied by the realm of human emotions. Now if we’ll all pause to consult the –’
‘We’re here! Bags I ring the bell!’
‘Ma petite! Wait for your papa, non?’
I must be dreaming, Alice thought wearily. They sound just like –
Dingalingalingalingaling, the doorbell rang, loud and brazen. Alice’s head felt as if it would split. She turned and stumbled over to the bed, and lay face down, thinking she would be sick. If only letters didn’t take so long, she could write and ask Papa Sir about her foot. Perhaps she could send a telegram?
‘Oh, I LOVE charades!’ a voice floated up from below moments later. ‘I’m actually very good at it. We’ll be back to join in!’
Then there were boots on the stairs, and perhaps the click of a wooden leg as well. Her door opened. It couldn’t be . . .
And yet it was.
‘I say,’ said Mabel, as she marched into the room, followed by the others, ‘that Mrs Twitty-Moore is a bit of a b–’
‘What are you doing here?’ Alice asked groggily as she turned over to see her room filling up with people, all craning to see her. ‘Am I dreaming?
’
‘We’re here to see you dance,’ Little whispered from next to her pillow. ‘We don’t mind if you’re only in the chorus.’
‘We’re here for Christmas!’ said Mabel. ‘And there had better be snow.’
‘Statistically, the chances aren’t high – I’ve been looking into the meteorological records,’ said George.
‘I believe it all depends on the Arctic winds.’
Alice turned her head. She gasped. ‘Is that you, Pudding?’
Pudding wasn’t the slightest bit pudding-y anymore. She was tall and spindly and she looked exactly like Alice, but with a little pair of wire-rimmed glasses. And she sounded just like George.
‘Technically yes, though I go by Martine now. Because of our French heritage.’
Alice rubbed her eyes. ‘Mama . . . Papa Sir! Oh – Miss Lillibet.’ Seeing her old dance teacher with a plump little baby in her arms made Alice start to cry. How was it all real?
‘Baby Angus,’ she whispered through her tears. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ She sat up and held out her arms to him, but he frowned at her and looked away, nuzzling into Miss Lillibet’s chest.
‘Oh, don’t mind old Gus,’ said Teddy. ‘He’s a real snob till you get to know him.’
‘We thought we’d surprise you.’ Papa Sir leaned in to kiss her head. ‘For Christmas.’
She sat up, wiping her cheeks. ‘How did you get here – and when? How did you find me? Where are you staying?’
And then everyone was talking over the top of each other about the ship that took six weeks, and being allowed to miss a whole term of school, and Aunt Gwendolyn’s posh house in Mayfair, and the lightning storm as they went through the Suez Canal, and staying until March – March!
‘But ma petite – your room is so cold! And what are you doing ’ere all alone?’ Mama asked, stroking Alice’s arm as George and Little tried to calculate the ship’s average speed as a rate of knots.
Alice swallowed. ‘Just resting. Class was hard this afternoon. But it doesn’t matter, Maman. Nothing matters now you’re here.’
Was this the time to tell them about being Clara, and the mean girls, and the warring teachers, and missing them all every day, like a sickness?
But as they stood around her, their faces crinkled up with love, Alice tucked her sadness inside her and leapt out of bed, pretending that her heel wasn’t shrieking. ‘Let’s not just stand around. Welcome!’ she cried. ‘Let’s go and see dear old London.’
It was when Alice was leaving the stage to change into her costume for the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy that everything really fell apart. She had gotten through the first half of The Nutcracker by imagining that the pain was a fire under her pointe shoes that she was putting out with her toes, just as Finn had suggested. As she danced, she pictured the faces of her family out in the crowd, somewhere in the velvety darkness beyond the stage lights, surprised and pleased and proud of their very own Clara. She’d hardly seen them the past week, with all the rehearsals, but they’d been having a grand old time visiting the sights.
‘Yes, that’s what we’ve been doing,’ Mabel had said. ‘That, and nothing else.’
‘Most educational,’ said Pudding, and the girls had all giggled.
Alice thought of their bright, cheeky faces as she headed for the wings. But then it was as if someone whacked the back of her heel with a piece of steel. She could almost hear a snap, and she cried out, falling to the ground. Alice felt her breath rush out of her body and her mind go blank. Spots of light, like fireflies, danced in her eyes. Her foot felt useless. And when she tried to rise, she couldn’t put any weight on it at all. Pain washed over her with a deep roar. ‘Papa Sir?’ she whispered as she tried to crawl out of view.
It was Finn’s strong, brown arms that picked her up and carried her to her dressing room. ‘That’s it for tonight, I think,’ he said as he set her down carefully onto the little velvet armchair in the corner.
‘No, no, no. Just give me a minute. I could dance the rest on one foot. There isn’t much more to go.’
Finn found a box in the corner, under her dresser, and gently slid it under her leg. It took everything Alice had left not to cry out in pain. Then he pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up at her. ‘Alice Alexander,’ he said gravely. ‘If you go out again, it will be the last night you dance in your life. Maeve knows the part. I’m due back on stage, but I’ll get someone to help you.’
‘Maeve won’t fit the costume.’ Alice’s tears were cold as they rolled down her cheeks. As she wiped at them, she could feel how her cheekbones stuck out now where her face had got thin. Her bones felt sharp – all of them. She was so tired. ‘She’s taller than me.’
‘We’ll find her something,’ said Finn, standing up and running his hand across Alice’s forehead. ‘I’ll come and see you after the encore. But for now, who can I fetch?’
Alice could hear the panic and the bustle and the chatter down the hall, and the announcement to the audience about her being replaced. She heard the music start up again, and the applause. She closed her eyes and danced the steps in her head. She felt Finn lift her as high as he ever had, as if she were only made of light and air. But it would be Maeve he was holding up now.
‘Tink? All right there?’
Alice opened her eyes to see Teddy wearing a smart black suit with a bowtie. His cheeks were pink and his face was glowing. He looked so grown up, like a man. He was a man now. She closed her eyes again.
‘We saw what happened, you poor sprite. Papa Sir is making his way up here – it always takes a little longer with his leg like it is. But he said to tell you not to panic – if it’s your Achilles that’s snapped, he’ll be around long enough to help you get better. If you stay off it and rest up, you’ll be good as new in a couple of months. But Alice, oh, you were wonderful. I’ve never felt so blooming proud in all my life. Lily was weeping the whole way through.’
‘Teddy?’ Alice said quietly, keeping her eyes closed. ‘I think . . . I think I’ve worn myself out. I think I’d like to come back home with you all.’ What a relief it was to say the words out loud after thinking them for so long. In spite of the pain, Alice felt light and free.
‘Oh crumbs,’ said Teddy, though he didn’t sound the slightest bit disappointed. ‘That’s rather unfortunate timing.’
Alice opened her eyes. He was grinning.
‘You see, we’ve decided to stay on, Lillibet and Gus and I. We’ve been looking all week, and we’ve bought a little home not far from your dance school. We hoped you might come and live with us – if Mabel ever finishes her grand redecorating plans.’
Is my mind playing tricks? Alice wondered. Have I gone mad with pain?
‘Edouard’s offered Lily a teaching job at his academy when she’s completely well again. You never know,’ Teddy said with a wink, ‘if you stayed on a bit, once you’re all mended, you might end up in her class.’
‘Teddy, you can’t,’ said Alice. ‘It’s too much.’
‘I love you more than anything in the world,’ Teddy said simply. ‘Have since you were born. So if it’s a crime to want to be near you, then chase me down and shoot me.’
‘I can’t,’ Alice said. ‘I can’t run.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But as soon as I’m better, watch out.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Alice?’ called Finn.
Finn carried her so gently in his arms that her foot hardly hurt at all. And even if it had, the lights were so bright and the clapping was so loud that, as Finn carried her to the front of the stage, all she could feel was the love of the audience coursing through her. He lifted her up even higher, and everyone in the theatre seemed to rise to their feet as one. ‘Bravo!’ they called, and the clapping grew even louder. ‘Bravo! Bravo!’
Alice couldn’t see her family in the sea of faces, but surely that was them, stamping their feet and whistling.
Finn lowered her down until his lips were just next to her ear. ‘Bravo, Alic
e,’ he whispered. ‘You’re a star.’
Not yet, Alice thought. But if I’m lucky, someday, one day, I might be.
Like most Australian girls, my heritage is a patchwork of pieces from many places, stitched together by chance and love. My parents met on the ski slopes in Italy. Dad is Australian, but his ancestors include a pair of Italian apothecaries and an Irish minister, and he grew up in Singapore. My mother, who’s English, went to a boarding school called Battle Abbey and was a nurse in a tiny African country called Lesotho, where she lived in a mud hut with a thatched roof.
I grew up in Perth, and on very hot days when I couldn’t play outside, I’d sit and spin a globe for hours, waiting for the afternoon sea breeze and picturing life in those faraway places with their strange lovely names. Perhaps all that imagining is what led me to be a writer.
I was born and grew up in Italy, a beautiful country to visit, but also a difficult country to live in for new generations.
In 2006, I left Italy with the man I love. I didn’t know much about Australia – I was just looking for new opportunities, I guess. And I liked it right from the beginning! Australian people are resourceful, open-minded and always with a smile on their faces.
Here I began a new life doing what I always dreamed of: I illustrate stories. Australia is the place where I’d like to live and to grow up my children, in a country that doesn’t fear the future.
Here’s a sneak peek at Meet Letty
THE coachman dumped the old chest in the street. Letty’s heart felt as if it was being jolted around too. The chest held all her sister’s things, and so many dreams. It was going to Australia.