Lament

by Stewart, Lynsey M.

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘No! I’m eight!’

  ‘Are you a dancer?’ I asked, clapping as she bowed.

  ‘I want to be,’ she replied, arching her arms in the air.

  ‘Do you go to a class?’

  ‘No. She’d love to. We’re looking into it,’ Nadia replied.

  ‘Have you heard of On Pointe, the dance school in the village?’

  ‘Erm…yes,’ Nadia replied with the same enthusiasm Rex had for his walk.

  ‘I’m about to take over from Madam Sherrie, the head teacher there. I’d love for Eli to join one of our classes.’

  Eli started jumping up and down. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! I’d love that.’

  ‘I’ll have to talk to your father first,’ Nadia said, bending to stroke Rex.

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, scrambling in my bag for some paper. I wrote down my number on the back of a receipt and handed it to her. ‘If he has any questions, please tell him to give me a call. I’m Nat, by the way.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Nadia said, tucking the paper away in her pocket.

  ‘Who are you missing?’ Eli asked, her head tipping inquisitively.

  ‘Missing?’ I repeated, totally lost as to where this conversation was leading.

  ‘You must be missing someone to come here.’

  I reread the words on the letterbox.

  The Grieving Tree.

  ‘To be honest, I’ve only just stumbled across this. I didn’t know it was here until today.’

  ‘You must have been hiding under a rock if you don’t know about the Grieving Tree. It’s been all over the village,’ Nadia replied.

  ‘I’m new here. Well, I’m not new. I’ve just – returned,’ I mumbled. She looked at me, puzzled, wanting to know more but not sure how to go about it. I tried to turn the attention off me. ‘What exactly is the Grieving Tree? Tell me more about it.’

  ‘It’s where the fairy lives,’ Eli said simply.

  Nadia watched me trying to work out what that meant.

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ Nadia said. ‘It just appeared a few months ago. No one knows who’s behind it or why. The first morning there was a little note attached to the door, inviting people who’d lost a loved one to write to the fairy and share their grief.’

  ‘The fairy writes back to them?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied wistfully. ‘Isn’t it a lovely idea?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I whispered, turning back to the tree. Seeing it in a brand-new light.

  ‘I think it’s wonderful for children who’ve lost someone. It makes their journey a bit easier.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I wish I’d have had something like this.’

  ‘You’ve lost?’ Nadia asked.

  I looked at Eli, her eyes wide, waiting for my response.

  ‘Yes. A few years ago. I was sixteen.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Nadia replied.

  I nodded, trying not to fall into grief again.

  Suddenly I remembered that Eli had skipped over to the postbox, posting a letter, therefore confirming that she too had lost someone close to her, at eight years old, the same age Bec was when she died.

  ‘Eli, it’s been lovely to meet you. I really hope I see you again,’ I said, pulling Rex up.

  ‘He’s an old dog, isn’t he?’ Eli said, tilting her head.

  ‘He’s an old boy, yes.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll die soon?’ she asked.

  ‘Elise! For goodness’ sake,’ Nadia chastised.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I said, shaking my head.

  Children have an amazing ability to say it like it is. If only adults were more able to do the same.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, curling my fingers to encourage her to come closer. ‘We know better than anyone that people and animals die. Sometimes it happens so quickly you can barely take a breath. Other times, you can prepare for it. Rex is very old. He’s lived a good life. When he dies, I’ll be sad, of course I will, but I’ll also be happy that he’s led a long and beautiful life. He spent his summers chasing frogs. He was loved by so many people. He’s given bacon as a treat, for goodness’ sake!’

  She laughed before pressing her head to his back. ‘Sweet Rex. I love you.’

  I watched Eli, the girl the same age as my sister when I knew her last, the sweet girl navigating the sharp cliffs of grief, the girl with a natural talent for dance. Something inside of me found it hard to walk away from her. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of line. I don’t know Eli’s story, whom she’s lost or how she’s dealing with it, but as someone who lost two people very close to me at a young age, dance helped me filter my feelings. I truly believe if I hadn’t had it to transfer my anger and hurt, I’m not sure what kind of person I would be today.’

  Eli was climbing up the steps and knocking on the fairy door.

  ‘Thank you for your insight,’ Nadia replied. ‘She’s coping well, considering. Plus, she has me and her father to help her.’ Her reply was curt and defensive. I knew I’d crossed a line, a stranger telling a parent how to raise their child was never normally met with open arms.

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘I’m not assuming for a minute that you aren’t supporting your daughter.’ Nadia looked across to Eli, ensuring she couldn’t hear our conversation. ‘Dance was my lifeline. I truly believe it can help.’

  ‘Are you going to write a letter to the fairy?’ Eli shouted from the steps.

  ‘Do you think it will help?’

  ‘It helps me,’ she replied, shrugging.

  ‘I’ll give it a try.’

  I wasn’t one hundred percent sure if I would write to the fairy. I wasn’t even sure if the fairy had received a letter from an adult before, or what the response would be. But there was something I was sure about. I was curious to know more about the Grieving Tree, the Grief Fairy and who could possibly be behind it.

  5

  Nat

  I was cutting it fine, despite my new pixie style allowing me to abandon my morning hair-straightening ritual, I was still finding it hard to get motivated. I couldn’t even blame the busy London traffic, a tube strike or a queue at Starbucks. What I’d give for a latte.

  ‘I was about to give up on you,’ my grandmother said as I crashed through the doors of On Pointe. She was folding up tiny ballet leotards and placing them in a box beside her. Keepsakes or charity donations, I wasn’t sure.

  ‘Sorry, lost my Oyster card again,’ I said smirking.

  ‘You can’t use those excuses anymore,’ she laughed as she patted the seat beside her.

  ‘I’ve never known anyone to be as continually late as you. I don’t know how you made curtain call every night. I have images of you scrambling to get your shoes on as you rush to the stage.’ Actually, she was pretty spot on. One night, I was the understudy for the part of Nancy in Oliver! and after running to the stage, proclaiming, ‘I’d do anything,’ I realised mid-song that I still had my Apple Watch on. Not the right look for a mid-nineteenth century prostitute with a heart of gold.

  ‘I’m here now, though,’ I said.

  My grandmother pushed towards me a ring binder full of timetables for the next few weeks. ‘We have a dance showcase to prepare for.’ Thumbing through the papers before landing on the right one, she banged it with her finger. ‘There. The nationals. It’s still a few months away but it’s never too soon to start rehearsing.’

  ‘Way to break me in gently,’ I laughed. A sob would have been better, but I wanted to show her that I was up to the job. Choreograph a contemporary dance with six children in the next few months or so? Rehearse with them every spare minute of the day and night? Travel to a competition where expectations of the new dance teacher would be super high? Not a problem.

  ‘We’re entering the small group and solo events this time. I was mindful that you’d be new to the role, so I didn’t throw you in at the deep end.’

  I choked on my water. ‘Didn’t throw me in at the d
eep end!’

  ‘We could have entered the production category. Twenty-plus performers.’

  ‘I should be grateful.’

  I knew my grandmother had scaled back on competitions. When I was younger, we would enter every month. She was keen to get the momentum back and raise the profile of On Pointe. I’d had some experience choreographing for a dance school in London. It was hard work. Unforgiving and stressful but highly contagious.

  ‘Some of the students are ready. More than ready. But there are others who need guidance. Someone willing to give them their time and expertise.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  ‘I’ll help you with the choreography,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you. What about Tess and Sara?’

  She pulled out a sheet and handed it to me. ‘This is the timetable for the next week. Sara will continue to take the jazz and tap classes. Tess will take a ballet class with the older students and a contemporary with beginners. I want you to pick up the rest.’

  ‘Wow. OK. That’s intense.’

  ‘You can handle it with your eyes shut and stop pretending you can’t.’

  ‘Bring it on.’ I smiled as Tess came into the room.

  ‘Morning, guys,’ she said as she hugged me from behind. I’d met Tess and Sara earlier in the week when we’d bonded over Italian food and a bottle of wine. Tess was a few years older than me, very experienced, and Sara was a disciplined blonde with a mega talent for tap dancing. I knew we’d make it work. ‘Ready for your first class?’

  ‘More than ready,’ I said, unable to hide my bright smile.

  ‘Time to get started. There’s a very handsome man with his adorable daughter in the front hall. He asked for you specifically.’

  ‘Me? Why would someone ask for me? It’s my first day,’ I replied, already making my way out.

  ‘I don’t know, but if your magic talent is encouraging fathers who are in that top range of hot, I’m all for it.’

  I let out a loud, unabashed laugh only to be met with the stony, cold glare of the one and only Alexander Blayren.

  ‘Oh!’ I said, stopping in my tracks.

  ‘Nat!’ Eli came bounding forward, wrapping her arms around my waist. ‘Daddy said I could come! He finally agreed!’

  ‘Daddy?’ I repeated, looking over to Alexander.

  ‘Well, well. If it isn’t the dancing Nat. The same lady who took her time deciding if she wanted a taxi.’

  ‘Hello again,’ I mumbled, suddenly feeling hot.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘I’m not usually so indecisive,’ I said, unsure of why I was trying to defend myself.

  ‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Terrible waste of time.’

  ‘Thanks for your concern,’ I said, rolling my eyes. Alexander hid a small smile behind the curved finger pressed to his mouth.

  ‘Elise, come here. You’re squashing the dancing Nat.’ He was watching her curiously as she hugged me. I unfastened her clenched fists from around my waist and dropped to meet her level.

  ‘Goodness, I’m a little taken aback,’ I said to her, but glanced at Alexander. ‘I’m so pleased to see you here, sweetheart!’

  ‘Elise would like to join your ballet class,’ he said, handing me a backpack with little flowers dotted across the front. She was in full dancewear. A white leotard with a pink wrap and tutu. A tiny plastic crown sitting at the front of her bun.

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ I said, still trying to work out why he was here on top of feeling extra swoony at the man clutching this adorable eight-year-old’s hand. Daddy. ‘Shall we get started?’

  ‘I’d like a word first,’ Alexander said, and Eli’s beaming smiled dropped slightly.

  ‘Of course. Eli, would you like to go through? Put your bag on the bench at the back of the class and wait for me at the barre.’

  ‘Go through. Bag down. Wait at the barre. Yes,’ she repeated, disappearing in a cloud of pink.

  ‘I trust you got home safely,’ I said, offering a wry smile. ‘I was fine, by the way.’ He completely ignored me and continued to offer an unfriendly glare, though the hint of blush to his cheeks made me smile. I dusted off my professional hat. ‘You must have a lot of questions, Mr Blayren. Shall we go through to the – I mean – my office?’

  ‘How long have you been teaching, Miss…’

  ‘Bevan.’

  I thought back to the night of the concert. I could hear a piece of music so stirring. I could picture the handsome cellist in front of me curved over the instrument, almost hugging it like he was trying to get some comfort. ‘Miss Bevan.’ Words were circling my brain, an echo to them making it hard to decipher what they were saying. For some reason, my own words weren’t forming an orderly queue to be translated correctly through my mouth. His loud cough cleared the fog. ‘Miss Bevan?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. What was your question?’

  He took a frustrated breath. ‘How long have you been teaching?’

  I looked at my watch. ‘For exactly one minute,’ I replied. ‘Technically, less than that. It’s my first day.’

  His mouth formed a hard line despite the soft plumpness of his bottom lip. ‘Miss Bevan, I’m here because my daughter met a random dance teacher in the woods yesterday and has been pestering me ever since to bring her to your dance class. A woman who has been teaching for exactly…one minute.’

  ‘I have teaching experience from other dance schools,’ I replied, trying to find my backbone. I stood up straight. Ah, there it was. ‘I’m more than qualified to fulfil the role, if that’s what you’re asking, Mr Blayren.’

  ‘What are your credentials?’ he asked.

  ‘My credentials?’ Why did I feel like I was being interrogated by the police?

  ‘What did you do before coming here?’ he asked.

  ‘I performed in the West End, understudied lead roles and was in numerous productions as part of the chorus line.’

  ‘Understudied?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve never had a lead role yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Miss Bevan, I’m in the fortunate position where I could take my daughter to an established dance school in London. I’m not looking for someone to teach my daughter that understudying for a lead role is the bar to aim for.’

  I placed my tongue in the side of my mouth and let out a slow, singular laugh. ‘Mr Blayren, thank you for knocking down my whole career with one swipe of your intensely rude tongue.’ He straightened up, stood back and returned my unimpressed glare. ‘I’m a passionate dancer. I happen to believe that dance can set you free from any pain or hurt. It’s an expression of feelings, good or bad. That’s something you can’t teach. It comes from within. Like playing an instrument,’ I replied slowly, knowing I was revisiting our conversation from the taxi. I arched an eyebrow. ‘Or…playing it well.’

  ‘From the heart,’ he said, repeating my words. ‘We’ve already established that I don’t agree with your view, Miss Bevan. Anyone can learn how to play an instrument.’

  ‘Are you really trying to tell me there isn’t a difference between a cellist who was taught how to play by numbers and a cellist who transfers their thoughts, feelings and power into the music they’re playing?’

  ‘How does this relate to dance?’

  ‘It relates to your daughter. Who is adorable, by the way.’ The corner of his mouth lifted. A proud smile that reassured me he did, in fact, have a heart. ‘Did she tell you we met by the Grieving Tree?’

  ‘She’s mentioned it only a number of times,’ he replied stoically, but I heard the sarcasm behind the words.

  ‘She gave me a lovely performance right in front of the tree. She’s good,’ I said. ‘I understand she’s never had lessons before?’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘She has natural talent. Great lines. Very elegant, but there was something else in her movements.’

  ‘Let me have your assessment,’ he replied. ‘You’re such an experienced teacher, after all.’

&nb
sp; I ignored the sharp pinch of his words and continued. ‘I believe your daughter would understand the idea of transference. The ability to express thoughts and feelings through dance. She could really benefit from it. I did when I was struggling. I hope you don’t feel I’m speaking out of turn, but I’m aware from Elise’s mummy that she’s had a bereavement–’

  ‘Let me stop you and your assumptions there, Miss Bevan,’ he replied, holding up his hand.

  ‘Assumptions? I’m sorry, I thought Eli was posting a letter to the Grief Fairy yesterday,’ I replied, my eyes narrowing in confusion.

  ‘No, Miss Bevan,’ he said. ‘You’ve assumed that Nadia is Elise’s mother. That isn’t the case.’

  ‘She isn’t?’ I replied, struggling to understand why Nadia hadn’t corrected me herself.

  ‘I’m not here to talk about my family circumstances and my daughter’s emotional well-being. I’ve brought my daughter for dance lessons, not bereavement counselling,’ he said, lifting his chin. It had a perfectly formed divot right in the middle and I couldn’t explain why I wanted to place my finger there and trace it along his bottom lip. The one that was always pressed into a hard line and didn’t always match the fleeting softness in his eyes.

  ‘I don’t pretend to be a counsellor,’ I said, stepping to the side to allow the other students to come in. ‘I can only speak from my own experiences. Freedom of expression through dance has the power to heal. Eli could–’

  ‘My daughter’s name is Elise,’ he said through a tight jaw. ‘Please respect that.’

  ‘Is Elise her preference?’ I asked. ‘She’s always introduced herself to me as Eli.’

  He raked his hand through his hair, pushed up his black-rimmed glasses and straightened his trench coat before completely ignoring my question. ‘I’ll give you six lessons. That’s all. If you can’t prove your worth as a teacher by then I’ll have no option but to withdraw Elise from your class.’

  ‘Can you tell me what I need to do to meet your standards?’

  He continued speaking, avoiding the question. ‘I’ll be collecting Elise when I can. Some days it will be Nadia or my housekeeper, Maggie. I’ll let you know in advance.’