by Adele Geras
And she’d try to tell them, only she wasn’t really much use because she’d say, “Gosh, I can’t remember. I think my mother got it for me,” or, “I honestly don’t know.”
I didn’t mind other people being friends with her. I had best friends of my own: Tricia and Maisie, who didn’t come to the Saturday class. I also had Tony to go and come back with, but all the same, Eleanor and Michelle and I used to be a kind of threesome. I suppose we could have become a foursome, but I still didn’t like Phoebe. She was always nice to me and this made me feel even worse. She wasn’t a bit shy. If there was something she wanted to say, she just came right over to you and said it.
Also, she often asked me to show her things. One day she said, “Louisa, I really like the way you do pirouettes. Will you help me with mine?” So I showed her how I did them, and she copied me, and I corrected the way she was holding her arms, and after a while her pirouettes were looking much smoother.
“Thanks tons, Louisa,” she said. That was a typically Phoebe-ish thing to say. No one else would ever use an expression like that. She smiled at me.
“I’m breathless now, and a bit dizzy. I’ll never do them like you, of course, but I feel much happier with them now. You’re a fantastically lively, sparkly kind of dancer. I’ll never be as good as you.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Did Phoebe really think I was ‘fantastically lively and sparkly’, or was she just saying so to try and get me to be a little more friendly? I liked her a bit better just for saying such a nice thing, and I knew I should have said something nice back to her, but I didn’t. I just smiled and said, “Thanks, Phoebe.”
I could hear Annie’s voice in my head, saying, “Go on, Weezer, be a bit more friendly. It won’t hurt you,” but I didn’t feel like being friendly, and I was a little ashamed of myself as I watched Phoebe walk over to the barre.
At the end of the class, Miss Matting said, “Go and change as quickly as possible, please, and then come and sit in here. I have some very exciting news for you all.”
In the changing room everyone was giggling, wondering what the news would be.
“They want some kids for an advert,” said Michelle.
“They’re making a movie and need us for extras.” That was Debbie.
“I bet it’s a documentary about ballet schools,” said Emma.
I didn’t bother to wonder, but got changed as quickly as I could. We all did. Miss Matting laughed when she saw the whole class sitting quietly, waiting.
“Well,” she said, “now I know how to get you all to hurry. I shall dangle exciting bits of news in front of you. But what I have to tell you now really is special. You’ve heard of the Sheridan Ballet Company, haven’t you?”
We all nodded. The Sheridan was our local company.
“As you know, they always put on The Nutcracker at the Theatre Royal for the two weeks before Christmas, and with this particular ballet, they choose children from dance schools in the area to be in the production. Now I’m sure you’re all familiar with The Nutcracker but for anyone who isn’t, it has several parts for children. Dominic Sheridan himself is coming here next week to audition you all. He’s looking for a dozen young dancers to be mice, I think, and four to be party guests and double up as children in the Land of Sweets in Act Two. You must remember, though, that other schools in the area are also being auditioned, so it’s quite possible that none of you will be chosen. You must all be perfectly clear about that. Are you quite clear, Louisa dear?”
“Yes, Miss Matting,” I said. Why did she ask me specially? I would have to talk to Tony about it on the way home. I couldn’t wait to tell Annie. The Nutcracker was the very first ballet I ever saw and I’d watched the video hundreds of times. I must be chosen, I said to myself as we all stood up and made our way out of the hall. I must, must, must be chosen. Phoebe was right beside me as we left.
“I bet Mr Sheridan chooses you,” she said to me, and she was actually smiling as she said it, almost as though she wouldn’t have minded at all.
“No,” I said, “I bet he chooses you,” and I managed to smile as well. I even managed to say something nice. I said, “I think you really deserve to be chosen.”
Annie would have been proud of me. I was proud of myself, and felt good all the way home, even though I was still anxious. How would I get through the next week, till the audition?
“I’m going to watch my Nutcracker video tonight,” I told Tony. “Come and watch it too, if you like. Then we can see what we’re going to be asked to do.”
“Great!” said Tony. “Thanks.”
He looked as though he couldn’t care less about the audition. I didn’t understand how anyone could be so easy-going.
Chapter Three
I SPENT MOST of the next week when I wasn’t in school or in bed practising for the audition. Annie and Mum got quite sick of me pretending to be a mouse.
“Stop nibbling your toast like that,” Mum said. “You look ridiculous.”
“She’s still being a mouse,” Annie explained.
“I know she’s being a mouse, but I don’t remember any toast-nibbling scenes in Nutcracker,” said Mum. “I think all the mice do is have a fight, and rush around the stage waving swords, and swishing their tails about. The King Mouse has a slipper thrown at him. I do remember that.”
“I’m being in character,” I explained. My mum doesn’t understand about character. “If you’re a mouse, then everything you do has to be mouse-like.”
“Doesn’t this Mr Sheridan want some nice, well-behaved children to go to a Christmas party at the beginning of Act One?” Annie asked. “You could practise being a well-behaved child.”
“I’ll never be chosen as one of those,” I said. “My only chance is to be the best and most mouse-like mouse in the world. Phoebe will probably be a party child . . . it would suit her. She always looks as if she’s just off to some posh do or other.”
“Well, just for now,” said Mum, “please sit normally on your chair and eat your breakfast like a human being.”
“I’m glad I don’t have to walk to school with you any more,” Annie said. She had started going to Fairvale High in September, so now I walked to school with Tony.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” said Mum. “Poor old Weezer, she’s not that bad, is she?”
“Not usually,” said Annie, “only I saw her and Tony going off yesterday, and they looked really mad. What were you doing, Weezer?”
“Louisa,” I said. “We were scampering. Mice scamper, in case you didn’t know.”
“I think,” said Annie, “that we should call you ‘Cheezer’ from now on.”
I threw my piece of toast at her, and it missed her and hit poor Brad, our cat, who was curled up on the kitchen chair.
“Stop it, girls,” said Mum. “Go and get ready for school, both of you. I don’t want any more of this silly mouse nonsense. Goodness knows what will happen if you do get the part, Louisa. We’ll have to put up with you being a full-time mouse.”
“It’s OK,” I said. “There’s not much chance, really. Miss Matting said so.” But even as I said it, I was crossing my fingers under the table, just for luck.
There was about half an hour after I got back from school before Annie arrived. Usually, I went to Tony’s house, but today I decided to go and visit Mrs Posnansky. She is always a good person to talk to if you are worried. She never laughs at me, and she never thinks I am silly to care so much about ballet. That is because her mother was a real ballerina, years and years ago, and Mrs Posnansky truly believed me when I said I was going to be a ballet dancer too. I like her house. It is dark and quiet and she always gives her guests lovely cakes and biscuits.
“Come, Little Swan,” she said when she saw me at the door. “Is tomorrow the big audition? You must be nervous. Come and eat and drink and you will feel better.”
I don’t mind Mrs Posnansky calling me Little Swan. In my extra-special treasures box, I keep the headdress her mother
wore when she was in Swan Lake and which she gave me for my first dancing display.
“Now tell everything,” she said, as I drank my tea and ate a brandy snap. “Is a mouse you wish to be? In The Nutcracker?”
“I don’t mind what I am,” I said, and in a way it was true. “Imagine! We’d be in a real theatre, performing for two weeks. We’d be with all the grown-up dancers. Would they talk to us, do you think?”
“From time to time, yes, I think,” Mrs Posnansky said. “But if you are not chosen, my dear . . . what will happen? You will be sad.”
“I know. I try to get ready for not being chosen. I lie in bed and say to myself, Louisa, you are not going to be a mouse. You will be very sad, but it doesn’t matter, because you will have tried your best, and there will be other chances.”
“How sensible you are, Little Swan! I am admiring this very much,” said Mrs Posnansky.
“But it’s not true,” I told her, and took another brandy snap.
“How, not true?”
“I will care, and I will be sad, and I won’t even think for a minute about other times. I want to be chosen this time. I wouldn’t tell anyone but you. And Annie.”
Mrs Posnansky sighed. “The dancer’s life is hard and filled with disappointment. This I know. Is hard that this sadness must begin when you are so young.”
I munched in silence for a while, and then I said, “May I tell you something? I haven’t told this to anyone else at all, not even to Annie. Do you promise not to tell anybody?”
“Of course,” said Mrs Posnansky. “You trust me.”
“I’m going to be a bit disappointed even if I am a mouse. What I really want to be is a party child. Isn’t that awful?”
“But why do you wish to be a party child?”
“Because the party children have a dance in the First Act and pretty clothes, and they get to be in the Land of Sweets as well. All the mice do is rush about in a great gang and they wear furry grey costumes that aren’t a bit pretty. So that’s what I’d really love, only that’ll never happen, so I’m hoping to be a mouse. That’s second best, but it’s still good.”
“I wish for you,” said Mrs Posnansky. “Come and tell me the news. If it is bad, we take out the chocolate to cheer us up. If it is good we take out the chocolate to rejoice.”
“You mean to celebrate,” I said.
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs Posnansky. “To celebrate.”
On Saturday, the changing-room was very quiet. Nobody felt like talking. We all knew that today was going to be a very special lesson.
“I saw him,” Eleanor said. “I saw Mr Sheridan arriving. He’s in there with Miss Matting.”
“How do you know it’s him?” Emma asked.
“I’ve seen his picture in the paper,” said Eleanor. “And he lookes just like a dancer. All in black with a walking stick.”
We went into the hall, and there he was, just as Eleanor had described him. He was sitting very upright on a chair, and Miss Matting was standing next to him. He was very handsome, even though he looked quite old.
“Good morning, children,” said Miss Matting. “This is Dominic Sheridan. I know you all know who he is. He’s come to look at you this morning because he needs young dancers for The Nutcracker, and I’ll let him tell you himself what he wants you to do.”
Mr Sheridan stood up, and Miss Matting sat down.
“Greetings, children,” he said. “I want you all to pretend that I’m not here.”
We all looked puzzled. How could we possibly pretend that?
He went on. “I’m not going to ask you to do any special routines, or steps. I am simply going to watch you have your class as normal. I shall walk about and look at you more closely, and I just want to see you doing the things you always do. Now, I’m sure you all start with the barre exercises, so line up there and we’ll begin.”
All the time I was doing my barre exercises, I felt cross. I’d been being a mouse all week for nothing. Now Mr Sheridan would never see how truly mouse-like I could be. I went through my pliés and demi-pliés, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr Sheridan looking at a piece of paper on a clipboard.
“I bet,” whispered Phoebe, who was standing behind me, “that that’s a list of our names. Can you see what Miss Matting is doing?”
I shook my head, no.
“I can,” said Phoebe. “She’s looking over here at us and then pointing. She’s telling him what we’re all called. That’s what I think.”
She sounded breathless and I could hardly hear her because she was whispering very quietly. When we turned round with our other hands on the barre, I was behind her, and I whispered to her:
“Are you nervous?” and she nodded her head, yes.
The class seemed to go on for ever. At last it was over.
“Thank you, children,” said Mr Sheridan. “You are all a credit to Miss Matting. I’m sorry you can’t all be in The Nutcracker but I do hope everyone will come and see the show, and support the people whom I have chosen. Let’s see . . . where is that list?”
Miss Matting gave him the clipboard, and he smiled at us. I was finding it very hard to breathe, and I could feel my face burning. I looked at Phoebe, and she smiled at me and held up her hand with the fingers crossed. How could she be so friendly at a time like this? Tony was staring out of the window and didn’t even seem to be paying attention. How could he be so calm? Perhaps there was something wrong with me for caring so much.
“Mice first, I think,” said Mr Sheridan. “Here we are: Tony Delaney, Colin Shand and Phoebe Winters.”
I could feel myself wanting to cry. I’m not a mouse, I thought. They haven’t chosen me. I’m not a mouse.
“And now, party children. Well, I’m afraid we only need a very few of these, so only one name here: Louisa Blair.”
“Me?” I think I said. I can’t really remember, because all of a sudden everyone was crowding round me, and Phoebe was hugging me. I remember that.
“Oh, Louisa,” she said. “It’s us! It’s both of us! We’re going to be in The Nutcracker. Really and truly! And Tony and Colin. Isn’t it wonderful? It’s the most delicious thing that’s ever happened! Isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
I hugged Phoebe back. I couldn’t help it, I was so happy. And I decided in that second, I liked her. I really did. There was nothing wrong with her. She was nice. And even though she didn’t seem to know what ‘delicious’ meant, she was the only person who never, ever called me Weezer.
Chapter Four
ALL THE REHEARSALS for The Nutcracker were being held in the studio which Mr Sheridan’s company always used. This was at the back of a small theatre called The Playhouse, which was so far away from where we lived that Tony and I had to go on the bus.
“Are you sure,” Mum asked the first time we had to go, “that you’ll be all right? Will you know where to get off? And will you make sure you don’t lose your fare money?”
I sighed. I was just about to moan at her for thinking we were babies, when Tony said, “Yes, we’ll be fine, Mrs Blair. I’ll look after Louisa.”
“I can look after myself, thank you very much,” I said and kicked him under the table. “Or maybe I’ll have to look after you. You’re always in a dream.”
“I am not!” said Tony. “Anyway, we should go or we’re going to be late.”
We weren’t late. We’d set out so early that we were almost the very first people there. We waited for Phoebe to arrive. When she did, Tony and I waved at her, and after she’d got out of the car, she said, “Did you come by bus? That’s silly. You must come with me in the car. We’ll come and collect you next time. OK?”
“OK,” I said. “Thanks, Phoebe.”
“Yes, thanks,” said Tony. “I’d love to ride in that car.”
“Cripes!” said Phoebe. “This is it. Shall we go in?”
We went in, and a kind lady who was sitting knitting just inside the door said, “Hello, my darlings . . . you must be some of the mice, I expect.
I think Mr Sheridan said you were to wait in the big rehearsal room. It’s over there.”
Other children began to arrive soon after. There were ten other mice, and a boy called Michael was my partner as a party child. Phoebe, Tony and I sat on a bench together. Dancers, real grown-up dancers, began to arrive, dressed in all sorts of strange things: torn sweatshirts, tatty leg-warmers, and ropey-looking scarves. The ladies all had huge shoulder bags, and their hair was scrunched up in ponytails. They didn’t look in the least glamorous. One of them came up to us.
“Hi!” she said. “I’m Clara. I mean, my real name is Nikki, but I’m dancing Clara. Are you mice?”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m a party child. They’re mice, though.”
“It’s going to be ever such fun,” said Phoebe, when Nikki had wandered away.
Mr Sheridan clapped his hands then, and we all had to go and stand in the middle of the room, while he explained what he wanted. Clara and the Nutcracker were going to dance first, and then we would do our bits. We sat on the bench and watched.
“He’s not a bit like he was when he came to see us,” Phoebe whispered. “He’s shouting at them. Listen. Do you think he’ll shout at us?”
Mr Sheridan did seem very cross.
“Nikki, darling, are you an elephant? Have you no idea of grace? What has happened to your arms? You are a young girl, not a shop-window dummy, sweetheart. Again, please.”
“He says ‘Again, please’ so much . . . Do you think he’ll be cross when it’s our turn? I’m a bit scared,” Phoebe said.
I was a little scared too, but I knew that famous choreographers often shouted at their dancers.
“He doesn’t mean it,” I said. “He just wants her to do her best. Anyway, I’m sure he won’t shout so much at us. He hardly knows us.”