by Davina Bell
Maybe all I can do for Papa Sir is try harder than ever, every second, she thought to herself. And hope that he would be proud.
Out Alice’s window the next morning, the mist lifted off the river in curly strips, like the circles of apple skin Teddy could peel in one piece without breaking. As the crisp early sun streamed in, the windmill behind the house squeaked softly, and Alice could hear the faraway clop of the baker’s cart as he made his morning rounds.
She smiled, remembering the excitement of bedtime. Mama had said the girls could stay home from school to help her prepare for her audition, and they hadn’t been able to sleep with all the delight. And while Alice was at the audition, Uncle Bear was to take them for a picnic lunch, then out in the iron canoe if the weather was fine. Mabel and Little had laid out her ballet clothes with such pride and care that Alice’s throat had ached. Then Jilly had come over in her nightdress to wish her well.
‘I’ve missed you, Alice. I’ve barely seen you,’ Jilly had said. ‘And I wanted to give you something – something to wear as you danced, but then I thought that you probably aren’t allowed to wear anything extra, like when you do your exams.’ Then she kissed Alice on the cheek. ‘There. That’s my something I give you. Don’t wash it off. Good luck, Alice. Not that you need it.’ She paused, and tilted her head. ‘When I watch you dance, I think, If I didn’t know her, I would hate her for being so good. But I could never hate you. You’re my very best friend.’
‘And you’re mine,’ said Alice solemnly. ‘I’ll come over as soon as I’m back from my audition. I’ll come over and tell you everything,’ she’d promised as they hugged goodbye.
By half past eight, Alice was ready. Her ribbon, so lovingly edged and pressed, was tied around her bun. With her little white skirt she wore a dance tunic the colour of pink fairy floss, and her fingernails had been cut specially into little white crescents. Her ballet shoes were snug in her bag, wrapped up in tissue. And before Mama had left for work that morning, she kissed Alice on the forehead. ‘Bonne chance – good luck!’
From the second that Alice started swishing her feet back and forth, higher and higher, she knew that this was not going to be an ordinary day of dancing. She felt loose and light and limber. It seemed her legs were even more eager to swing than usual; her point was sharp, her legs strong, her balance sure. As Alice finished her centre work, she felt that she had danced her way to a new world, one without worry or time. She could hardly wait for Miss Lillibet to arrive at half past nine in her big, smart car – not like Rough-and-Tumble, their motorcycle with the wicker sidecar, which they loved so dearly.
‘Do I have time to practise my final piece?’ Alice asked George as Little changed the record on the gramophone.
‘Just, I think – though it must be getting on. I’ll run and check.’
But as Alice shook out her limbs a little and raised her arms to fifth position, George didn’t run and check – he stayed watching her dance the best she ever had, her turns crisp, her jumps so light that her feet barely kissed the ground. When she finished, everyone applauded madly.
As Alice bobbed a little curtsey, the clock began to chip and squeak, letting them know it was quarter past ten.
It was quarter past ten, and Miss Lillibet had not come.
WHERE oh where was Miss Lillibet? Was she ill – but why hadn’t she telephoned? Could her car have broken down? It was an hour’s journey to get to Fremantle, and they would be late late late, and a dancer must never be late – Miss Lillibet had said so a hundred times.
Teddy was at school, so Alice sent Mabel out into the rain to fetch Uncle Bear.
‘Uncle Bear,’ she said, as he brushed water off his coat, ‘could you take me to my audition in Rough-and-Tumble? I know you promised the others a picnic, but it’s too rainy anyway. Please could you take me?’
Uncle Bear frowned and looked thoughtfully at the little girls, and then back at Alice. He shook his head.
‘But they’ll be fine on their own,’ Alice said pleadingly. ‘Little’s practically a grown-up, and Pudding’s no trouble to anyone, and Mabel’s –’
‘I happen to be very responsible,’ said Mabel. ‘In fact, I –’
‘Please, Uncle Bear – I have to go to that audition. I might never have the chance again in my whole life.’
Uncle Bear hesitated, and then nodded slowly. The little girls cheered, and Alice felt she could have fainted with relief.
‘Oh thank you, Uncle Bear,’ she said. ‘Thank you a thousand times.’
As Uncle Bear steered Rough-and-Tumble up the drive, Alice watched the rain swirl across the little white peaks of the river below. She had been dancing so deeply that she hadn’t noticed the plump drops that had started to ping off the roof. Wrapped up in a raincoat with Papa Sir’s top hat down over her bun, she climbed in, knowing that Rough-and-Tumble would offer no shelter from the rain that was blowing in sideways.
There was an enormous clatter, and hailstones bounced around them, like chips of hard, white peppermint. Then Little was beside them, her bare arms red with hail stings as she tried to cover her head. She opened the door and thrust an oilskin bundle at Alice’s feet, saying something that Alice couldn’t hear above the wind. The top hat slipped down over her eyes, and by the time her hands were free enough from the long coat sleeves to lift it up, Rough-and-Tumble was turning out onto the street, rounding Devil’s Elbow with a throaty roar. Alice couldn’t even turn back to see if they were waving.
By the time Uncle Bear pulled up at the steps of the town hall, Alice was sure Edouard Espinosa would have left, but she leapt out all the same. Uncle Bear leaned over, catching the tail of the coat with one hand, and reaching down to pick up Little’s oilskin parcel with the other.
‘What’s in there, Uncle Bear?’ Alice asked, but he wouldn’t say anything, just nodded firmly and drove away to park.
Please, please, please, let him be here, thought Alice as she ran through the big wooden doors, looking around desperately. There was nobody in the big marble foyer, so she made for a dim corridor with doors down either side. She tried each one, crunching the handles, but most were locked. One was a closet – and as she opened it, a broom and a mop fell out with a bang. Alice jumped back with fright, and tripped on the ends of her raincoat, falling back so squarely that she bounced on her tailbone. She sat there, sad and hollow with disappointment, not knowing what to do next.
‘Well, now, you must be Alice.’
Alice felt someone crouch down in front of her and lift the brim of the top hat. She looked up to see a warm, kindly face and brown eyes as lovely as any she’d seen.
‘Hello, Edouard Espinosa,’ said Alice, and then wondered why she hadn’t said ‘Mr Espinosa’. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, but you see, Miss Lillibet didn’t come.’
‘Oh? And where has Lily got to?’ Edouard Espinosa held out his hand to Alice and helped her up. Now she was standing, Alice could see a plump lady with spectacles on a chain waiting down the hall.
Mr Espinosa saw her looking. ‘Forgive my rudeness, Alice – this is Miss Mary March. She will be playing for you today.’
‘Oh! So I’m not too late? I was ready so early, and then she didn’t come and she didn’t call, and we didn’t know what to do. And we were in Rough-and-Tumble, not the Panhard, and – oh, I’m sorry to talk so much – it’s usually Mabel who can’t be quiet.’ Alice put her hand to her lips, feeling quite mortified.
‘Not at all – it sounds like an eventful morning. Now, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll take your coat and hat, and you change into some dry clothes, eh?’
Alice felt her whole self wilt as she wriggled out of the raincoat. ‘I don’t have clothes to change into. I – I didn’t think to bring any.’
‘Not even in your parcel?’ He pointed to it on the floor.
‘I don’t know what’s in that parcel,’ Alice whispered. Good grief, Edouard Espinosa must think her the most feather-brained girl on earth.
‘How intriguing!
I do like a mystery. Don’t you like a mystery, Miss March?’
‘What I’d like is my lunch, so if you don’t mind, I shall go and sit at the pianoforte before I faint dead away.’ Miss March clunked off down the corridor.
Edouard Espinosa winked at Alice as he handed her the parcel. But her fingers were trembling so that she couldn’t undo the string, and she had to hand it back.
‘A tough little knot, that one. Ah – but what’s this, Alice? Someone has given you a present. What jolly wrapping.’
Underneath the oilskin was something wrapped in the most marvellous paper, which had been drawn by Teddy, of course. It was a picture of a night sky and a dancer made of stars, making her way across the page until she finished on the edge of the paper, curtseying on the moon.
‘He’s done the gavotte!’ Alice exclaimed. ‘That’s my dance – he’s drawn the steps.’
‘And talented he is, too – look at that beautiful turnout.’
She took off the paper carefully and peeled back the soft layers of tissue underneath. Inside was a dance tunic the colour of – well, what was that colour? It wasn’t gold and it wasn’t silver and it wasn’t pink and it wasn’t yellow, but it was a mix of all those things. And around the neckline were the most darling little feathers, so soft that it felt like you were stroking nothing at all when you touched them.
It was so familiar and yet Alice was sure she had never seen it before. She lifted it out to hold up the straps, and two cards fluttered to the floor. She recognised Little’s letters – some backwards, but all tidy. Congrautlationz! said the first card. It boezn’t matter. we ztill love you, said the second.
‘Oh! They must have meant it for when I got home,’ said Alice. ‘I think they were going to choose the card that fit the best.’
‘Do you think you can dance in it, Alice?’ Edouard looked at his watch, and Alice remembered that he would be due back on the ship soon.
She nodded, and he left her to change. Her ballet tights were still damp – her ribbon too – but the new tunic felt so heavenly that she hardly noticed.
Then suddenly Alice realised why it seemed so familiar – the fabric, and the feathers. It was Mama’s wedding dress, cut small, just for her.
As Alice climbed the stairs and stepped out onto the stage, she felt the spring in the boards under her toes, and smelled the musty scent of heavy curtains – real theatre curtains. The up-and-down rows of seats stretched before her like a rippling sea. When the lights came up, Alice felt like a butterfly unfolding into the sunshine. She forgot that Miss Lillibet wasn’t there. She forgot everything except how much she loved to dance.
‘Let’s get started then,’ Edouard said, taking the lid off his fountain pen and pulling out some paper. ‘Thank you, Miss March – the battements tendus. Aaaaand one-and-two-and-three-and-four-and.’
In her costume with the feathers, Alice had never felt more graceful. Just as it had this morning, each tiny movement felt perfect. Her barre work ended with an arabesque that gave Alice the feeling of closing a wonderful book. She smiled down at her feet, not wanting Edouard to think she was being immodest.
‘Splendid, Alice!’ he said. ‘Has Miss Lillibet talked about putting you on pointe? You’re more than ready.’
‘Oh!’ Alice looked up. ‘She meant to ask you today. Do you really think I could?’
‘Those feet were made for pointe shoes,’ he said. ‘And who would have thought that such small ankles could be so steely, eh? You must have put in some hours on those.’
By the time she got to her performance pieces, Alice had forgotten about doing her best – it seemed that today she couldn’t do anything else. As she sprang and leapt and stretched and fluttered, she found her thoughts wandering back to Miss Lillibet and all the times they had spent together. She thought of Pan’s wide, happy mouth, and Uncle Bear’s big heart. And the way Mabel talked all in a rush because she just couldn’t wait to tell things. How Alice felt when Teddy winked at her or when Pudding nuzzled her neck, and how carefully George pulled her arms behind her to stretch between her shoulder blades. She remembered Papa Sir, his pipe and his crinkly eyes, and the kiss on her cheek from Jilly, which she still hadn’t washed. She thought of Mama, so strong and stylish and fierce and French. And of Little, precious Little, so delicate and kind.
And all at once, Alice realised that she had begun to dance from love. If only Miss Lillibet had been here to see what she had made from her very own puddle.
As she finished her final dance in a curtsey that brushed the ground, there was wild applause. But it did not come from Edouard Espinosa, who was scribbling furiously.
‘I don’t usually look up from the pianoforte when I’m accompanying,’ said Miss March as she finished clapping, ‘but today I couldn’t help it. Ducky, that was glorious.’
‘Thank you, Miss March. Your playing was lovely too,’ Alice said, as she bounced down the steps.
But Edouard Espinosa did not look up as she approached. He just kept writing, frowning a little. Oh dear, thought Alice. Had she been enjoying it all too much and not been concentrating – had she been sloppy?
‘Alice,’ said Edouard slowly, still writing. ‘Have you ever seen Lily – Miss Lillibet – dance?’
‘She does a dance every year at our end-of-class concert.’ Alice sighed, thinking of Miss Lillibet turning pirouette after pirouette, as if she were a figurine in a music box. Last year she had worn a long white skirt that had flowed around her like a puff of mist.
‘I first saw her when she was about a year older than you.’ Edouard finished writing with a flourish, and blew on the paper to dry the ink. ‘I was captivated. She was so young, and yet …’ He wiggled the paper into a big cream envelope. ‘And yet she seemed to dance with an old soul, one that had known great sadness and made it into great beauty.’
Oh no – there I was being so smiley, thought Alice.
Edouard Espinosa licked the envelope shut and put it down. He clasped his hands together and looked up at Alice thoughtfully.
‘Now, your technique is just as good as Lily’s was then – better even. Your training has obviously been exemplary. But when I watched you dance …’ He paused and looked up at the ceiling, frowning.
Just say it, thought Alice with a sinking heart. Say I’m not nearly as good.
‘When I watched you dance, your joy was even more beautiful.’
Behind them, Miss March cleared her throat. ‘I shall be waiting with the driver, Mr Espinosa. We’re due back at the ship smartish. Goodbye, dear, and all the best.’
As Miss March clipped out on her little heels, Alice scrunched up her courage to ask what she had really come to find out. ‘Mr Espinosa,’ she said to the floor. ‘I know you have to go, but before you do … can I ask … Do you think, one day, maybe, there’s the possibility that, if I worked so, so hard, and practised every day, perhaps, just perhaps, I could be a real dancer?’
Edouard put his pen in his bag and picked up his hat and coat. He stood up and came around to Alice and knelt so that she could see right into his kind, brown eyes.
‘Alice,’ he said gravely. ‘I have never seen a dancer as real as you.’
He held out the envelope. ‘When you find her, please give this to Lily with my regards, and make sure she reads it. I’m sorry that I can’t stay longer, but I have no doubt our paths will cross again.’
SHOULD I have changed out of my dance clothes? Alice wondered, as she waved goodbye to Uncle Bear and skipped across the tennis court to Jilly’s house next door. But she so wanted Jilly to see it that she decided not to go back and change.
She pushed back the boards in the side fence and slipped cautiously through the honeysuckle. As she ran up through the McNairs’ kitchen garden, she couldn’t help but do flying leaps, so that by the time she reached the side door she was puffing. She knocked impatiently and pushed her nose up against the window.
Eventually Jilly’s mother appeared, and Alice stepped back, wishing she hadn’t sm
eared the glass. Mrs McNair strode towards the door with her eyes squinted up and her lips pushed together so hard they were white.
Before the door was all the way open, before Alice could open her mouth to ask for Jilly, Mrs McNair was spitting words at her.
‘Have fun doing your dancin’, did you? Playin’ at nonsense with that German lass while the rest of us do our bit for the war?’
German lass? ‘I don’t know any –
‘Aye, you should be ashamed, prancin’ round in something like that when there’s fam’lies with nought on the table.’
Alice looked down at the wedding-dress tunic shimmering in the afternoon sun.
‘But we shouldnae expect any different, given who your mother is – her off pretendin’ to be a man, fiddlin’ with numbers and actin’ clever while her children run round like spoilt mongrel dogs.’
Alice took a step back.
‘And cowardly mongrel dogs at that! Aye – that brother o’ yours, hidin’ away with his paints because he’s too afraid to fight. He makes me sick.’
‘But Teddy’s too young to go fighting!’
‘Pfffft – tosh. My Hamish was off at fourteen. And Douglas signed up the first chance he could when it all began, and he weren’t a day older than your precious Teddy is now. So don’t you dare be sayin’ he’s too young when the truth is that he’s nigh seventeen and plain disgustin’. What a fam’ly – cannae even talk, the half o’ you.’ She leaned in closer and smiled in a way that was not friendly, little bubbles glistening on the edge of her lips.
‘And now see what you’ve done,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve killed that little ’un – the only decent one o’ the lot. Drowned, and because of you and all this foolishness. Aye, that’s right – left all alone, and see what happened? Blue she was, by the time they pulled her out o’ the river. I saw her m’self, carried across the lawn like a broken doll.’