‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Nothing to report.’
CHAPTER 11
8:37 a.m.
Leon:
Morning! So Sam just asked me to be featured in the show . . .
Kiki:
That’s great!
Alec:
That’s all of us, then
Fame at last lol
Have you decided what to do?
I know you were worried.
Leon:
I told Sam I’d think about it.
Alec:
You worried about your dad?
Leon:
☹
Kiki:
I honestly think it’ll be fine Leon
Sam’s more interested in your talent than your personal life
Alec:
I agree, you should go for it
Leon:
Nettie?
Honestly I don’t know
But I’m here for you whatever you decide x
I try to drown out Jade’s impossible hair-and-make-up demands as I enter the studio for ballet. If the cold early November air hadn’t woken me up before I got here, her shrill screeching has done the trick. Cameras are being set up. Coffees are handed out (the no eating or drinking in the studio rule seems non-existent if you work for Three Ring TV). Cables are being stuck in a long path around the edge of the studio to avoid being danced on, but people are ignoring the yellow tape and treading on them anyway. Triple Threat seems less like a documentary and more like a full-on movie set with every passing day. Sam breezes in with a coffee, smiles winningly at Kiki and me, winks at Jade and sends the crew in various directions as we start the class.
Miss Moore’s kind of ignored me for the last few weeks. But I can tell when she marches into the studio this morning that she’s out to get someone, and usually that someone is me.
I’m wrong. She doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. Which is fine by me – I just wish Sam would stop focusing on me in dance lessons. I might have an interesting backstory, but she’d be far better off getting action shots of the people who actually know what they’re doing.
We’re doing jetés from the corner. When it gets to my turn, I step off with my right leg confidently, but as I go to extend my left, something gets in the way, tripping me up. My right foot goes from underneath me and I land flat on my back with an almighty crash, the sprung floor reverberating loudly. Jade steps over me and performs her jetés without so much as a backward glance. I notice there’s one camera on her, and another still focused on me. I look over at Sam, but she’s deep in conversation. Humiliated and seething, I pick myself up and go to join the back of the line.
Miss Moore glares at me, then disappears out of the studio for a moment, returning with a bowl of water. ‘Antoinette, come here,’ she says, indicating a spot in the middle of the floor. She hands me the full-to-the-brim bowl, smiling brightly. ‘Goodness me. That landing. Like a herd of elephants. No wonder you fell. You will do sautés for the rest of the lesson. Without spilling any water.’
I don’t quite understand. ‘Sorry – you want me to jump?’
‘Yes.’
‘With this bowl?’
‘Exactly. Now get on with it.’
She waits for me to start jumping, before moving on to the next exercise with the rest of the class. Which is difficult, to say the least, because I am right in the middle of them all, jumping up and down and trying not to spill any water. At one point I slosh some over the edge, and Miss Moore points to a cloth on the piano. Horribly aware that Sam’s getting all of this on camera, I fetch the cloth and clean up the spillage, my cheeks burning.
After ten minutes of jumping, my legs are like blancmange and I’m spilling more water than I’m keeping in. My face is bright red, now from exertion rather than from embarrassment, and my arms are aching from holding the bowl. At one point I slip over. But I won’t let Millicent Moore win, especially not in front of a TV crew. The rest of the students dance around me, working twenty times as hard as usual, terrified of being similarly humiliated. Miss Moore takes no notice, but I know if I stop, she’ll be all over me. Jade catches my eye and smiles nastily. Anger surges inside me and I nearly drop the bowl.
Miss Duke’s face appears at the window. She takes in the situation and comes to the door immediately.
‘Could we pause filming for one second?’ she says to Sam, completely unruffled. ‘Miss Moore, I’d like a word.’
Miss Moore and Sam both follow her outside. I stop jumping as soon as the door closes behind them, gasping for air and rubbing my quads. Jade slips out of the room while I’m still getting my breath back.
‘Oh my God, what a bitch,’ says Kiki. ‘I can’t believe she did that to you.’
‘Who – Jade, or Miss Moore?’
‘I mean, both.’
‘Shhh,’ I say. ‘If we’re quiet we can hear what’s going on.’
We creep closer to the door to listen to the muffled conversation.
‘I’m well aware that your methods are unorthodox, Millicent,’ Miss Duke is saying, ‘and I’ve been willing to turn my back in favour of what they can achieve, as you know, but you cannot conduct your classes like that in front of the crew.’
‘I will not compromise my teaching methods for some cheap TV programme,’ retorts Miss Moore. (Ear pressed up to the door, Kiki gasps.) ‘It’s bad enough that you’re letting them in at all, Cecile. But you promised us it wouldn’t affect our working environment. I won’t do it.’
I’ve never heard anyone speak to Miss Duke like that before. She’s surely going to send Miss Moore packing, or give her a bollocking, at least.
But she doesn’t.
‘Sam, I’m going to have to ask you not to film Miss Moore’s classes,’ she says. ‘And you can’t use the footage of today’s lesson.’
What Sam says next is unknown because Miss Moore throws open the door (almost smashing Kiki’s nose), calls the class together for a hasty reverence, and steams out of the studio, lighting a cigarette as she goes. We pile out behind her, bewildered.
‘At least they won’t use the shots of you jumping up and down with a bowl in your hands,’ offers Kiki, as we trudge up the marble staircase, me clinging on to the banister to take some of the weight off my legs. ‘It would almost be comical, if it weren’t, you know, actual abuse. And as for Jade . . .’ She struggles to find the words. ‘What a prick.’
I pause. ‘I think Sam put her up to it.’
‘Sam wouldn’t do that,’ she says.
‘But the cameras were all ready to go on me.’
‘It was your turn! You’re being paranoid.’
I think having the director tell me she wants to create a narrative where Jade’s basically after me, and then finding myself the subject of a close-up while Jade kicks my leg from underneath me is more a case of putting two and two together than paranoia. ‘I just wonder if Sam’s a bit intent on stirring up this feud between Jade and me,’ I say. ‘Like, she seems a bit . . . ruthless?’
Kiki frowns. ‘If you mean she’s a successful woman in what is essentially a man’s world, and in order to become this, she’s had to play hardball occasionally, then yes, I guess she can be a little tough. But I think you’re worrying unnecessarily.’
‘I’m just anxious about this whole Triple Threat thing. We really have no control over how we’re portrayed. And Sam . . .’
Kiki smiles and puts her hand on my arm. ‘She’s cool, Nettie – you know, the more I get to know her, the more inspiring I find her. You’d like her. Next time we hang out, you should come.’
There’s not a world in which I’d want to spend time with Sam, but I also want to show my friend I’m making an effort. ‘OK,’ I say, giving her what I hope is a convincing smile.
A week later, I get a surprise but welcome message from Fletch.
08:30
Fletch:
Got the weekend off!
See you at mine on Friday?
OMIGOD! YES! ♥
&n
bsp; 4 days . . .
Can’t stop thinking about you
I love you
18:30
I love you too
Friday takes a long time to arrive. Kiki wakes me up early with some welcome news.
06:45
Kiki:
Did you hear??? Miss Moore’s gone on Sabbatical!!!
WHAT? WHY?
Obviously something to do with Triple Threat
Looks like I can’t ask her about Mum now . . .
But also no humiliation, so
Right? Hey – Sam, Anand and the rest of the crew are going to BKB tonight. You coming?
Oh no, I can’t, sorry Kiki
I thought you said you’d be up for it
Fletch is back this weekend. I haven’t seen him for weeks and I just want to spend every possible second with him
Ahhhh, you pair of cuties
Next time?
Promise ♥
13:10
Just reminding you I won’t be home tonight. Flat to yourself
Alec:
Great. Everyone’s deserting me.
??
Kiki’s going out with Sam, Leon’s gone to Taro’s, and now you’re leaving me. And it’s only going to get worse when Chicago rehearsals start. I’ll be a Fosse widow.
How about Fletch and I come back tomorrow? We can all spend the day together!
Can’t Saturday, I’m out.
My stomach’s filled with so many butterflies as I smooth down my fringe on Fletch’s doorstep that I feel like I’m living Eliza’s ‘Helpless’ moment from Hamilton. Being apart’s making it feel like we’ve only just got together – like it’s all still exciting and new and unknown. I guess that’s one upside of long distance.
I press the doorbell to the ground-floor flat. To my surprise, Luca answers.
‘Hey, Nettie. Fletch isn’t back yet. Tea?’
‘Uh, sure. Thanks, Luca.’
My phone rings and I pop it on speaker as I follow him through the flat. ‘Hey, beautiful.’
I glow at the sound of Fletch’s voice. ‘Hey, you.’
‘Are you at mine yet?’
‘Yes! What time are you back?’
‘That’s why I was calling,’ he says. ‘They’ve asked me to stay late. The orchestrator’s only just arrived. I’ll get on the road as soon as I can, but at the moment it looks as though I won’t be leaving until eight.’
My heart sinks. I take him off loudspeaker and nip back into the hall. ‘Are you sure you want to drive home that late? It’s cold, and you’ll be tired. Maybe you should stay down tonight.’ I hope he can’t hear the disappointment in my voice.
‘Nettie, this week’s been hard,’ he says. His voice sounds heavy. ‘The thought of getting home to you is the only thing keeping me going. I’ll text you when I’m leaving. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you.’
He hangs up.
I go back into the kitchen where Luca hands me a tea. He sees my downcast face. ‘Hey, don’t worry, Nettie. Fletch won’t be long. In the meantime, are you hungry?’
This cheers me up a little. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Linguine.’
I can’t say yes fast enough.
Luca makes and serves dinner. It’s delicious. I feel a bit strange eating in Fletch’s house without him, but I’m too hungry to wait.
‘So, Chicago should be fun,’ Luca says, handing me some black pepper. ‘Now that I’ve got over being in it and not on the music side. Shame it’s going to be such a drawn-out process. Could do with getting it all over and done with so that I can concentrate on my thesis.’
‘Yeah, we’re rehearsing for ages. Thanks to Three Ring TV.’ I roll my eyes and shake my head briskly.
‘You’re not a fan?’ says Luca.
‘They just won’t leave me alone,’ I say. ‘Like, I’m not that interesting.’
He laughs. ‘Yeah – they seem to hang around you a lot. Meant to ask – did I see them filming you talking to Miss Duke a couple weeks ago? What was that about?’
It’s like this unwritten rule at college that you only talk to Miss Duke if you’re in trouble or about to get a West End contract – there’s no in-between.
‘One minute she was bollocking me. The next, she’d called the cameras over and was telling me how proud she was, talking about last year and my voice, all misty-eyed.’ When he looks at me, confused, I add, ‘She didn’t want to answer personal questions.’
‘That’s intense,’ says Luca. ‘What were you asking her?’
‘I just wanted to know why Mum stopped dancing. What happened. They were friends, years ago. Miss Duke kind of hinted that they fell out.’
‘Wait, what? How did they know each other?’
My first instinct is just to brush it off, change the subject, but then an image flashes through my mind of the picture I found on my first day of college last year – a photo of Mum and Miss Duke laughing together, arm in arm – and the pang that goes through my chest reminds me not only how desperate I am to find out what happened, or how frustrating it is that no one will tell me the truth, but how much I need to talk about this with someone. The last few weeks have been taken up by Chicago and Triple Threat – for everyone, not just me – there hasn’t been space to talk. And Fletch hasn’t exactly been around.
I go and get my phone from my bag to show Luca the video. There’s a message from Fletch. It looks as if he wrote it in a hurry.
18:45
Fletch:
Sorry still waiting
Call u soon
19:30
OK. I love you x
Luca and I finish clearing up together while I fill him in on everything I know so far. We end up collapsed on the sofa. It’s one of those big L-shaped ones you kind of get lost in and can’t get out of easily, in dark green corduroy. The flat is generally quite shabby, but they’ve made it their own, with quirky throws and cushions, rock band tour posters and a huge red sequinned lampshade in the centre of the ceiling that Seb left behind. Luca’s drum kit sits in the corner in front of a brown-and-beige condemned gas fire, and an electric-blue rug hides a threadbare carpet.
‘Let’s see it, then,’ Luca says, pointing to my phone.
After locating the clip, my finger hovers over the play button. Is it weird that I’m sitting here so comfortably with him, as friends, after what happened last year? But it kind of feels . . . fine? We’re both here for Fletch in the end.
I hit play and show Luca the video. He looks stunned.
‘Wait – was that one of the ballet teachers?’ he says.
‘Yes – Millicent Moore,’ I say. ‘Did you see the look she gave Mum when she knocked her over? She’s furious. But the girl behind Millicent – watch it again.’ I play the beginning of the video and keep my finger on the girl just off Millicent’s shoulder. As Mum comes careering towards them and collides with Millicent, it’s hard to make out, but the girl behind definitely rolls her eyes.
‘She looks pissed off,’ says Luca.
‘Don’t you think if it was a one-off, she’d be shocked? She looks like she’s seen it all before. And if you watch all the corps de ballet girls, their body language looks kind of nervous, like they’re watching out for Mum, waiting for her to trip up.’
Luca rubs his neck. ‘You think it was a regular thing?’
‘I just wonder if Mum had a – a problem,’ I say.
‘Did she drink much?’ says Luca. ‘Before she . . . When you lived with her? Like growing up, I mean.’
People don’t want to say the word ‘died’ in case it upsets me. It’s nice of them, but I’m well practised at hearing it. It’s kind of worse when they avoid it.
‘Never.’
‘You think she’d have told you,’ says Luca. ‘When you were old enough to understand, I mean.’
‘She never did.’ I take a pink-and-yellow Never Mind the Bollocks cushion out from behind my back and put it on the armrest. ‘It’s killing me, wishing I’d had thes
e conversations with her when she was still alive.’
‘What about your granny?’ says Luca. ‘Couldn’t you ask her?’
I almost laugh at his use of the word ‘granny’. Not the image you’d conjure up for my grandmother. ‘I’m not going anywhere near her if I can help it. Annoying though – there’s a couple of boxes of Mum’s stuff there I could do with picking up . . .’ The thought sends equal thrills of fear and hope through me. I need to stop putting it off and go and get them.
‘Well, if you ever need help, I’m always here,’ says Luca.
‘Thanks.’ I’m thinking back to my last encounter with my grandmother and kicking myself for not taking more with me. Why didn’t I just grab Mum’s stuff and go? My grandmother could be chucking it all out right now. I wouldn’t put it past her.
Luca, sensing the conversation is over, changes the subject. ‘So, what are we watching? Your choice,’ he says, tossing me the remote.
I wake up with my mouth open and dribble running down the side of my chin on to Luca’s shoulder, who’s fallen asleep too. Fletch’s bike helmet is in the corner of the room, next to his jacket and gloves. Yawning, I wander out to the kitchen, where I find him waiting for the kettle to boil.
‘Hi,’ I say, rubbing my eye.
He turns around and smiles. ‘Hi, sleepy.’ He puts his hand out and pulls me in as I take it, wrapping me up in his arms. He’s cold from the ride home, and I shiver involuntarily.
Dance Like No One's Watching Page 9