After Fletch and I get over the shock of everything, we talk and talk until I fall asleep with him (on his slightly less painful side). A nurse quietly comes in at midnight to tell me that I should probably get going. I drowsily collect my things, kiss Fletch tenderly on the forehead, and leave the hospital, ordering an Uber as I go.
When I get home, Alec, Kiki, Leon and Anand are all sitting together in the living room, talking and laughing. It’s good to see Leon and Alec being friends again. It’s early days, but I already feel as if the dynamics of their relationship have already changed. Leon seems more relaxed around Alec, and when Leon speaks, Alec is listening – really listening, and replying in a positive way, not with a put-down or a remark about how he’s somehow better.
We’re all lounging sleepily on the sofas, tired but too wired to sleep. The conversation moves to Sam.
‘I thought she was so amazing,’ Kiki says with an eye-roll. ‘She was the head of this big TV show, she’d had to fight really hard to get where she was, she had all these clever ideas, and I guess I just got sucked in. You tried to warn me, Nettie, but I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe that she had the answer to all my problems.’
‘We all fell for her act,’ says Leon, giving Kiki’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘Don’t give yourself a hard time.’
‘I just thought she was this badass, but she was a bully.’
Kiki’s putting on a brave face, but I know she must feel so betrayed.
‘We should contact See Me Now,’ says Alec. ‘Maybe they’ll reinstate your contract now they’re not being threatened by Sam.’
‘Michelle already called,’ said Kiki. ‘Wants to talk on Monday. She was very apologetic – told me that if I was happy, they’d launch the collection as soon as possible!’
‘That’s great news, Kiki,’ says Alec, smiling.
Kiki puts her head on me; I fold my arms around her. I’m going to make sure I’m there for her. Build her back up. Show her how much I love her.
‘Anand, how are you feeling about everything?’ I say. He risked everything for us. He’s basically a hero.
‘I feel . . . good!’ he says.
‘You knew, right?’ I say. ‘That’s what you kept hinting at.’
‘I knew she was doing it; I just didn’t know how,’ he says. ‘The equipment she used was really sophisticated. I never thought I’d have the courage to bring her down.’
‘Well, you did,’ says Alec.
‘Yeah, you were brilliant,’ says Kiki enthusiastically.
Anand smiles bashfully. ‘Oh, and guess what? After the show, I was feeling brave, so I asked my flatmate out. I didn’t even think about it; I just went for it – obviously with the obligatory “no worries if not, don’t even know if you’re into guys lol” . . . and he said yes!’
We cheer.
‘That’s wonderful, Anand,’ I say. ‘I’m so happy it worked out for you.’
‘Me too,’ he says, smiling.
I’m so happy for Anand. Today has been exhausting, exhilarating and quite, quite bizarre, with some shocking revelations. It feels grounding to have some good news at last, and I go to bed feeling grateful for that.
CHAPTER 27
My grandmother comes to the door in her dressing gown. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me; her face registers no emotion whatsoever. But when she sees Miss Duke behind me, she draws herself up haughtily.
‘Come in,’ she says.
No Hello; no How are you, child of my child? Anger prickles my face until it feels strange, like it doesn’t belong to me.
I don’t wait. ‘You betrayed her. You ruined Mum’s life. Why am I even surprised?’
‘He told you, then,’ says Auntie. ‘Took his time.’
Miss Duke and I follow her through to the kitchen.
‘After he left here, he had a motorcycle accident,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she says.
‘Sorry?’ I say. ‘You’ve never been sorry about anything in your life. You drove Mum away—’
‘You know nothing.’ She sits down at the table.
Miss Duke also sits down, uninvited. I stay standing.
‘I gave everything to Anastasia,’ says Auntie. ‘Championed her talent, supported her career—’
‘You never supported her,’ says Miss Duke quietly. ‘The ballet always came first with you, not your daughter’s welfare. That’s part of the reason she was so messed up. And when she started to become an “embarrassment”, you ended her career.’
‘Is that what you think?’ she says, her voice wrung with unexpected emotion. ‘I was saving her. I was saving you, Antoinette.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I say. ‘No more riddles! I need the truth.’
‘Sit down, Antoinette. Sit!’
Surprised by her tone, I obey, and wait for her to explain.
‘Ana had been ill. She lived the party lifestyle – at first I thought it was just that, but then I realized it was more. I’d go to her house and discover piles of gin bottles by the back door. She was drinking all night – in the morning, too. And the drugs. She always denied it, but it was plain she had a problem. Oh, I know these things happen – I wasn’t born yesterday; I’m well aware of what goes on at those showbiz bashes – but the number of times I’d find white powder strewn over the coffee table, endless pills left lying around . . .’ She takes a breath to steady her voice.
I remind myself to breathe too.
‘Soon, her behaviour started to change,’ Auntie continues. ‘She was anxious; she cried a lot, sometimes for hours; she started missing work; she wouldn’t wake in the mornings. I would have to go to her flat and physically get her out of bed. Every day I was afraid I’d find her cold.
‘I used to take her laundry when she was out, and bring it back clean and ironed. The state of the place in those last few weeks . . . She never even knew I was helping her. Then one evening I caught her as she was leaving. She was wobbling on her feet and only just caught the doorframe in time to avoid a fall. I tried to get her to stay home, but she refused.’
Miss Duke shifts in her chair and glances at me.
Auntie continues. ‘We argued – both said some horrible things. I told her she was a disgrace, said I was ashamed of her.
She accused me of being uncaring. Said I’d never loved her. Told me she never wanted to see me again. When she left, I didn’t stop her. I stayed for a while to clean up after her for the last time and then the phone rang.
‘It was the doctor. Said he had her results. I immediately thought of her father, with his liver, and the illness Ana had gone through when she was younger . . . I didn’t think twice about pretending to be her.
‘“Congratulations, Miss Delaney-Richardson – you’re pregnant.” My addict daughter, pregnant. What could I do? Presumably Ana had some suspicion that she might’ve been pregnant, or she wouldn’t have gone to the doctor. So, if she knew, and she still couldn’t stop . . .’
‘She didn’t know,’ says Miss Duke. ‘She had no idea.’ ‘You can’t know that. None of us can,’ says Auntie. ‘I had to act. I contacted an old friend of mine who wrote for The Times and told him to do his worst. Anything he could to stop her. Lose her the job, the friends, everything. A takedown piece. When I got home, there was a message on my answerphone that Ana had collapsed and was in intensive care. I was distraught—’
Her voice actually catches. It’s strange to see her so emotional. I feel awkward, like I want to comfort her but can’t because of the barrier she’s put between us.
‘As planned, the piece was published, validated by her onstage collapse. The company she was working for put her in rehab and said they were “supporting Anastasia and optimistic for her return”, but we all knew it was over. No one would touch her after that. I tried to go to see her in rehab, but she had me thrown out. We didn’t speak to each other again. I was too proud, and she was too angry.’
She stops talking. The hum of the refrigerator seem
s suddenly loud against the awkward silence. I pick up a vase that’s sitting on the table, then put it back again. Miss Duke sits calmly, looking at my grandmother.
‘Why didn’t you try harder?’ I ask. ‘You lost your daughter because you were too proud to make the first move?’
‘Our relationship was always strained. Your mother blamed me for her father’s death, said I drove him to drink. I’ve never claimed to be perfect, Antoinette – I have my faults, but Anastasia was stubborn, too. We didn’t speak until days before she died.’
‘Did you tell her what you did?’
She looks as if she’s weighing up whether to tell me. ‘I did. She was angry. Said she’d ruined a friendship over it. But I think she understood now that she had her own child. She’d have done anything to protect you.’
‘Do you know who my father is?’ I say, out of the blue. I don’t even think about it before the words tumble out of my mouth. Miss Duke looks at me curiously.
‘No,’ Auntie says shortly. ‘It could have been anyone. I doubt she even knew.’
Miss Duke and I get back in her ridiculous Bentley. My head’s spinning. Mum never told me what happened with Auntie before she died. I only knew they’d seen each other in the hospital. As much as I dislike my grandmother, I’m glad they had a chance to clear the air.
‘All those years wasted,’ says Miss Duke, mainly to herself. ‘I’m sorry you were alone with her in the end. It must have been difficult for you both.’ She puts her hand on my arm.
I’m not sure now is the time to mention that I stole the contents of an envelope marked ‘Private and Confidential’ from her old desk, but I need to ask her about it. I uncross my legs and look her in the eyes, hoping to seem confident and not at all like a liar. ‘I found a photo when I was . . . going through some of Mum’s old belongings. Of her . . . with your husband.’
She knows the photo I mean. I can see it in her face. She takes a breath in to speak, then changes her mind. It looks as if she’s struggling to find the right words. I wait while she composes herself.
‘Ana always maintained that nothing happened between her and Nick, despite there being evidence to the contrary,’ she says. ‘The trouble is, she was not herself in those days. She was high, or drunk, or both – so much so that she would act out of character. She would frequently black out.’
‘So why did you stop talking?’ I ask.
She gives me a wry smile. ‘She was convinced I’d called the papers on her as revenge. That it was actually your grandmother is as surprising to me as it is to you.’ She takes a compact out of her bag and powders her nose like a Fifties movie star. I didn’t even know people still did that. ‘Ana and I met up before the end, when she started having chemo, before your grandmother had confessed. We made our peace.’
I had no idea they’d seen each other. ‘After everything that happened between you? How?’
‘We just agreed to believe each other. Should have done it years ago. Life is short, a fact of which I know you are painfully aware.’ She puts her compact back in her tiny handbag and turns to face me. ‘Ana asked me to look out for you if our paths ever crossed. She loved you very much, Antoinette. I think she would have told you everything, one day. She just ran out of time. I’m sorry you lost her.’
Finally I’ve got the answers I’ve been looking for, but the truth is more painful than I could have imagined. Everything that Mum went through – I wish I could have been there for her. She must’ve felt so alone.
But then I remember something she used to say to me:
You’re my best dance, Nettie.
I never doubted her when she said that. And even now I know all the secrets and lies, I still believe it. Becoming pregnant with me was a turning point in her life, and I think she was ready to leave it all behind. She chose her life with me, and that means everything.
I take a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry you lost her, too.’
CHAPTER 28
The cheer as Fletch goes up to collect his degree nearly splits my head open. Rosemary grips my knee; I pass her a tissue. It takes him a while to get down the stairs; he’s out of his cast, but still a little wobbly on his feet. Fletch poses for the photographer with Miss Duke, Michael, and the guest speakers. His hand is healing well; he’s having physio every day now, and they’re sure he’ll make a full recovery.
Luca’s up next. Fletch grins back at him as he shakes hands with Michael. Their friendship is as strong as it ever was – probably stronger now after they actually sat down and did some real talking. It’s weird to think they were ever fighting.
Fletch joins Bob, Rosemary and me after the ceremony, when the college ground floor is full of students and parents and teachers. Bob pulls him in for a hug.
‘Well done.’ He pulls away to look at his son, holding him by the shoulders.
‘We’re so proud of you,’ says Rosemary.
‘I’m proud of you, too,’ I say, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
‘Fletch!’ Michael’s clear voice cuts through the crowd. He dodges around several families to reach us.
‘Hi, Michael,’ says Fletch. ‘Enjoy the ceremony?’
‘It’s the best,’ says Michael. ‘All my babies, achieving their dreams, flying the nest. I’m having all the emotions today. Listen, have you been into the office?’
‘No. Why?’
‘We’ve had a call from David Hirst’s office. Better Spent is transferring to the West End next year – and they want you to be MD!’
Fletch looks stunned. ‘I thought they’d have got someone else, after what happened.’
‘They did, but whoever they got wasn’t a patch on you. They’ve sent the contract through – it’s waiting for you to sign. Congratulations, buddy. Our first ever MD, straight out of college.’ He shakes Fletch’s hand warmly.
‘Not assistant MD?’ says Fletch, in a daze.
‘Nope,’ says Michael. ‘Oliver and West want you in charge. They said it wouldn’t have been the success it was without your input, and they’re keen to continue their working relationship with you.’
‘Wow,’ says Fletch. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Rosemary squeals. ‘We’re thrilled for you!’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ says Fletch. ‘Wow . . . Hey, does anyone mind if I just nip to the office? I need to see that the contract actually exists!’
Fletch ducks into the crowd.
‘Nettie, could I borrow you for a second?’ says Michael. ‘I wanted to give you something.’
‘Er, sure.’
I follow him into Studio One, which is quieter. He hands me a small white envelope. ‘I found this while I was going through some things at home. I thought you should have it.’
‘Thanks.’ I open it. It’s a photograph of Mum and Michael. Mum must be in her twenties; Michael a little older. Mum’s wearing her vintage Chanel jacket, flared hipster jeans and some strange square-toed pink shoes with a block heel. Michael’s got one hand around Mum’s waist, the other holding a glass of champagne. Mum’s got a drink and a cigarette in the same hand and is blowing out smoke towards the camera as she leans into him.
‘This is gorgeous, Michael. Thank you.’ ‘Hard to believe I once didn’t have grey hair,’ says Michael over my shoulder. He’s laughing. ‘I think that was at the launch party of Darcey Bussell’s autobiography. Although we went to lots of these things, so I can’t be sure. I think Jerry took the photo.’
Why is that name so familiar?
‘Who’s Jerry?’ ‘My partner,’ says Michael. ‘You might have seen him at last year’s Summer Showcase. Although from what I remember, you were quite preoccupied . . .’
‘I can’t believe Mum smoked,’ I say, turning the photo over. There’s writing on the back. ‘Ana and Bunny 4 ever . . . Bunny – is that you?’
He smiles fondly. ‘Yes, I was always Bunny to her. It was a joke about my awful dancing. She and Jerry used to rib me terribly.’
My brain connects the dots.
&nbs
p; ‘“B” for Bunny,’ I say. When Michael looks at me curiously, I add, ‘You signed your letters to her “B”. I found some of them earlier this year. I wanted to ask you about Mum, but . . .’
‘But I would never let you.’ He sighs. ‘The past was painful, Nettie. For all of us. The truth is, I loved your mother with every piece of my soul, and it ripped my heart out when she left.’
I don’t know whether he’s talking about when Mum cut all ties to her former life, or when she died. Maybe both. Seeing his eyes glass over makes mine well up, my own grief reflected in his.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I get it.’
‘Let’s do a thing over the summer,’ he says. ‘Bring Fletch, come over – I’ll cook – and I’ll dig out all my old pictures of your mum and tell you everything I can remember. We’ll have a ball. What do you say?’
‘Thanks, Michael,’ I say, smiling. ‘That would be lovely.’
I hug him and leave the studio. As I work my way across the crowded foyer, I spy Alec and Leon laughing in a corner. I wave at them and go through to the office, where Miss Paige is handing Fletch his contract with a smile (no, really). She pats him fondly on the shoulder and makes a big show of taking some files next door, but really I think it’s because she’s trying not to let us see her being emotional.
‘It’s real,’ says Fletch, staring at the document in awe. ‘I really get to do this.’
I squeeze him around the waist. ‘You’re amazing.’
‘Hey,’ he says, ‘I can definitely ask David Hirst about your mum now. I guess I’ll be spending a lot of time with him.’
‘Yeah, maybe don’t do that,’ I say.
He looks at me, surprised.
‘There’s the tiniest possibility that he might be my dad.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Yes, I see how that could complicate things.’ He grins and kisses me softly.
Dance Like No One's Watching Page 27