Louisa the Ballerina

by Adele Geras

  When Clara and the Nutcracker came over to the bench, I could see that they were very sweaty. Nikki took a towel out of her bag.

  “Your turn now, kids,” she said to us. “He’s a real slavedriver, but his bark is worse than his bite. Not much worse, but worse.”

  When it was the turn of the mice to do their steps, Mr Sheridan did yell at them.

  “They’re doing their best,” I said to Nikki. “Why isn’t he pleased with them?”

  “Oh, Sherry never shows us when he’s pleased. He reckons we only do well when we’re terrified. Take no notice of him, that’s my advice.”

  Tony and Phoebe looked a lot less terrified than the other mice. They went through the routine three times, and then it was the turn of the party children. We were going to do the scene in Act One, where everyone arrives for the Christmas party. There were four of us, and seven grown-ups.

  “Michael and Louisa hold hands . . . Three skipping steps to the right, please . . . No, no, no, are you deaf, children? Right, not left. Really, what good are you to me as dancers if you don’t know your right from your left?”

  I couldn’t help what happened next. I know you aren’t meant to answer back, or argue during a ballet class, or a rehearsal. I know real dancers have to do exactly what they are told, but I lost my temper. Phoebe says I stamped my foot, but I can’t remember that.

  I do remember saying, “I do know my right from my left, Mr Sheridan, but it’s hard to think properly when you shout at us. We’re just getting a bit mixed up, that’s all. It’s the first time we’ve done this routine.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt sure Mr Sheridan would throw me out of the rehearsal, but everyone laughed and clapped, and he bowed to me and said, “Out of the mouths of babes, dear child . . . I am a brute and a beast, and apologize. Nevertheless, I shall continue to shout at you. I can’t change the habit of a lifetime, I’m afraid. I mean no harm, I assure you. Take no notice of the volume of my remarks, just do what I tell you to, and all will be for the best. Now. Take Michael’s hand, and skip to the right. Yes, like that. Good.”

  “And then,” Phoebe said to Annie, “Louisa said, ‘It’s the first time we’ve ever done this dance,’ and Mr Sheridan apologized. He actually apologized! Nobody could believe their ears.”

  We were sitting at the kitchen table in my house. Phoebe’s mother had given Tony and me a lift home, and arranged with our parents to pick us up and bring us back every time there was a rehearsal.

  “That’s extremely kind of you,” my mother said. “Would Phoebe like to stay to tea? We’d love to have her.”

  “It’s Friday, Mum,” I said. “Could Phoebe stay the night? Then we can go to the Saturday class together tomorrow morning.”

  I said the words before I’d really thought, but as soon as our mums had agreed that it would be all right, and that yes, Phoebe could borrow some pyjamas, I felt really happy. I thought, I’ll show her all my ballet stuff after tea. I couldn’t wait for her to see my Little Swan headdress.

  Chapter Five

  “BEING IN THE Nutcracker,” Phoebe said to me as we watched Mr Sheridan shouting at the Sugar Plum Fairy, “is the most fun I’ve ever had.”

  I nodded. “I love these rehearsals. And next week we’ll actually be in the theatre. We’re trying on our costumes on Thursday.”

  Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “Yours will be nicer than mine. I’ll be so hot in a mouse suit, and you’ll probably have a lovely dress. I’m dead jealous.”

  One of the Snowflakes, the one Phoebe and I didn’t like much, frowned at us. Whispering while the principals were working was not allowed. We pulled silly faces at her back when she turned away, but we did shut up. I thought about how strange it was that I liked Phoebe so much now. I’d tried to explain to Annie yesterday. Phoebe, I told her, was funny, and always let me look at her programme collection whenever I went round to see her. When I slept over at her house, she let me sleep on the top bunk even though I knew she liked it best. She never got bored with watching ballet videos, or talking about all the dancers.

  But best of all, she really liked me. She told me all her secrets, and she said she enjoyed coming to our house because, as she put it, “You’ve got both the things I want most in the whole world: a sister and a cat. My mum says it’s too late for a sister, and she’s allergic to cats.”

  “I don’t mind if you share Brad and Annie,” I said, and we giggled. I hadn’t said anything particularly funny, but that was just Phoebe. She giggled about all sorts of things. During Nutcracker rehearsals, Mr Sheridan called her Minnie, which I thought was a bit silly, but it made her laugh each time he said it. He called me Madam, and I didn’t know whether he was being rude or polite, but he always smiled when he said it so I didn’t mind too much. All the grown-ups made a fuss of us. Tony had more peppermints given to him than he could eat. The Nutcracker Prince shared his ginger biscuits with us, and the corps de ballet ladies let us listen to them while they gossiped. They also gave us nearly-finished lipsticks, and powder puffs they didn’t like any more, so we started building up a make-up collection in a shoe-box.

  A week before the first night, the snow fell.

  “This makes everything really Christmassy,” said Phoebe. “I love the snow.”

  “It’s OK,” I said, “but it turns to slush and then ice and you can’t play snowballs any more. And it’s cold. And it makes your gloves wet. And your shoes.”

  “Don’t be a misery, Weezer,” said Phoebe. Now that Phoebe came to our house so much and heard Annie calling me that, she’d started, and when I shouted at her, she didn’t do what everyone else did and apologize at once. She said:

  “You ought to be pleased that I’m calling you by your affectionate diminutive. It shows how much I like you.”

  “Affectionate what?”

  “Diminutive. You know . . . like a pet name. Affectionate diminutive is what my dad says it is when he calls me Beebs.”

  “Beebs? That’s worse than Weezer. Poor old you! Well, I shan’t call you that.”

  “You can if you like. I don’t care.”

  “Well, I care. I hate my whatever-it-was-you-called-it, so I’m not using yours.”

  One of the things Phoebe and I liked doing best of all was watching the grown-ups rehearsing.

  “I can do that bit,” I said to her, as we watched the Sugar Plum Fairy from the wings. “Look at me!”

  I started copying the steps. I’d been practising them at home and, apart from not being up on points, I thought I did it perfectly. Then I took a step sideways and stumbled. There were always pieces of furniture backstage and bits of the set as well. But I thought I knew exactly where they were. I forgot that a foot stool had just been put back after the party scene and I tripped over it in the middle of my dance. I clutched at a chair, but my feet just seemed to slip from under me, and I fell into a heap on the floor. My foot felt as if someone had bashed it very hard with a iron bar, and I started shrieking and crying, and all I could do was lie there. Everyone came running to see what all the noise was, and in the end I was sent home in a taxi with one of the ladies from the corps to keep me company.

  “I want to go with her!” Phoebe cried. “Please let me go with Weezer. She’s my friend.” Even in the middle of my pain, this made me feel a bit better, but Mr Sheridan was rehearsing the mice, and didn’t let her come. I looked out of the back window of the taxi as it drove off, and there was Phoebe waving and weeping, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.

  The doctor came. Annie and my mum were just standing there looking worried while he poked and prodded at my foot. He arranged for me to go and have an X-ray, and then he bandaged it very tight, and told me not to walk on it.

  “What about dancing?” I said. “I’m in The Nutcracker. At the Theatre Royal. It starts next week. Will I be OK next week?”

  “Dancing?” The doctor shook his head. “You won’t be dancing on this foot for at least three weeks.”

 
“But . . . the show will be finished in three weeks! It’s Christmas in three weeks. How can I just lie here while they’re dancing in the theatre? What about my dance? I’ve got a dance with Michael. I’m in the Christmas party scene.”

  “Don’t shout at the poor doctor, Louisa,” my Mum said. “It’s not his fault you’ve hurt your foot. I’m really so sorry, sweetheart. I know that dancing in The Nutcracker means a lot to you, but it would be silly to dance on that foot. You don’t want to injure yourself in such a way that you couldn’t dance when you were older, would you? I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  I started howling, “Being sorry isn’t any good! I don’t care how sorry everyone is! I just want to dance. I’m never going to cheer up. Never. I don’t care how hard you all try to make me feel better. I won’t. So there. I shall feel miserable for ever.”

  Annie looked so upset that I felt a bit sorry for her, but I was just too sad to say anything. This is the very worst thing that has ever happened to me, I said to myself, and it’s all my fault. If only I’d been a bit more careful. It was horrible not to have someone else to be cross with. I wished I could just go to sleep and not have to talk to anyone. Brad was curled up next to me on the sofa and I picked him up and plonked him on my lap. I knew he wouldn’t say anything.

  Phoebe came to see me the next day. I was still sulking when she came in, but I stopped when I saw her. She looked as if she’d been crying for hours.

  “Oh, Weezer,” she said. “I’ve been crying for hours.”

  “I know you have. Your eyes are all red.”

  “I don’t care. It’s just so awful. It’s the most awful thing I can think of!”

  “You’re the only one who thinks that. Apart from me of course. Everyone else tells me to cheer up and it could have been worse. They don’t understand. You do. You know how I feel.”

  Phoebe started crying all over again. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Weezer, so I’m just going to tell you. OK?”

  Whatever did she mean? What was she going to tell me?

  “Go on,” I said. “What is it, Phoebe? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s me. I’m the one Mr Sheridan has chosen. To do your dance with Michael in the party scene, and . . .” Phoebe could hardly speak she was crying so much. “The dress is beautiful. It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen and you can’t wear it. I feel so bad. I wish you could be in it. I do really. Do you believe me?”

  “Of course I do,” I said. I felt as if a huge stone was suddenly pressing on my stomach. I felt sick. I felt so jealous of Phoebe that I could hardly breathe, but she was crying so much, and she was so sad for me that I couldn’t be cross with her.

  “Don’t cry, Phoebe,” I said. “Really. I know that someone has to do my dance, and I’m glad it’s you. Really. You’ll be brilliant. I know you will.”

  Phoebe flung her arms around me and hugged me. “I won’t be as good as you, Weezer. No one could ever be as good as you.”

  I started crying then, all over again. That was why Phoebe was such a good friend. She always seemed to say exactly the right thing.

  Chapter Six

  “YOU WILL COME to the show, won’t you, Weezer?” Phoebe asked. She had come to see me every day since my fall, and she’d told me all The Nutcracker news. “Everyone wants you to come, and Mr Sheridan says he told you you could have a box for the first night. You must come.”

  Everyone had been extra specially nice to me. The day after my fall, a huge bunch of flowers arrived and a card signed by every single member of the company. We didn’t have enough vases, and we had to borrow from Tony’s mum and from Mrs Posnansky. She brought chocolate, and a beautiful fluffy muff, made of something that looked just like proper fur. She told me all sorts of stories about her mother, and terrible things that had happened to her while she was a dancer.

  “You remember, Little Swan, to learn from the bad things. This makes you strong.”

  “I don’t mind not being strong,” I said, “as long as I can dance. That’s all I care about.”

  “But to dance you have to be very strong. Not just in the body, also in the head.”

  As the days went on, I did get a bit stronger in the head, but I was still sad. I didn’t know whether going to see the show was going to make me feel better or worse. I was curious, though. I wanted to see Tony being a mouse, I wanted to see the dress I might have been wearing, and I really wanted to see how Phoebe danced my steps. I was getting very good with my crutches, too, and I’d been going to school every day in Tony’s mum’s car.

  “OK,” I said to Phoebe. “I will come.”

  “Brilliant!” said Phoebe. “My mum says she’ll come and pick you up, and Annie and your mum, and Mrs Posnansky. The box is huge. Everyone will fit. And you must come backstage afterwards and see me. I told them you would. You will, won’t you?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “I really miss everyone, even shouty old Mr Sheridan. I’m going to wear my best dress, and my new muff. I can’t wait now.”

  “Nor me,” said Phoebe. “Do you know, Mr Sheridan is always telling me how dreadful I am, and how unfortunate it was that that you fell over!”

  “He doesn’t mean it,” I said. “He’s just saying that.”

  But I couldn’t help thinking about what Phoebe had said, and wondering if Mr Sheridan really did mean it.

  I’d never sat in such a grand place to watch a ballet before. The seats were covered in red velvet and the curtains at the back of the box were also red, and matched the stage curtains. Mrs Posnansky had brought a fan in case we felt hot, and a pair of tiny little binoculars which she said were called opera glasses, even if you were watching ballet or a play. Annie and I had fun before the show started, looking at people in the stalls who didn’t know we were watching them.

  “Look at her hair,” said Annie. “It’s coming down at the back. Do you think she knows?”

  “I can see Miss Matting over there!” I said when it was my turn to look through the glasses. “And Eleanor and her mother. If we wave, do you think they’ll notice us?”

  “You can’t behave like that in a box,” said Mum. “You have to be very lady-like in a box. And in any case, here’s the orchestra. The lights will go down in a minute. Just sit quietly, please.”

  For once, I didn’t mind doing what my mother told me to. I could imagine what Phoebe was feeling, backstage. I could imagine the butterflies in her stomach, and how dry her mouth must be. I listened to the music. Then the curtains parted and there was Fritz and Clara’s house, and the Christmas tree in the corner, and there was Nikki, in a white dress with a blue sash, doing exactly the same steps I’d seen her do many times, only because she was dancing under lights and in costume on a proper set, they didn’t seem like steps any more, and then she stopped being Nikki, and became Clara. I heard my cue, the notes I always waited for before my entrance, and there she was, Phoebe, in a dress made of gorgeous, rustly, shiny taffeta, which was magic, because it looked green sometimes and red sometimes. It depended on whether the light was shining on it, or not. Phoebe and Michael did my dance, and I almost forgot that it was my dance. Phoebe did it beautifully. I felt happy and sad at the same time. I was happy for Phoebe, and sad for me.

  In the interval, I tried to explain my feelings to Mrs Posnansky and Annie.

  “I just wish it was me, that’s all. I’ll never know if I could have been as good as Phoebe, so I’m sad. But I’m happy that she’s so good, because that makes the whole ballet good.”

  “This is natural,” said Mrs Posnansky. “And your friend is good dancer, but she is not dancer like you. You have different style. She is quieter. She is more dignified. You are . . . you are lively. Sparkling. You are like quicksilver, she is like silk . . . slow and smooth.”

  I looked at Mrs Posnansky in amazement. “That’s what Phoebe said about my dancing. How did you know?”

  “She said this? She is clever, then, as well as good dancer. I will come backstage with you to congratulate
.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “She’d love that. And I’m dying to see the rest of the ballet, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Mrs Posnansky. “Come, we will return to our box.”

  All four of us went backstage after the show. It took us a long time, because of my crutches, but I didn’t mind. Half of me was still in the magical land where snowflakes danced, and Christmas presents came to life and took you to the Land of Sweets, home of the Sugar Plum Fairy who welcomed everyone to a place full of wonders, like flowers who could leap across the stage.

  “Louisa!”

  “Precious child!”

  “Darling . . . you poor brave little thing, you!”

  “Louisa, how divine to see you, pet!”

  All sorts of people stopped us on the way to the big dressing-room where the mice and the children were changing. I hadn’t thought that some of them even knew my name.

  Mr Sheridan was standing in the corridor outside Nikki’s dressing-room, and he bowed to me, and said, “My dear, I’m so sorry you had to miss this chance. Little Minnie Mouse did well, didn’t she?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But I wish it could have been me. And thank you for sending those lovely flowers.”

  “We were all so sad for you, my little Madam! But you never know, there is always next year, isn’t there?” He tapped the side of his nose with his finger, which was a very un-Sheridan-like thing to do.

  “What do you think he meant?” I asked Annie.

  “I think he’ll let you do your dance next year.”

  “Really? You mean I’ll get another chance?”

  “I don’t see why not. You said he puts on Nutcracker every year.”

  Suddenly, I felt perfectly happy. I went into the big dressing-room, where Phoebe and Tony were already in their own clothes.

  “You were ever so good,” I told him. “But you look funny. You’ve still got your whiskers on.”