Meet Alice

by Davina Bell

  Mabel rolled her eyes. ‘Do you always have to be so –’

  ‘Oh George, I’ve got you a paper,’ Alice said, pulling a crumpled copy of The West Australian out of her ballet bag. Mama didn’t like them to have it in the house, so Alice kept her eye out on her way home from dancing for any copies that had been tossed away. ‘And I picked some mulberries for you, Little. Also, Jilly finally gave me back Alice in Wonderland, so we can read a bit before bed if you’d like. Though she’s still got all our Babington Wilder books – I’ll have to remind her about those. And that’s all! Wind away, Mabel.’

  As the music started to play and George frowned over his pins, Alice kicked off her shoes and began her stretches, thinking of what Miss Lillibet had told them that afternoon about the bones of the feet – twenty-six in all.

  ‘Don’t think I’m silly for asking, but … what started the war?’ asked Little from on top of the piano lid, where she was sewing.

  They all looked over to George for an answer, including Alice. George was only a year younger than she was, but he knew everything about everything.

  ‘Well, obviously, it was Franz Ferdinand being assassinated,’ said George, as if that settled everything.

  ‘That means shot,’ Alice whispered.

  ‘But how did that start the war? Just one man being shot, I mean?’ Little whispered back.

  ‘Well,’ said Alice, ‘when he got killed, lots of people got angry – enough to start a war.’

  ‘That’s not entirely accurate, Alice. You see, Little,’ said George, ‘since the beginning of civilisation –’

  ‘She won’t understand that, George,’ scoffed Mabel. ‘She’s only six.’

  ‘Not everyone is like you, Mabel. Some of us care about world events.’

  ‘And some of us think there’s more to life than reciting very boring facts that –’

  ‘See, Little,’ interrupted Alice. ‘England’s a part of Britain. And we were settled by the English. That means that whatever they do, we do, too. You see? So when England joined the fighting, so did we.’

  ‘Like follow-the-leader,’ said Little.

  ‘Papa Sir is English,’ chimed Mabel. ‘That’s why he talks so toffy and nice. Like this: “Oh, I say! What ho! La la la!” ’

  ‘Does not,’ said George. ‘Does he, Alice?’

  ‘Sort of – he does sound quite posh. I’m not sure he’s ever said “la la la”.’

  ‘Has Pudding ever met Papa Sir?’ asked Little. ‘Where’s she gone, anyway?’

  Pudding popped out of the dress-up box beaming, and Alice went over and plucked her out of the nest of silk dresses to squeeze her.

  ‘She was born after he left,’ said Alice, ‘weren’t you, Pudding. But I’m sure she’d like him.’

  ‘The question is whether he would like her,’ said George without looking up from the headlines, ‘given she couldn’t actually say anything to him.’

  Everyone turned to stare at him. George was always blunt, but Alice felt he could have been a bit kinder.

  ‘Can too,’ said Little eventually. ‘Well, she could say her own words. Just not much. She’s only three.’

  ‘And you can read a whole book, and you’re only six. What’s wrong with her anyway?’

  Pudding’s trouble talking was another of the things that Mama didn’t like them to mention. And as Alice kissed the top of Pudding’s head and put her down, she thought that the list was getting rather long. ‘She’s perfect the way she is,’ Alice said, settling into Papa Sir’s big armchair and putting her braid in her mouth, remembering too late that eleven was too old to chew her hair.

  Little came over and climbed up beside Alice to nestle in under her arm, and as Alice tucked Little’s dark hair behind her ears, she felt a wave of love for her sister, so tiny and wise, like a solemn elf.

  ‘Can I tell you a secret?’ Little whispered.

  ‘Always,’ said Alice.

  Little leaned in. ‘I’m tired of the war.’

  ‘Oh, Little. What makes you say that? You wouldn’t remember much from before.’

  ‘Do too,' said Little. ‘I remember waving a flag when the first ones left, the soldiers. And I remember Papa Sir. He had a scratchy beard and his eyes were smiley, like Teddy’s. And he’s the one what called me Little.’

  ‘The one who called you Little. That’s right, though. And he called me Tink.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Actually, I have no idea. Little, the war can be tiresome, but it’s important, don’t you think? You wouldn’t want to be taken over by the Germans, and made to speak another language and eat nothing but stinky cabbage.’

  ‘Would it be like French? I do like French.’

  Because of Mama, they could all speak French, but none as prettily as Little.

  ‘But I don’t know how to cook cabbage.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Alice. ‘And one day soon, the war will be over, and Papa Sir will walk in the door and pick you up and spin you around, and everything will be all right again.’

  Alice was trying to sound jolly, but the truth was she didn’t know when the war would end, or if it ever would. She didn’t know if Papa Sir would ever come home. All she could do was hope.

  ‘WHERE is Teddy?’ Alice asked Mabel as she stacked up the breakfast dishes. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen him since yesterday, and he said he’d watch Pudding while I practised this morning because Mama’s having a lie-in.’

  ‘I bet he’s got a girlfriend and he’s off smooching,’ said Mabel, ‘and that’s why he’s never around. Think about it – he’s awfully handsome and clever, and there aren’t that many fellows left apart from the ones who’ve come back from the war, and most of them have been blown up a bit so they’re not all that good-looking anymore.’

  ‘Mabel! That’s a horrid thing to say.’ But Alice knew what Mabel meant – she, too, had seen the soldiers down at the Village with their empty shirt sleeves or trouser legs pinned where parts of them were missing, and their faces grey and old and tired. ‘Besides, Teddy’s going to marry …’ Alice stopped herself just in time. ‘Would you mind watching Pudding?’

  ‘Oh – I was going to play tennis with Violet. Could she practise with you just this once? I’d take her with me, but you know what she’s like with hiding the balls.’

  ‘Of course not. Mind that you win – you’re a much better player, she’s just got that big serve.’ Alice swept Pudding up and kissed her violently. ‘Dancing, Pudding? Shall we go dancing?’ Pudding grabbed at Alice’s hair with her jammy hands.

  ‘Tinker! Fifty pliés you’ll do for that.’

  The greenhouse was bright and glinty, the leaves so green against the big panes that Alice felt as if she’d entered a secret room inside a tree, the kind squirrels might live in without anyone knowing. It had once been full of tomatoes and beans and butterflies, but Papa Sir had cleared it out and put down a wooden floor so Mama could play her harp there while she looked out at the river below.

  Then Teddy had taken over the big glass room to paint, when he’d started using the smelly oils. Now one end was stacked with rags and jam jars and sheets of calico that he stretched over frames. The other end, where Alice set Pudding down, had a wide patch of floor big enough to dance across, even when you were doing giant leaps.

  ‘Wind the gramophone, Pudding,’ Alice said as she unbuckled her shoes and pulled on her ballet slippers, so soft and bendy. ‘All the way round like I showed you. And then stand at the barre, ready for class.’

  The barre was a clothes horse with an extra bit along the top, but it did well enough. As piano sang from the gramophone, Alice spent hours there practising her exercises with the French names that Mama had taught her to say just right: pliés, tendues, battements, rond de jambe.

  ‘One-two-three, one-two-three, balancé, balancé, back-two-three, forward-two-three. That’s it, Pudding! Soft arms!’

  Good grief, thought Alice, as Pudding tottered back and forth on her chubby legs, fr
owning with concentration. There’s nothing I love more than watching Pudding dance.

  ‘Now, imagine, Pudding, that you’re Anna Pavlova on stage at the Opera House in Paris.’ Anna Pavlova was the most beautiful ballerina alive. Miss Lillibet had seen her dance in London and told Alice that it was so glorious, a man in a top hat beside her had wept. Will I ever be as good as that? Alice wondered, and then felt silly for even hoping.

  ‘Don’t let your fingers drop below the line of your tutu – lift them up,’ she continued. ‘That’s the way. Now imagine everyone clapping, and –’

  From behind them came some very loud applause, and as Alice spun around, there stood Teddy in the doorway, grinning.

  ‘Tock!’ cried Pudding, fleeing the barre to launch herself at Teddy’s shins.

  ‘Hello there, you.’ Teddy hoisted her onto his shoulders. ‘Sorry Tink, didn’t mean to spy,’ he said to Alice. ‘But I bumped into someone on Napoleon Street who has something to tell you. They’re waiting in the kitchen.’

  ‘Is it your girlfriend?’ Alice blurted, and then immediately wished she hadn’t.

  Teddy looked amused. ‘You’ve found me a girlfriend and you didn’t even tell me? Fiend!’

  ‘Mabel said you have a girlfriend and that’s why you’ve been sneaking off,’ said Alice as they walked up through the orchard.

  Teddy stopped and looked at Alice strangely. ‘I haven’t been sneaking anywhere,’ he said quickly. ‘And besides, there’s only one girl for me, and she doesn’t even know I’m alive, more’s the pity. She’s only got eyes for soldiers, just like the rest of them.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed. ‘Just like the whole wretched town. The war’s all anyone cares about, and I’m sick of it.’

  ‘This girl you like … She’s not … She’s not younger than you, is she?’ asked Alice. Perhaps there was hope for Jilly after all.

  ‘Older – twenty, same as your Miss Lillibet. Oh! Now I’ve gone and wrecked the surprise – that’s who’s here to see you.’

  As they reached the side door, Teddy lifted Pudding down gently and leaned in to whisper. ‘Don’t tell a soul, Tink. But her name’s Eleanor Eyres and she’s the prettiest girl around. I’m thinking of asking if I can paint her, but I need to work up the courage.’

  ‘That’s a silly idea,’ said Alice. ‘I bet there are plenty of other girls round here who’d be much nicer to paint – ones with much more interesting hair – like red hair. What’s Miss Lillibet here to tell me?’

  ‘That’s a gorgeous colour, Marie-Claire – reminds me of the lawn at Regents Park,’ Miss Lillibet was saying as Alice ran in. ‘And apple teacake is my absolute favourite.’ She was sitting at the kitchen table next to Mama, who was yawning in her green silk dressing gown. Even out of her ballet clothes, every tiny bit of Miss Lillibet was graceful and dancer-ly.

  ‘Hello there, Alice,’ she said, reaching out her long arms and sweeping Alice up to kiss her on the cheek. ‘I just had to come and tell you that I’ve had a telegram from my old dance teacher from London, Edouard. He is coming to Australia – he’ll be here in just over a fortnight.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ said Alice. ‘What for?’ Miss Lillibet had often spoken fondly of Edouard Espinosa, who taught all over Europe. He had found Miss Lillibet at a dance school in England when she was only twelve and both her parents had died of the cough.

  ‘He’s coming to conduct examinations for some young dancers in Sydney and Melbourne. But –’ Miss Lillibet paused to sip her tea. ‘His ship is docking at Fremantle on the way. And so I’ve asked him if he will watch you dance there, Alice. And he has said yes to an audition of sorts. What do you say to that?’

  Mama said ‘Alors!’ and Alice went red. A real audition! At the same time, though … ‘Miss Lillibet, what if he thinks I’m no good? What if I do something wrong and he thinks you’re not a good teacher? Won’t you be ashamed of me?’

  Miss Lillibet laughed. ‘Alice, I can hardly wait for him to see you. And besides, we’ve two whole weeks to practise. If your mother will allow it, I’ll be here every day after school to rehearse with you. What do you think, Marie-Claire?’

  Mama nodded. ‘D’accord. If you can keep up with your ’omeworks, Alice, you may dance until your feet fall off.’

  Alice hugged herself with delight. If that’s what it took to be a real ballerina, that’s exactly what she would do.

  ‘Teddy’s not still around, is he?’ Miss Lillibet asked.

  ‘He was in the garden a minute ago, though he’s probably disappeared again by now,’ said Alice. ‘Mabel thinks he’s got a girlfriend. Do you want me to run and see?’

  ‘Oh – oh, no,’ said Miss Lillibet, blushing so deeply that her cheeks were almost crimson. She stood up briskly, brushing the crumbs from her lap. ‘Let’s start right away, shall we, Alice?’ she said. ‘No time like the present.’

  There isn’t, thought Alice as she skipped to the parlour, because this is the moment where my dream life begins.

  THE next two weeks whirled round Alice like a carousel of all her favourite things – more dancing than she’d ever done, stretching in the mornings, school with Jilly, frantically doing homework on the walk home. Then afternoons with Miss Lillibet preparing for her audition and her own rehearsals before she tumbled into bed. Her feet were tender and blistered, but she didn’t care at all; she was in a heaven full of dancing, and nothing else mattered.

  On weekend afternoons, Alice practised in front of the parlour fire while Mabel and Little bent happily over their sewing. There had hardly been any new fabric in Miss Roberts’s Drapery since the war had begun, but Mama had masses of clothes from Paris that she let them pick apart.

  ‘Naturellement – of course you may. Where would I wear this now?’ she would say, holding up a sky-blue ball dress or dusting off a feathered hat.

  To Alice’s surprise, nobody seemed tired of her ballet – not like when George recited endless facts about King Arthur, or when she had made them do the play about bears with Scottish accents. And as a special treat, Mama had learned the music on her harp. Though Alice knew Mama was tired from her work at the bank, she would play it each night as they went to bed, the warm trills floating up the staircase, as pretty as angel music.

  Even Teddy, who was still mysteriously missing for a lot of the time, made sure to ask Alice how it was all going whenever he flew in and out.

  ‘I hope the poor fellow’s wearing a helmet,’ he’d say, ‘because he’s going to fall off his chair when he sees you.’

  George had appointed himself the head of Alice’s stretching routine, and he did it just right, she noticed each day, holding her legs up to her ears so that she stretched further than she thought she could, but never too far.

  ‘We can approach this mathematically,’ he’d said, ‘using equations of force and distance.’

  Miss Lillibet, too, was pushing Alice harder than ever before, increasing the number of exercises Alice had to do until, on the day before her audition, she couldn’t feel her toes. Miss Lillibet laughed when Alice told her.

  ‘Alice, you are ready for pointe shoes,’ she said. ‘Being numb with pain is what pointe is all about. I will check with Edouard – I know you’re a little young, but I’m sure he will agree. You have the strength now, and the technique.’ She reached out to tilt Alice’s chin up towards her face. ‘Alice. The way you dance … Well, it’s a gift, and for that we can take no credit. But the way you work, how hard you work, that is what you give. Never stop. Not for wars or fools who will tell you it means nothing. To dance is to bring something pure into a world that is ugly, and more in need of beauty than of anything.’ Miss Lillibet’s eyes were starry with tears, and on seeing them, Alice’s were too. She felt suddenly older, and taller somehow – not in her body, but inside her.

  ‘I think it’s time for a tricky question,’ said Miss Lillibet. ‘I ask it of all my dancers when I think they’re ready.’

  ‘Oh – I’m ready,’ said Alice immediately
. ‘I definitely am.’

  Miss Lillibet smiled. ‘Well, then. Alice, what is it that makes you a dancer?’

  ‘Is it practice?’ asked Alice. ‘Lots of practice?’

  ‘Ah, but what drives you to practise?’ Miss Lillibet asked in return.

  Alice thought for a moment. ‘Wanting to be the best. Not better than everyone else,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Just the best for me – the best that I can do.’

  ‘Excellence, yes, that’s admirable. But there is something underneath our wants – every single one of them.’ She nodded to herself. ‘And it’s love. Love is always your fuel, Alice – in life and in dancing. Each day you have been alive, it has been collecting there in a puddle, waiting to be used. What – or who – is in your puddle? There lies all you need to know about being a dancer.’ Miss Lillibet fixed her bun and shook herself out a little. ‘Now, I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early at half past nine. I’ll drive you in the Panhard, and afterwards we’ll go out for lunch in Fremantle, my treat.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Lillibet – for, for everything,’ said Alice, suddenly feeling shy and wishing she had the words to say all that was in her heart.

  Miss Lillibet tucked a stray bit of hair behind Alice’s ear. ‘Thank you, Alice,’ she said. ‘You’ve given me more than you’ll ever know.’

  Alice thought about what Miss Lillibet had said as she lay in bed that night, listening to the rain on the roof and snuggling under the covers. She thought of all the things she loved about ballet: not just the music and the costumes and the stories that each piece told, but the feeling that when she was dancing, she could make everything beautiful, just for a little while. She thought of Miss Lillibet, tall, young, graceful Miss Lillibet who believed so much in Alice that Alice couldn’t help believing in herself.

  But then came the thoughts Alice had become so good at squashing down: Was it wrong to feel most perfectly happy when across the world soldiers were cold and miserable and fighting and dying and often didn’t even have socks? Was it silly to be dreaming of pointe shoes when Papa Sir might not even be breathing? It was a guilty feeling she carried around like a splinter, forgetting about it until the moment it bit and stung and took over everything.