by Lyn Gardner
She sighed. She probably didn’t stand a chance of getting in. She wondered if she had made a big mistake in applying. She was beginning to think that Alicia and India Taylor had had a point when they’d said it was too early to know the extent of her talent. If she had waited until it was time to think about what she would do after Year Six at the Swan, she’d have had so many more lessons. She thought back to the thick creamy brochure that she had pored over in secret in her bedroom. She remembered where it said that “we are not looking for polished dancers but for those who can demonstrate their passion and potential for ballet.” Eel looked around the room at all the other would-be prima ballerinas. She would just have to prove her passion and potential was as great as theirs, or even greater.
“Alicia Marvell?” came a voice.
Esme prodded her in the ribs, and Eel jumped.
“That’s you,” hissed Esme.
Eel smiled gratefully at her and stepped forward to perform the brief solo that she had prepared. She was the last child on the list. Earlier that morning, the girls had all done a class together and been told that after lunch some children would be invited to take part in a further class and some would be going home. Eel guessed this was her last chance to impress or she would be among those out at lunchtime.
The music began and Eel began to dance. As soon as she did, she forgot everything else. She had the sensation of weightlessness that she often experienced when she danced. It was like the dreams she had sometimes of flying over the city of London, looking down at the great dark river and all the famous landmarks. Then, before she knew it, the dance was over, somebody said, “Thank you, Alicia,” and she was taking her place next to Esme again.
Anna Popova and the Imperial’s dance teachers, who had been watching the children perform, were whispering together. Eel knew it was crunch time. It felt as if her insides had decided to do a tap dance.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Anna Popova and the other teachers stood up. One of them left the room to invite the anxious parents into the dance studio. When everybody had shuffled in, Anna Popova turned to them and the children and smiled.
“We’ve been very impressed with what we’ve seen this morning,” she said. “There are many children here today who show real talent and dedication. Unfortunately, we cannot take all of them at the Imperial. This is our fourth audition and we have seen many gifted children at them all. In a minute, I’m going to read out the names of the children we would like to stay on for this afternoon’s session. I’m afraid that will mean that most of you are going to be disappointed. But if you are disappointed this time round that doesn’t necessarily mean that you don’t have a future at the Imperial. All of you are young and there will be another opportunity for you to apply when you are in Year Six. Not succeeding this time does not necessarily mean that you won’t be successful in the future. Indeed we look very favourably on reapplications, and it may be that we feel you have enormous talent but are not quite ready for the move away from home that coming to the school would entail. So if your name is not called, don’t think it is the end of the road for you, but go away and work hard.”
She paused. The air was thick with tension. Esme had her eyes squeezed tight shut. One of the mothers looked as if she was praying, another kept blinking very fast.
“These are the girls we would like to see this afternoon: Meredith, Violet, Alicia, Esme and Aisling. If they’d like to wait here for a few minutes, we’ll take you and your parents to somewhere where you can eat your packed lunches, but of course you are free to leave the building as long as you are back by 2pm. To the rest of you, I want to say thank you and good luck with your futures, which I’m sure will be bright.”
Several girls had burst into tears, either through joy or disappointment, and one mother whose daughter hadn’t made it through to the afternoon session was crying, too. Anna Popova stayed in the room, but the teachers and the registrar, obviously experienced at dealing with this situation, began herding the disappointed children and parents towards the changing rooms, deftly fielding questions as they went.
Eel stood up in a daze. She felt as if someone had put a heavy stone in her stomach. She had dared to hope that she might get through to the afternoon session, but she hadn’t. Her name hadn’t been read out. So now she knew. She wasn’t good enough. Her legs felt a bit shaky as she walked towards the door.
“Alicia! Where are you going?” called Anna Popova. “Alicia! Alicia Marvell!”
Eel swung around, suddenly aware that she was being called.
Anna Popova was smiling at her. “Didn’t you hear me read your name out? You’re through to the afternoon, Alicia.”
Eel shook her head, and then her face lit up. “Oh, that was me,” she said wonderingly. “I just didn’t recognise Alicia as being me,” she added.
“What are you normally called?” asked Anna Popova, kindly.
“Eel.”
The teacher looked amused. “Eel! That’s a first. I don’t think there’s ever been a ballerina called Eel before.”
Eel sat quietly in the small room where Esme and her dad were eating sandwiches. Esme’s mum was engrossed in reading the paper. Most of the other families had gone out to get some lunch at a local café, but Eel didn’t have any money and in her rush this morning she hadn’t thought to make a packed lunch. Her stomach rumbled. Esme kept glancing at Eel from under her eyelashes, and after a few minutes she edged down the bench towards her and held out a packet of cheese and cucumber sandwiches.
“Have one,” said Esme.
Eel felt she should refuse but she was ravenous. “Are you sure? Have you got enough?”
“We’ve got piles,” said Esme. “We made loads for the coach.”
“The coach?” asked Eel.
“We came down from Leeds this morning, and we’ll catch the coach back later today. You need loads of sandwiches because it takes for ever.”
“The train would have been quicker,” said Eel.
Esme nodded. “It would, but it costs a lot more than the coach.”
“Oh,” said Eel, feeling chastened. She hadn’t thought of that. “So you must have been up for hours?”
“Yes,” said Esme. “It was still dark when we left. But I don’t feel tired. I’m too hyped up.”
“You’re very good,” said Eel, taking another sandwich that Esme was pressing upon her.
“But will I be good enough?” said Esme fiercely. She sighed. “It’s so hard to know. I wish I could have seen all the other auditions on the other days, then maybe I’d have a better idea. Have you been doing ballet long?”
Eel shook her head. “I’d never had dance lessons at all until last September. So just over a year.”
“A year!?” Esme’s voice betrayed her astonishment. “Are you sure? Only a year? That’s totally amazing. No one would ever have guessed.” She looked pensive. “If you’ve got this good in a year, just think how good you’ll be when you’ve been doing it for ever like me.”
“When did you start?” asked Eel.
“I went to baby ballet when I was three and I’ve been having lessons since then,” said Esme. “I thought I was going to have to stop when my dad lost his job two years ago, but I was lucky, my teacher said she would teach me for free.”
“If she did that you must know for certain you’re good,” said Eel.
“Maybe,” said Esme. “The question remains, am I good enough?”
“That’s what I want to know, too,” said Eel. “I thought that if I got accepted here, then I’d know.”
Esme gave a tight little smile. “I’ve got to do more than be accepted,” she said with intensity, and Eel was about to ask her what she meant when Esme’s mum asked if they’d like her to take them to the park nearby where there were some swings.
“As long,” she said, “as you both promise me you won’t break an arm or a leg. I’d never forgive myself.”
“We promise!” chorused the girls.
After she
and Esme came back from the swings, the rest of the afternoon passed in a blur for Eel. All the girls took part in another class and then Eel, Esme and Violet were separated from the others and sent to see the physiotherapist. After that, Anna Popova ushered them to the door and told the three of them that they would be sent a letter in the post very soon. Eel and Esme stood on the steps of the Imperial exchanging phone numbers.
“I hope we both get in,” said Eel. “It would be fun to come here together.”
“It would be a big move for me,” said Esme. “I’d have to leave Yorkshire and move to London. I’d miss my home.”
At the word “home” a picture of Eel’s bedroom popped into her head. She suddenly realised what getting into the Imperial would mean. Her heart lurched.
“Do you think you could bear it? Leaving home, I mean,” she asked Esme.
Esme looked at her, surprised. “Of course. Coming to the Imperial is what I want most in the world. I’d give up everything to come here. I’m never going to be a ballerina if I stay at home. You have to make sacrifices for ballet.”
“Yes,” said Eel in a small voice. “I guess you do. I just don’t think I’d thought it through.”
Chapter Fifteen
Olivia walked up to the door of the music room. It was ajar. Kasha’s songwriting workshop had just finished. She had met some of the other participants walking down the corridor, clutching the CDs that they were going to send off for the competition. Those the judges liked most would be invited to take part in a public sing-off at the Cavendish Hall.
Olivia paused at the door. She could hear Aeysha singing. Her voice wasn’t the strongest in the world, but the song was beautiful. It had a chorus with a catch in it that made Olivia’s insides feel a bit funny. She waited outside the door, not wanting to disturb Aeysha and Kasha.
“That was beautiful, Aeysha,” said Kasha. “I love it.”
“Ah,” said Aeysha, “but it was pretty ordinary until you changed those notes in the chorus. That catch has transformed it. You helped me make it something much more than it was.”
“It’s your song, Aeysha. All I did was make a tiny suggestion. I’ve been thinking, maybe you should enter this one for the competition?”
“I’ve been wondering that as well,” said Aeysha. “But I think I’ll stick with the two I’d decided on. If I’m lucky enough to get through to the live final, I’d be happier singing one of those because I’ve had loads of time to practise. This is brand new and I might not be so confident singing it. I’m definitely a better songwriter than I am a singer, so I think it’s best to stick with those other songs.”
“Your call, Aeysha,” said Kasha. “But it’s a great song. I’m impressed. Maybe we can work on it again together once the competition’s over. I really think it’s got possibilities.”
“That would be lovely,” Aeysha was saying as Olivia popped her head round the door.
“Are you two finished?” she asked. “I wondered whether either of you wanted to pop down to the river and see Dad.”
“Love to,” said Aeysha, “but I can’t, I’ve got an English essay to finish over lunch break.”
“Me neither,” said Kasha. He sighed loudly. “I’m due in the recording studio. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.” He looked really sad.
“Have you managed to write a song?” asked Olivia curiously.
“Yes,” said Kasha, sounding pained, “but I know it’s rubbish. It’s not nearly as good as Aeysha’s song. That’s in a different league.”
“You can have mine if you like,” laughed Aeysha. “After all, it wouldn’t be half as good without your contribution. I’ll give it to you.”
“No, Aeysha. That’s really generous of you. But it’s your song. It belongs to you. I couldn’t take it.”
Olivia and Kasha walked to the entrance to the Swan together, where Kasha got out his cap, pulled it down over his head and put on a pair of dark glasses.
Olivia laughed. “You draw far more attention to yourself looking like that than if you just walked down the street as yourself.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” said Kasha gloomily. “It’s not funny being chased by loads of twelve-year-olds.”
“Goes with the territory,” said Olivia unsympathetically. “You’d be nowhere without them.”
“I know, I know,” said Kasha. “Lots of people would envy me my position, and I know I owe to it to the people who buy my music.” He looked pensive. “But being a pop star just isn’t as much fun as I imagined it would be.”
“Nobody’s forcing you to do it,” said Olivia quietly.
Kasha burst out laughing. “Olivia Marvell, you don’t hold back, do you? But you’re right. I’ve got what I always wanted and I shouldn’t moan. I’m the luckiest boy in the whole world.”
Chapter Sixteen
Olivia and Tom stood on the edge of Tower Bridge, shivering in the icy wind that whipped their cheeks until they turned pink. The sky was heavy and grey. The electronic screen on the riverbank said day seven.
“Phew, it’s cold,” said Tom. He stared at the figure of Jack who was sitting huddled on the wire like a small, unhappy gnome. The wire swung in the high wind. “But it’s nothing compared with what it must be like for Jack.” He looked at Olivia’s intense, anxious face. “Do you think he’s all right out there?”
Olivia shook her head. “I don’t know. In these conditions it would take all your strength and concentration to stay on the wire, but to have done it for over a week is truly superhuman. It’s really going to take its toll. The real dangers are exhaustion and hypothermia.”
They saw Pablo beckoning to them and they ran over. It began to sleet heavily.
“I’ve just spoken to Jack. He’s coming in for a ten-minute break. You can have a quick word. It’ll cheer him up. He needs a boost.”
He sent them off to greet Jack while he went to check that the team were at the ready with hot soup, a fresh thermos of tea, hot water bottles and dry clothes.
Jack walked along the wire towards Tom and Olivia carrying a load of waterproofs and wet bedding. Or rather he shuffled like an old man. He looked as if he was a hundred years old and every muscle and bone ached. But he smiled when he saw the children and raised a hand in greeting. It was a mistake. It coincided with a sudden vicious gust of wind and the gesture threw him off balance. For a moment, he teetered and Olivia thought that he was going to topple off the wire. Both she and Tom gasped, and she heard Pablo shout behind them, but just in time Jack recovered himself and stayed on the wire.
He grinned sheepishly and continued towards them but when he got up close, Olivia could see how pale, tired and vulnerable he looked. She couldn’t tell if he was shaking or just shivering from the cold. There was a glittering, feverish look in his eyes. As he jumped down, a photographer ran forward and poked his camera directly into Jack’s face and took a picture.
Pablo looked annoyed but he didn’t say anything: he knew that the stunt needed as much publicity as it could get because that’s what the sponsors demanded. They were delighted by the ongoing rivalry between Jack and Viktor, as it ensured continuing and maximum media interest.
Pablo looked after the man who was now walking briskly away. It was odd, he didn’t recognise him. He certainly wasn’t one of the accredited photographers, as he knew all of them by sight. He tutted and made a mental note to increase the immediate security around the end of the wire. They had somebody keeping watch both day and night to make sure nobody attempted to get up on the wire, but it couldn’t hurt to be more vigilant. Only yesterday they had had to deal with a group of drunken louts who had stood on Tower Bridge at midnight taunting Jack and throwing apples at him as if Jack was a living coconut shy there exclusively for their enjoyment. Fortunately there had been no direct hits.
Pablo looked at his stopwatch. There were only eight minutes before Jack had to be back on the wire or he would have broken the rules and Viktor would be the winner.
Oli
via hugged Jack under the shelter of the little tent while the rest of the team made ready all the provisions and equipment that he would need for his return trip along the wire.
“Are you all right, Dad?” she asked anxiously.
“Fine, chick, just a little tired,” he said with a smile, before he broke into a hacking cough. “My chest hurts a bit. I’ve got a bad cold. It’s tough out there. But I comfort myself with the thought that if I’m finding it tough, then Viktor must be really struggling.”
“Yes, but Viktor doesn’t have a chest infection,” said Olivia.
“No,” said Pablo with a grin. “He’s got something far worse: bad balance.” The others looked at him expectantly. Pablo seemed remarkably happy given that Jack clearly wasn’t in the best of shape.
“I’ve just heard from a friend of mine who has been down at Waterloo Bridge. Viktor has fallen off the wire twice during the last four hours, and only just managed to get back on. It’s a sign that he’s in a really weakened state. You’re going to beat him, Jack.”
But Jack said nothing because he was caught by another spasm of coughing. Pablo looked worried. “I think we’d better get a doctor down here during your next break to have a listen to your chest.” He turned to Olivia and Tom. “Probably best not to go round broadcasting to everyone that Jack’s sick. We don’t want it to get out in the media. Wouldn’t be good for morale. Viktor’s team might find a way to capitalise on it.”
“Dad,” said Olivia slowly, “if you are sick, there would be no shame in giving up.”
Jack looked at her aghast as he walked back towards the wire. “Give up?” he said. “Never!” He suddenly brightened. “I’ll only be coming off the wire after thirty days.” He saluted as he stepped out on to the wire and the wind howled as if in welcome.
“He’s impossible,” said Olivia, sighing.
