Silhouette (20 page)

‘You didn’t have to, you know.’ I pull back my hand.

‘No, I guess not.’ Mum sighs. ‘I felt as if I lost him in every sense that night. The anger was so … so …’ Her jaw clenches. ‘I couldn’t grieve. I jumped to conclusions. I felt he’d locked me out of his life.’ There’s a pause before she raises an eyebrow, almost smiling. ‘I wanted him alive again so I could kill him myself …’

I’m too tired to return the smile, but I nod before her face goes serious again. ‘I was so swept up in the pain, I didn’t see what it was like for you.’ Mum trails off, staring at a point in the distance.

‘It’s all right, Mum,’ I say. ‘I understand … a bit of what it must have been like. When you thought he’d been …’ I shrug slightly. ‘A bit, at least.’

Mum’s eyes travel over my face, searching for more. ‘That’s not a nice thing to understand.’

‘I know.’ But I don’t keep going, and I’m glad she doesn’t ask me to.

Mum stands and flicks on the kettle. ‘How about a coffee?’

I shake my head. ‘Tea?’

She sets about scooping, dunking, stirring. I lean back in the chair and watch a lemon tree branch resting against the window.

Mum puts two steaming mugs on the table between us. I reach for mine and cup its warmth in my hands.

‘So after Dad died, what did you do?’ I ask.

Mum crosses her legs under the table. ‘Ran away, I suppose.’

‘Where?’

‘The UK. I still had dreams of being a concert pianist, but Mum was in a home by then. I thought that Ashton’s parents would help with you while I trained in London.’

A memory comes to me then, of standing in the corner of a studio, feeling in my bare feet the
THUD, thud, thud
of dancers leaping across the room.

‘And they did help,’ I say, remembering.

She smiles. ‘Yes.’

‘I think I remember … some kind of dance school.’

‘In Leeds. We weren’t there for long.’

I lean forwards in the chair. ‘Why? You gave up?’ I don’t mean it to sound like an accusation.

This time she considers me for a while. ‘No. Dreams change, Scarlett. I missed my mother too much, and my friends. I was miserable …’

But that’s not the only reason, I know how she works.

She looks down at her hands. ‘And I saw Ashton’s parents pushing you, even though you were so young, and I realised what it must have been like for him. They were completely obsessed.’ She looks to one side. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t let them do that to you, so I brought you home.’

A gust of wind outside takes our attention until Mum says, ‘It’s strange how life flips everything upside-down. The way they were pushing you is exactly how you push yourself … and I wanted to protect you from it.’

‘Dad pushed himself too,’ I say. ‘He would have done anything to keep dancing.’

‘Well, it was all he ever knew. If he couldn’t dance, then he didn’t know who he was …’ I hear a catch in her voice, and our eyes meet.

I swallow and look away. I’m even more like my father than I realised. And I’m not sure anymore that I want to be.

EIGHTEEN

Morning light slips through the edge of the curtain. I yawn and stand up, stretching my arms in the air. It’s only when my fingertips touch the skin on the back of my neck that it all comes back.

I sink back onto the bed and feel the pain stab. Full dress rehearsal today, opening night tomorrow. I should be there.

I reach for my phone and turn it on for the first time in a day: two messages from Izzy asking how I am, and a missed call from Grant.

Nothing from Paige.

Of course not, she’d be rehearsing. It’s one thing to learn steps in the background, it’s another entirely to prepare them for performance. She’ll know the basics, but Miss Penelope would be working her to death, making sure there are no gaps, pushing ever closer to perfection.

For a moment I imagine what Paige must be thinking, how she’s feeling with everyone watching her, waiting to see if she’ll meet their expectations.

I throw the phone on the floor. What am I doing? She’ll get no sympathy from me.

Stiffly, I reach for the clothes lying over the back of a chair. Black leggings and a crumpled T-shirt. My eyes fall on
Dancer
magazine.

I’ve barely opened a cupboard downstairs in the kitchen when Mum walks in. I glance up to find her eyes travelling over my head. She steps close, and brushes the backs of her fingers against my scalp.

Her arm drops. ‘I’ve made some bircher muesli. Do you want some?’

‘Ah … sure,’ I say and hold out the snap-lock bag, the tablet still inside. ‘Here.’ I place it on the bench next to Mum.

She picks up the bag in thumb and pointer finger, examining the shape before her eyes move to me. ‘What do you want me to do with it?’

I shrug. ‘Whatever you want. Flush it down the toilet, I don’t care.’

Mum nods and slips the bag into her pocket. She moves to the fridge and pulls out a bowl. ‘So, I spent a long time on the phone to Oscar Winchester,’ she says, placing the bowl on the table. ‘You’ll be allowed to sit your exams, which means you’ll graduate at least.’

How did it come to this? ‘Yeah, that’s something,’ I mumble.

Mum looks at me carefully. ‘Listen, I know it hurts right now, sweetheart, missing out on the show. But we’ll get through this. I still have some contacts in the industry. Perhaps we could call some of them and explain what happened. They’d all remember your father
.
’

A thin laugh comes out, only because I don’t know how else to react. ‘You’re kidding, right? After all that talk about going to uni? You never wanted me to be a dancer –’

Her eyes narrow. ‘No. I just never wanted you to be hurt the way Ashton was. There’s a difference. I could see you putting so much in … You realise the risk you take when you do that? If you put in all that you have, you risk losing that much too.’

But what other option is there? My eyes fix on the bowl in front of me as I think of Paige and the others.

If you don’t put everything in, someone else will.

For the rest of the day I keep my head down catching up on practice exams. I’m not really sure what I’m working towards, but studying is better than facing up to what happened.

After lunch I go for a walk, deliberately turning down streets where I’ve never been. When I come back home I keep working until Mum brings up some stir-fry for dinner. I’m tired, but I keep reading as I eat. Maybe I’ll study my life away.

The next day, it’s harder to focus. My eyes keep wandering to the clock, my thoughts drifting to light-rimmed mirrors and costume racks. Opening night.

They’ll be checking costumes now.

They’ll be doing make-up and hair now.

They’ll be warming up now.

It’s like a program that keeps running in the background, with no way to switch it off.

As soon as I turn on the dishwasher after dinner, adrenaline hits me. There’s no reason to feel nervous, but I breathe through it anyway and check the clock. 7.23. Crunch time.

This is torture.

Mum looks at me sympathetically from the sink. ‘Do you want to check what’s on TV?’

‘I think … I have to see the show. There’s still time.’ I’m not sure what I’m planning, but I can’t sit here and do nothing.

Mum finishes drying her hands and hangs the towel on its hook. ‘Do you want me to come too?’

‘No, but could you give me a lift?’

‘Of course.’

I’m already halfway out of the kitchen. ‘Just give me five.’

Upstairs I pull on a skirt, leggings and a jacket. At the back of a drawer I find some old scarves and try wrapping them over my head.

When I check the mirror, the image stares back like some kind of peasant lady. I pull the scarf off, letting it fall around my feet.

It’s only my hair that’s gone, but it’s as if something else has been stripped away.

It’s just the real, raw me that’s left. And for some reason, it terrifies me.

‘Sure you don’t want company?’ asks Mum as she eases the car in front of the theatre.

‘I’m sure. But thanks for the lift.’

The foyer is almost empty when I push through the heavy doors. I can sense rather than hear the audience inside, the taste of anticipation in the air.

‘Any tickets left?’ I ask, peering into the box office.

It’s a music student in year nine or ten, her head down and counting. ‘How many?’ She looks up and her face changes. ‘Scarlett Stirling?’ It’s like she’s seen a ghost.

‘Just one, please.’

I’ve barely shut my wallet when she dives for her phone.

Another two students are working as ushers, but they don’t seem to recognise me and the next thing I know, I’m in an aisle seat, with a space between me and the next person along. I’m just part of the crowd.

A gentle hum of voices is punctuated here and there by a cough. The lights are just strong enough to make out the backs of heads, and I easily pick Mr Winchester near the front. A man beside him nods his head as they talk. Next to him sits a woman with her hair in a tight bun.

Lights dim and voices hush. Then the curtain jolts, just slightly, but it’s enough.

I imagine myself on the other side, breathing in the tang of shoe resin in the dimness of the wings. Around me, everyone twirling their ankles and stretching their thighs …

‘There has been a late change in the program,’ announces a voice over the loud speaker. ‘Paige McAlister will now be dancing the role of Antoinette.’

And I’m back here in the audience.

Again the curtains jerk, except this time they keep going and slide smoothly open. Bright lights and the upbeat trumpets of a jazz band introduce a chorus line: seven dancers in a row, with Izzy in the middle. It’s all high kicks, headpieces and huge smiles. I’ve seen it a million times, but I missed the dress rehearsal so in some ways I’m seeing it fresh. Compared to practice sessions, the performance is slick and polished.

From a platform at the back steps the star performer. Paige.

She strides to the front of the stage and into a triple turn that ends in a glorious extended arm and flick of the head. Applause springs up as my breathing stops. I’ve practised that opening so many times. I shift to the edge of my seat.

Six years of aching muscles, building to this moment.

I want her to crash and burn …

When Paige steps into a turning kick I tense my stomach, ready to lift a leg. My muscles twitch in time with her every move. Watching for her cue, the timing of a pirouette.

At one point she pauses before a series of leaps, then changes them slightly to suit her favourite ones. She’s playing it safe, although the audience has no way of knowing.

When the time comes for Paige’s old solo, they skip straight to the number from
Cats.
She makes it through that easily until she’s nearly at the end, a dancer who’s rediscovered her love of dancing.

Now for the partner dance with Tadpole.

Straightaway I notice that she’s not dancing
en pointe
, but in demi-pointe, so the height difference isn’t so obvious. It shifts the style slightly, but Paige and Tadpole hold themselves with such confidence that I have to admit it works. There’s smoothness in the way they dance together, an easy precision.

Paige spins into Tadpole, their eyes meet, and something clicks. Warmth, friendship … some kind of connection that radiates from them and seems to touch everyone watching. As Paige moves into an arabesque, stillness comes over the theatre.

It stays with us through the rest of the number. I watch, my lips parted. We reach the end and I applaud numbly, feeling hollow inside.

She nailed it. And I can barely breathe.

The curtains close and I’m up before anyone sees me, out through the foyer and bursting into the night, sucking at cool air. I pull my mobile out of my bag.

Mum answers in two rings. ‘Scarlett, how did it go?’ A pause. ‘Are you there?’

Somehow, her voice gives me strength. ‘Yeah. It went okay,’ I manage.

‘Ready to be picked up?’

Over my shoulder I see the doors open and couple of kids tumble out. I turn away. ‘I thought I might hang back for a while. I can catch a taxi home. Maybe Izzy’s mum will give me a lift.’

There’s only a short pause. ‘Sure you’ll be all right?’

‘Yeah. Thanks, Mum.’

‘Okay.’

Once I’ve hung up I make my way around the back to a door marked ‘No Admittance’. It’s the last place I want to be, but the one place I need to go.

I go down the cold, echoing steps. Laughter and friendly voices bounce off the walls. I turn a corner to find Grant, Tadpole and Anka halfway along the hall. They’re all in full make-up, and wearing the bold reds and blacks of the finale costume.

They keep talking until I’m right beside them.

‘ … where my folks were sitting …’ Anka stops and her mouth falls open.

‘Scarlett?’ Grant’s frown transforms to surprise and his eyes go wide. ‘What happened to your hair?’

I open my mouth but no words come. I’ve never felt as naked as I do now. Never felt so
ordinary
. ‘You guys were amazing.’ It comes out softly.

‘You saw?’ asks Anka. She glances up at my bare head, then to my face.

I nod. Swallow. Find my voice again. ‘Saw it all. What about the finale? Did you hear the audience?’

My words seem to relax the others. Their mood picks up again. ‘What about the lift in the cabaret number?’ asks Tadpole.

‘Someone went down,’ I nod. ‘But I couldn’t see who it was. They covered well.’

‘It was Jordyn,’ says Anka. ‘Lachlan says his hand slipped.’

‘Is she okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Grant smiles. ‘You know Jordyn.’

I check along the hall. ‘Are the others down there?’

‘Yeah.’

They watch in silence as I walk off to find Paige.

More voices and movement greet me in the warm-up area, as well as more blacks and bold reds. The ceiling is low under the stage, making the space feel close and cramped. A couple of people look over, confusion shifting to surprise when they realise who I am. Others come straight up, patting my bare head. Their faces light up when I praise their performance.

I finally find them huddled in a corner, Izzy speaking intently to Paige.