Born to Dance. Jean Ure

Fonteyn started off as Peggy Hookham?”

      I confidently expected them to squeal and go, “Peggy Hookham?”

      But they just stared at me in total blankness and said, “Who’s Margot Fonteyn?” I’m not even sure they didn’t say Margaret Fonteyn. Un-be-liev-able!

      I snapped, “She was only one of the all-time greats!” How could anyone not have heard of Margot Fonteyn? People are amazingly ignorant when it comes to ballet. I’d been friends with Livi and Jordan ever since we’d started at Coombe House. We always shared secrets and hung out together and stuck up for one another, but they still couldn’t tell a jeté from an arabesque, and didn’t have had the least idea what a pas de bourrée was. As for never having heard of Margot Fonteyn … words fail me!

      I watched that morning as Caitlyn filed into assembly with the rest of us. I thought that she would know who Margot Fonteyn was! I liked the idea of having a fellow dancer to chat with. The only other girl in our class who did ballet had left, and she hadn’t been what Mum would call a proper dancer, anyway. Just one of Babette’s Babes. Mention Babette to Mum and she goes, “Well, if you want to train chorus girls …” Meaning not proper corps de ballet, just Babette’s Babes, all simpering and kicking their legs in the air.

      At first break I went bounding up to Caitlyn, dragging Livi and Jordan with me. I said, “’Scuse me! Where do you do ballet?”

      Caitlyn said, “Ballet?” She sounded startled, like I’d caught her out in some kind of crime. Maybe I’d been too eager. Mum is always accusing me of blundering around like a bull in a china shop.

      I said, “Yes, sorry! I’m Maddy, by the way. I didn’t mean to be nosy – I just wondered which school you went to.”

      Caitlyn hesitated, as if she didn’t quite know what to say.

      “Dance school,” I added.

      “Actually she is being nosy,” said Jordan, “but she can’t help it. It’s not her fault, poor thing. Her whole family is, like, obsessed.”

      “Her mum,” said Livi, giving me a little poke, as if perhaps she might be referring to someone else’s mum, “has her own ballet school. She used to be a ballerina! So did her dad – well!” She giggled. “Not a ballerina, obviously!”

      “Ballet dancer,” said Jordan.

      “Ballet dancer,” agreed Liv. “And now he makes up ballets for other people. He goes all over the world. Doesn’t he?” She turned to me. I nodded, reluctantly. Why were we talking about my dad? How did he come into it? It was Caitlyn I wanted to know about! “He’s even been to Moscow,” said Liv, proudly.

      “Yes, and her brother,” said Jordan, “is a preema dancer!”

      “Premier danseur,” I said. And anyway he wasn’t. He was too young to be a premier danseur. He’d only just been promoted to soloist.

      “He’s a star,” said Liv. “And her sister—”

      “Is having a baby,” I said.

      “Yes, but before that she was a star! All Maddy’s family are stars. That’s why—”

      “Oh, do shut up about my family,” I begged. “Nobody’s in the least bit interested.”

      Certainly not Caitlyn. She couldn’t have made it more obvious. If she’d been interested, she’d have wanted to know what my surname was, and I’d have said O’Brien and then she’d have put two and two together and realised that my dad must be Declan, and my brother was Sean. She might even have remembered that my sister was Jenny and that Mum had been Yvette Anderson. And she would certainly have heard of the Anderson Academy of Dance! Except—

      She’d been there, hadn’t she, when we had registration? She’d have heard my name read out – Madeleine O’Brien. So, if she was a dancer, she’d surely have put two and two together right away? Just for a moment I thought perhaps I’d got it wrong. But I hadn’t! I was sure I hadn’t. Caitlyn was a dancer if ever I saw one. She had to be! When you have a mum who runs a ballet school and a dad who’s a choreographer, when your entire family is into ballet, you can recognise a fellow dancer when you see one.

      By now the silence was becoming too embarrassing even for me. In what I hoped were dignified tones I said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just that I know all the local teachers and I couldn’t help wondering …” My voice trailed off. Lamely I said, “I just wondered where you took lessons.”

      “Ballet lessons,” said Jordan, encouragingly.

      “I don’t do ballet,” said Caitlyn. She said it quite rudely. Almost like, Who in their right mind would want to do anything so girly?

      Some people do think that ballet is girly. They have no idea of all the training you have to go through and all the hard work you have to put in. They think it’s nothing but pointing your toes and wearing fluffy skirts. Was that what Caitlyn thought?

      I almost never blush but I could feel my cheeks fire up. I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. I’d only meant to be friendly!

      “Sorry,” I muttered. Not, to be honest, that I saw any reason to apologise. I was just showing an interest! Showing an interest isn’t the same as being nosy. “I really thought you looked like a dancer.”

      “Well, I’m not,” said Caitlyn.

      Jordan slipped her arm through mine. “Let’s go,” she said.

      Meekly I allowed myself to be led away.

      “Really!” said Livi. “What a thoroughly unpleasant person.”

      “Won’t bother with her again,” agreed Jordan. “Dunno what made you go and talk to her in the first place.”

      Pleadingly I said, “I really thought she was a dancer.”

      I still thought she was a dancer. Why wouldn’t she admit it?

      “Doesn’t look much like a dancer to me,” said Livi.

      “That one could be.” Jordan nodded across the yard to where the tiny girl with the bright eyes was standing with the big, athletic-looking one. Ava, her name was. The other was Astrid.

      I shook my head. “She’s way too small.”

      “Too small?” Jordan’s voice rose to a squeak. “How can she be too small?”

      “That Caitlyn’s hardly a giant,” said Livi. She sniffed. “Skinny thing!”

      Caitlyn was what I would’ve called exactly right. Right height, right shape. About the same as me, in fact. Mum has always monitored all of us most carefully, terrified that we’d end up too short or too tall. You don’t want extremes in a ballet company, except maybe for soloists. But nobody starts off as a soloist. Pretty well everyone has to begin in the corps, and you can’t very well have six-foot dancers and four-foot dancers all muddled up together – it would ruin the line.

      The bell had rung for the end of break and I watched, critically, as Ava set off across the yard. She bounced as she walked. Bibbity-bob, bibbity-bob, with her head nodding up and down. Quite cute! But not a dancer’s walk. Caitlyn, on the other hand … I looked around in time to catch her going back into school. She was so graceful. She had to be a dancer! I didn’t care what she said.

      It was a puzzle, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. It would have been fun to have someone to talk ballet with. Even sometimes, maybe, to practise with. Livi and Jordan meant well, but they had no idea what it was actually like, training to be a dancer. Still I didn’t intend to go back for a second helping. I am not a person who bears grudges – I honestly don’t believe that I am – but once is enough. I’d tried to be friendly, and she’d made it quite plain that she didn’t