Chapter 12
I suppose I should have said that I went to bed, but lay awake, tossing and turning with the potential scenarios of what had happened between Eric and I playing out in my mind. That I rose with sexual frustration to go and seek him out. I slipped into his bedroom in my diaphanous nightgown and he turned to me, huskily whispering sweet nothings in my ear, before laying me back on his goose down pillows and worshiping my body.
Nope, sorry that is for romance novels and this was the real world. I fell into bed in my usual tatty; once were pink, now a sort of grey blue colour pyjamas and was asleep the instant my head hit the pillows; too exhausted both physically and emotionally to even fantasise about fantasising.
I slept like a log as well, probably snored; although Eric never said anything if I did. Either way it was a strange noise that wound its way into my dreams. I found myself standing on the edge of the road, trying to speak to my housemate, a bundle clutched in my arms; which contained a child. Although I could not see its face; for dreams are very persistent in what they reveal and what they do not, I knew it was not Tess, but another baby which I was attempting to give to him. The only trouble was that he was on one side of the road and I was on the other and the four lanes of traffic that separated us was flowing fast; too fast to cross.
The crying bundle became louder and more insistent as I sought a way to go to Eric and give him the baby, tell him; tell him something, but I didn't know what for the crying was getting louder all the time, a hysterical note staring to creep in.
I sat bolt upright in bed, my hair clinging to my face in sweat drenched strands. The crying continued and it took a good few seconds for my brain to bat away the cobwebs of sleep and realise that it was my daughter making such an unholy noise.
My foot was out of the bed before I even became consciously aware that I needed to go to her. In the gloom of the light from the hall I could make out that it was three in the morning. Shit, what an anti-social hour.
"Shh, Tess darling, shh," I whispered creeping into her room, using the dim light to make out the heaped figure in the cot. I rubbed her back softly and put her dummy back in her mouth, hoping that she had just spat it out and could not find it. But she continued to yell, tugging at her ear and rubbing a little fist against the side of her face.
"Shh darling, do your teeth hurt lovie," I murmured to her, hoping to calm the hysterical sobs down. "Do you want some medicine darling?" My words came out thick and slurred, tiredness pulling me back down, my eyelids heavy, desperate for sleep.
With a wince I went to the bathroom and turned the light on, blinking like an owl in the sudden bright glare and finding the little syringe which I filled with Calpol, the opiate of choice for children. It took two attempts before I managed a full syringe minus huge bubbles and turning the light off stumbled back into her nursery.
"Holy shit," the swear came involuntarily, for in the dim light and with sleep filled eyes; I saw a great winged beast crouched in the corner of the room and holding my daughter. As my vision adjusted I realised it was Eric, cuddling Tess, a blanket draped around his shoulders and wound around my daughter. His mask was firmly in place and the glove back on his hand. In addition his mouth was distended by a small clamp that he wore at night in an attempt to stop the skin shrinking and tightening too much. All in all it was an off putting sight when you were half asleep.
In response to my curse, he lifted a hand and removed the surgical brace, speaking in a hushed tone. "Have you got some medicine for her?"
"Yeah, I think she's teething."
"Let me have it, I'll settle her and you go back to sleep, you have to get up tomorrow and I don't."
"Are you sure?" The offer was too delicious for words and my brain immediately seized the opportunity, even if my conscience rejected the proposal.
"Yeah, I was awake anyway." He held out a hand for the syringe and Tess whimpered slightly as the warmth of his arm moved, snuggling in closer to him. Realising that she was as happy with his presence as mine I relinquished my responsibility and stumbled back to bed.
As I lay there, sleep once again clouding my mind, I heard the soft tones of a lullaby being sung, soothing both me and my daughter back into the land of dreams.
It was the last thing I was conscious of before once again falling back into my deep slumber, although this time it was the alarm that rent my sleep. Still groggy, I swung my leg out of bed, trying to remain horizontal as long as possible. Seven hours sleep just no longer seemed enough.
I stumbled into the bathroom splashed my face before going into Tess's room to wake her up. It took an hour for both of us to get up and out, she to nursery and me to class. "Darling," I yawned strolling into her room, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the dim light. I stopped startled for my daughter was not in her cot.
Fear and panic flooded through my body; the adrenalin pounding as I spun around, looking for her amongst the piles of soft toys or in the rocking chair in the corner. "Tess?" The word came out as a pathetic whimper.
Think de Theale, think – she can't walk, she can't have gone far. I peered into the cot, just to make sure that she had not buried herself under the blankets or amongst the toys at the bottom of the cot. Nope, it was definitely empty.
I rushed out the room and towards Eric's, knowing that he would help; he would know what to do – and stopped dead. His door was wide open and I looked in, feeling as if I were spying; worried in case he was awake and cross at my intrusion. But instead a smile graced my face as I saw him, his head flung back on the pillows; one arm flung above his head and the other around my daughter, her face pressed into his chest, both of them fast asleep.
Obviously his attempts to soothe her last night had been futile. Sometimes, when she got her mind into it there was little to calm my daughter, but the warmth of someone else. It was much easier to cuddle her in bed and hopefully catch some shuteye at the same time – I had done it myself on occasion.
Not wishing to wake either of them I crept downstairs and made myself breakfast and generally gathered the various items that she and I needed for the day, all of which seemed to be scattered over the house. Then making a conciliatory cup of coffee and heating my daughter's bottle I went to wake the sleepers.
"Eric," I called hesitantly, softly, not wanting to jar him awake. There was no response from either of the figures in the bed. "Um, Eric," I called again from the doorway once again getting no response. My softly, softly approach was not working and I needed to get a move on, or would be late.
Desperation caused me to march into the room and putting the drinks down on the side table; I reached out and shook Eric with determination. "Eric!"
"Egh? Whaatt?" he blinked in shock at being woken and glanced around, his gaze resting on Tess, who was stirring at his side and at me standing over him. He reached up and wiggled his jaw, having obviously forgotten to put his brace in. "What's the time?" The words came out slightly husky and slurred as he regained feeling in his face.
"Quarter to eight and I need to get going. Do you mind if I steal my daughter?"
"Um, yeah, I," he pushed himself up to sitting and I noticed that he wasn't wearing a t-shirt, the first time I had seen him in less then full clothing. I tried not to let my gaze fall at the strange bandage he wore strapped across his chest and the skin that was on view. Having been around exceedingly athletic men most my life, I was surprised to see the vestiges of a body that had been in shape.
Obviously his arms were nicely biceped and corded, but his stomach showed signs of someone who use to carry out an intense workout. True, like me his physique showed signs of neglect, but once upon a time he must have been very fit.
Scared that he could tell where my gaze rested, I looked up through my eyelashes, thankful to see that he was more concerned with moving Tess to a more comfortable position and giving her the bottle to drink that I had placed on his bedside table.
"Look, if you're running late I'll take Tess to nursery," he volunteered, looking up from his reflection of my daughter.
"Oh um," I was thrown. In truth I had been diverted by the look of utter tenderness on his face as he gazed down at my daughter happily consuming her morning milk.
I hastily glanced at my watch and realised that time was galloping away with me if I was to stick to schedule. Tess into nursery by nine before a workout at the gym and a gentle thirty lengths in the pool, leaving me just an hour to get to the studio and be ready for class. "No, its okay, I think you must have both had a rough night," I excused his kind offer.
In reality I was worried that Tess would get confused over her parents. Eric did so much for her, his actions so kind and loving; thoughtful. He was more of a father to her then her own would ever be.
"Okay." He paused and rolled his shoulders, flexing his body. I felt rather embarrassed to see him so close and personal, the vestiges of sleep still clinging to him. It bought down his barriers; letting me see him as he really was and not the usually guarded façade that he presented, at least to me.
"I will just, um, go then," I gestured towards the door, feeling horrendously self conscious. "Just call me when Madam is finished with her bottle." Not waiting to hear his reply I bolted out the door and into my own room, leaning against the wall and pressing my hand to my heart where it thumped steadily below my palm. Why had I been so self-conscious? Why did the sight of him in bed arise feelings in me that I thought I was no longer capable of feeling? Why for the first time did I have to resist the urge to climb into his and lie there, feel his legs entangle with mine, have Tess lying between us?
"Oh help!" The words left my lips in a whisper, my sub-conscious telling me what I didn't want to hear. I was falling for my roommate.
Declarations of the heart aside, I managed to achieve the impossible and even with the horrendous London traffic get to work on time, having dropped my daughter off and been to the gym. Admittedly I only did twenty laps rather then thirty, but I still felt stretched and toned and ready for another gruelling day.
Yet I was distracted as I changed into my leotard and tights, covering up in a sweater, my muscles not yet fully warm and ready to face work I would demand of them. I absent-mindedly grabbed the ballet shoes I discarded after yesterday's performance and hit the points down on the floor – yup still enough support in them for rehearsals, which was good as I had not had a chance to prepare anymore shoes.
Taping up my toes to try and soften the blisters I tied the shoes on, wrapping the ribbons around my ankles and slipping the legwarmers over the top. It was all done with an automatic air, I no longer thought about the strange little rituals involved in getting ready for a days work.
I made my way to the airy studio, barely returning the greetings of my fellow colleagues in the company. Finding a place at the barre I stretched out, holding positions and allowing my body to slow move into the stretch, preparing itself for the day.
An automaton probably had more awareness of its surroundings, my entire concentration was taken up with thinking about the note that I had received that morning. Nothing in the brief two lines had given me any cause for either distress or happiness; it merely stated that Madam wished to see me after class. Whether this was to be chewed out for an indiscretion I was unaware of, or a chance of praise, I was not sure.
I didn't feel that I had earned any praise; therefore it was easier to worry. And worry made me dance horribly. I will never forget that class for I was like an untrained young girl in a professional company, doing my best not to trip over two left feet. Thankfully years of training paid off and my body automatically took over, for I would have otherwise fallen flat on my face. As it was there were several mutterings from those around me of my clumsy technique and lack of concentration.
My Grande battement were a disgrace which went on to affect my ronde de jambe and when it came to the fouéttes I wobbled so badly that I nearly lost my balance. Never have I been so glad for class to finish!
Dripping sweat and red with heat and embarrassment, I stretched half heartedly, my muscles large and full with the exercise, before going to the dreaded 'chat'. I didn't bother taking off my pointe shoes; with only half an hour before rehearsals started for Sleeping Beauty, there seemed little reason to. Besides, everyone was perfectly use to seeing ballerinas clumping around the building with their awkward gait, their feet tied into their shoes.
With shaking hands and a deep breathe I knocked on the door, using every single technique and trick I knew to make myself appear calm and composed. In front of me sat Madam, as we called her, head of the company and artistic director. She was responsible for all the appointments, all the hiring and firing. It was rather like being in the dragon's den.
"Ah Christine," she greeted me cordially and indicated that I should sit, where upon I happily collapsed into the armchair to the side of her desk. She looked at me with a gracious smile and I fancied that I saw a hint of fondness and memory flitting through her eyes as she let me relax before starting the conversation. "It is good to have you back and dancing. Are you enjoying it?"
"Yes," I answered to her slightly strange question, before expanding. "It is as if a part of me is back that I had lost. Life without dance didn't make sense. I missed it dreadfully."
"Well, you have had rather a run of bad luck. Your accident and then pregnancy. You are very lucky to still be dancing." I frowned at her accurate statement. It was true, very few people fell off a ladder and were dancing three months later. I had told Eric that I had broken my leg, which wasn't entirely true, just twisted and sprained it so that it had to be strapped up in a way that made it impossible to dance. It was easier to say I had broken it, people understood that terminology. But to call my pregnancy, to call Tess a run of bad luck!
"I have had a lot of support from a lot of people," I wondered where this discussion was leading, it didn't seem that I would be chewed out, but there was still a possibility. However I let myself relax infimitesily.
"And I believe you still do? We have been glad to see that you have barely missed class since your return, that you are punctual and that you have been fully putting yourself into all your roles. I take it you have help at home?"
"Yes, I have a very wonderful flatmate, who helps."
"But he's not your boyfriend?" I looked up in surprise not expecting to answer questions about my love life.
"No, he's not." I answered shortly, trying me hardest not to splutter in indignation. How dare she ask? But then I was unsure how to define my relationship with Eric. No, he wasn't my boyfriend, but he was my best friend, my saviour, my modern day version of a knight on a white charger. "Could I ask you why it is important?"
Madam smiled then, generous, fully and indulgently. "Excuse me for prying; I was just trying to build up a sketch of your situation. You see Christine, as I said you have had a run of bad luck. When you had your accident, you were on the verge of being promoted, we wanted you to be a soloist, but then with your injury it was felt that you needed a little more time to regain fitness. Just as we were talking about your promotion again you announced your pregnancy. Obviously promotion was once again out of the question. As a result, you are about a year and a half behind where we would expect you to be had everything continued as planned."
"Life very rarely works to plan, I've realised that," I replied calmly, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Yet she heard its veiled tones, for she raised her eyebrows.
"I agree, especially with dancers. We live in fear of our bodies collapsing and our health failing. It is a cruel profession that we chose, for you know the inevitable will happen one day." I nodded in reply again.
"So what I want to offer you Christine is a chance to catch up, to prove you have the talent that we all believe in. We would like to offer you a place as a Senior soloist in the company."
"What?" My head shot up and my mouth hung open in dazed belief as I listened to her golden offer. This was it; the chance I had been waiting for and working towards. Every tear shed, every hour spent in class, every blister, corn and sore toe was worth it."
"Yes, from tomorrow, although you can start marking the roles today in rehearsals."
"I am so thrilled, I could never imagine," I started to stumble out my thanks; but she stopped me with a warning hand.
"Of course there is always the bad with the good," her warning came and this time her smile was less generous, more calculating. "With this promotion, we feel that you would be best," she paused, "partnered with James Lexington. You two have an innate partnership and understanding, you dance so well together."
"Oh," my heart sank on the spot. I should have guessed that this would not be as good as it sounded. I could have the promotion I dreamed of; but the flip side was to have to renew the one relationship I was trying to avoid. The only understanding we had nowadays was how to hate each other. "You do realise that he is my ex?"
"So I understand and the father of your child?"
"Yes, although he doesn't um acknowledge it."
"I realise that this puts you in a difficult position Christine, that is why I wanted to know if your flatmate was your boyfriend, for I could see the problems if it had been so. However this is a job and whilst it might not be that easy, you need to put personal differences aside. You know each other so well; there is a technique there that is so fresh and natural. I hope you won't let your talent go to waste because of a past relationship."
I closed my eyes in dread, thinking of the hours I would have to spend with the one person on earth I never wanted to see again. "No, I won't." I replied, opening my eyes and looking directly at her.
"Good, well many congratulations Christine. I shall have a copy of your contract forwarded to you at home and if you can sign and return it. Meanwhile you best get to rehearsals and I look forward to seeing you on stage."
"Yes thank you," I got up, resisting the urge to curtsey like a schoolgirl at the end of class and clumped over to the door. Good god talk about the double edge sword. What the hell was I going to do now?
As it was, I did what ever dancer does when faced with a crisis. I buried it in the back of my mind and instead went to a punishing rehearsal for the production of Sleeping Beauty that was due to premier in a couple of months. As a First Soloist I would no longer be a rose waving peasant or a guest at the christening, but Princess Florine, partnering James as the bluebird in the pas de deux. As well as this I was to mark and understudy the role of the Lilac Fairy, second only to Princess Aurora as a principal ballerina role in the production.
I was miserable. My dreams come true and here I was holding the hand of the man I never wanted to see again. I had been able to keep my distant when I was in the corps and he was a soloist, but now he was up close and very, very personal.
It was true that our bodies intuitively remembered how to dance together. His hand touched my waist at the perfect point, his arms lifted me sure and strong, I was not scared in his balance. I knew that technically and artistically we were perfectly matched. Emotionally, I just wanted to be back home with Eric.
Finally, the end of rehearsal was called at five and I dashed off home to spend as much time as I could with my daughter. Every bone in my body ached, but none so much as my heart and my hope.
"Hi" Eric called out to me from where he sat on the floor with Tess, trying to interest her in chewing on something else then his finger. He looked up with a smile, which faded as he noted the dour look on my face. "Tess darling, Mummy's home," he spoke with tact, scooping her up and depositing her in my arms, knowing that my daughter would always bring a smile to my face.
Later that evening, after we had settled Tess and eaten, I sat on the sofa, industriously sewing ribbons on the half dozen pairs of ballet shoes I had bought home with me. Given the intensity of rehearsal and the fact that I was dancing for the next two evenings, I needed to be prepared. I already had one pair tied on to my feet, attempting to break them in; so the leather moulded to my foot.
"Why do you do that?" Eric asked in curiosity, coming to sit in an armchair opposite.
"Do what?" there was a frown in my voice as I was concentrating on sewing the small neat stitches that held my ribbons tightly in place; yet not piercing through the satin on the outside.
"Put them on. Do you realise that you look very silly sitting there in jeans and ballet shoes?"
"Probably. Can you imagine what it was like when there were five of us ballet dancers all living together in a house? You couldn't walk for abandoned shoes, every radiator was covered in tights and leotards and we didn't have enough chairs to sit on, but did have a barre fastened to the wall in the living room." He laughed slightly at the description of my student digs.
"Well, I suppose of all people dancers can say they suffer for their art."
"Oh yeah, don't I know it," I replied finishing the second ribbon and biting off the thread, tossing the shoe into the pile in front of me. "Right, s'cuse me." I stood up and clumped over to a clear space of wooden floor in front of the large picture window. With my hand lightly resting on the back of the chair, I rose slowly into a révele, arching my foot and trying to break the shank of the shoe in slightly, aware that Eric was watching my every move.
"And that makes them fit properly?" He asked his curious gaze looking at my feet.
"Ah ha," I vaguely replied, once again lowering myself down and rising again. "It just softens the shank and means that it isn't so hard to dance with. Okay." I did a few more lifts and then sat down on the floor and took the shoes off, bending the slipper back and forth with my hands and bashing it down on the floor slightly. "That should do it." I tossed the discarded pair aside and reached for the next set of shoes, putting them on my feet and tying the ribbons in an unhurried air.
"So why were you upset this afternoon?"
"What, when?" I looked up in shock and for the first time actually looked at Eric that day. He had moved and was leaning against the back of the sofa, his perching on it, his long legs crossed in front of him and his arms folded across his chest. His hair was down, falling across his face, as he looked down at me sitting on the floor, consternation and worry in his eyes.
"You looked like you'd just lost the winning lottery ticket," he attempted to sound light-hearted. "A cross between angry and upset."
"Yeah, that's pretty accurate." I stood up and went on point, once again flexing my feet and trying to soften the leather.
"And you have hardly spoken at all this evening."
"Eric; I've been busy. You try sewing on these damn ribbons, it's not that easy!" I snapped, he was getting too close to the truth and it was something that I wanted to hide. I'm not sure why. It could be that I feared his anger, or maybe that I felt it was not a battle he needed to help me fight.
"C'mon Ali; you can tell me. I'm you're friend." His tone of voice was soft and encouraging, making it all the more tempting to pour my heart out to him.
Okay, but it will cost you a foot massage." I stomped over to the couch, untied the still stiff shoes and wiggled my blistered and bruised toes, something I never usually tried to look at. Somehow I didn't think Eric would mind though.
He came and sat next to me, cradling my foot in his maimed palm and then using his sensitive musician fingers on his left hand to rub and massage the ball of my foot. I think he rued the day I had found out that he had such magical hands; or currently hand.
"I got promoted," I said at last, leaning back against the cushions with my eyes closed.
"Congratulations." He didn't gush or heap praise, but waited silently and patiently, obviously expecting more to the story.
"Yup, I am now a Senior Soloist, dancing major parts, understudying principle roles; great opportunity. Very high chance of being promoted to principal in the not too distant future."
"You don't sound like you are enthralled with it." He commented, squeezing my toes and using his thumb to rotate small circles on the base of my foot.
"Why?" I sat up, no easy task when your foot was being held. "Why does the opportunity I have wanted and work for come along and then blow up in my face? And why," I continued before he had even drawn breathe to answer, "am I unsure if I even want this. The higher you climb, the harder the work is. And I am torn, torn between wanting this, despite what I know is ahead and wanting to just be with my daughter and throw the dancing out the window."
"Isn't that rather drastic," Eric said pausing in his ministrations. "I mean throw away what; fifteen years of hard work and for what?"
"Try twenty years and I don't exactly see you following your dreams either," I threw back, falling into my old habit of hitting where it hurt to detract the attention away from myself."
"I can afford to at the moment," he replied, a slight pressure on my foot and a tightness to his voice warning me that I shouldn't go there. "Ali, don't think that you can just run away when it all gets difficult. Look, I will still be here and support you whatever, but don't throw it away just because you are scared of what might happen!"
"That's very sweet of you Eric," I was moved by his kindness and generosity; too wound up in my own problems to realise that it was more then just an altruistic move on his behalf. "But there is more to it then that."
"What?"
"It's my new, well," I hesitated. "They want me to dance with. Basically the whole promotion rests on me partnering James!"
"James!" I was slightly mollified when I saw Eric's reaction for it cannot have been much calmer then mine. He lifted his hands from my feet and stood up, starting to pace the floor behind the sofa. "That is such a load of …." He broke off but continued to pace; clasping and unclasping his hands.
"Would you stop doing that," I said tetchily a few moments later. I wanted advice and help, not pacing.
"Sorry," he glanced down at his hands. "I can no longer crack my knuckles. So why have they partnered you with your ex. Surely they are aware of the situation?"
"Yes, of course, but then they are simply running a business and all's fair if it brings in the profits. Besides, James and I dance very well together – there is an instinct there; after all he has been my partner since we were in Upper School together."
"And the fact that you can't stand the sight of him?"
"Irrelevant – as long as I can act that I love him on stage. The thing is, I trust him as a dance partner. He knows my weight; my balance and I know he will never drop me or pick me up badly. If I detach emotion I can see the sense. But how can I spend every day with him knowing that I have given birth to a little girl that is half his flesh and blood and yet he wants nothing to do with?"
"I can see why you were thinking of giving up. What about changing company?"
"Not so easy, The ENB tends to tour; not great with Tess and the Birmingham Royal Ballet and the Scottish National Ballet are a tad to far away for a daily commute," I added.
"No need for the sarcasm, I'm only trying to help." He leaned over the back of the sofa, so his masked face was only a few inches away from mine and I could see the pressure it put on his features. "Stop throwing it back in my face." For a moment I caught my breath, his closeness, the feel of his breathe on my face. All I wanted to do was hurl myself into his arms and howl that it was not fair.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," I apologised conciliatory. "But I can see no way out of this mess. I think if I wish for this promotion, I will just have to grin and bear it." I rested my head on my arms and looked at him over the back of the sofa, glumness etched on my face.
"Ali, please don't think it's that bad. As I said I will support you however I can." Eric crouched down so our faces were level; the wall of the sofa in between us. I had to resist the urge to kiss him on the lips in response to his kindness; his love for both Tess and I. It was ironic that this man who had known us for so short a space of time was willing to lay down his life and work to support me and my daughter; when my own former partner and father of my child was too selfish to assist in any way.
I couldn't find a reply to his words that didn't sound trite and stupid, or reveal to him the depth of feelings that were growing inside me. Instead I just smiled weakly. Eric took this as a sign that I was once again ready to do battle and stood up casting a cheeky grin down at me. "Besides you can't give up dancing."
"Why not?"
"Well you can't sing; your cooking is useless, you are horrifically messy and apart from sewing on ribbons your talents are not based in the home." I scowled in mock outrage and realising that he was teasing grabbed the first solid object I could find to throw at him.
He let out a wince and a laugh as first one pointe shoe and then the other sailed over the sofa and hit him square in the chest. "You sod," I cried in mock outrage; trying not to laugh at his jesting.
"Really?" He laughed again as I scrambled over the back of the sofa to retrieve my shoes; but instead of letting me reach them grabbed me around the waist. Years of training meant that I instinctively spun around in his grasp to look at him squarely; both of us pausing and looking at each other in silence.
Before I could react he pressed his lips against mine and gave me a long deep kiss.