Okay - don't hit me for the way this chapter ends, there is more to come (not much, a bit) and I didn't want to stick all of it into one chapter on the end. Bit of evil of me isn't it! Still, I suppose I could hold you to ransom and say that the next chapter won't be posted until you give me five hundred reviews. But that's mean isn't it - okay - fifty - no, all right I just would like to read your opinion, it is always welcome.
Pips
Chapter Sixteen
Pas de Deux
Eric & AliThe surprise that was etched on her face as she stood in the doorway was almost comical, if it had not been so heart wrenching. She froze; standing as still as a statue and it was only as I watched her pinch her lip between her teeth that I realised she was frantically assimilating my presence and how she should react. She took a deep breath and I watched as her shoulders squared and an aura of calm settled over her. I was seeing Christine de Theale the renowned dancer; not my darling Ali.
Her wordless presence allowed me to take a good look at her and with a pang of regret, I noticed how skinny she was. Her collar bones stuck out in sharp relief, her face gaunt and only relieved by the waterfall of blonde hair that fell across her face. She was too thin, even for a dancer.
Her features finally regained mobility and I could not tear my gaze away as I watched it move through it's full quota of expressions. Joy, anger, confusion, worry. She finally settled for anger.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" She hissed through clenched teeth. I blinked in surprise for whilst I thought that some anger was acceptable; deserved even, I hadn't expected her eyes to be flashing such sparks of fury or the look of disdain that swept across her face.
"Aren't I allowed to come home for Christmas?" I sparred back automatically, hitching Tess higher on my hip. She had grown in my absence and was now a significant weight in my arms.
Hesitation extinguished Ali's anger as she stood there. To approach and take Tess might mean that she would have to drop her guard, but she couldn't miss the massive smile that her daughter beamed at her. Holding out my free arm I beckoned.
"When did you arrive?" she demurred, taking a step further into the room, but still not approaching me.
"About an hour ago. My flight got in very early this morning."
"Flight?" Her eyes widened and I saw confusion in their depths. "Where? Where've you been?" Her voice was pleading and she took another step towards Tess and I.
"I told you in my letter," I replied, surprised but slightly mollified by the bewildered look on her face.
"Letter? What letter. I didn't get a letter."
"I left you one of the table; in my flat." I matched the steps she had taken towards me, letting Tess slide down off my hip, my arm cramped with holding her. Immediately the little monkey sensed her freedom and with drunken steps made her way over to the fir tree groaning with decorations, and the presents piled high around it's base. .
"Teresa, no," Ali said firmly, moving swiftly so that she was by her daughter's side, gently brushing the blonde curls off her face with a loving hand. "We'll open some presents later, okay darling. Now; do you want some breakfast?"
I realised the change in conversation was her way of dealing with my unexpected arrival. Instead of treading that potentially painful path of our relationship; we could concentrate on her daughter instead.
To my surprise and I think Ali's shock; Tess tugged away from her touch with a cry and flung herself at my leg, holding on tight with chubby little hands and a wobbling bottom lip.
"She's a drama queen this one," Ali said, straightening up, a ghost of a smile on her face. "As long as that is the only thing she inherits from James, then I don't mind." She scooped Ali away from my side and marched off into the kitchen, leaving our conversation and all it's answered questions dangling in the air.
I stood gawking for a moment as reality was so far removed from what I had imagined. Then realising that nothing would be achieved with her in another room I quickly followed both of them into the kitchen where they were caught in a battle to put Tess into her highchair. At the moment it seemed Tess was winning by making herself stiff so that she couldn't be placed in the seat.
"Oh bloody hell; sit down child," Ali shouted in frustration, her face red with aggravation. I couldn't resist the urge to silently come up alongside and with a gentle hand convinced her daughter to sit. She looked up at me with grateful smile before it dropped into a neutral expression again.
"Thanks," the words were polite, but the tone was surly with suppressed anger and disappointment. I realised that I was getting no where. Shock – that must be it. She was in shock. Best I retreat and let her come round.
"Look, I'll go and grab a shower and stuff, um let you get Tess up and I guess we'll talk; chat; um see each other…" I trailed off as she turned her glare on me. Yup, definitely time to retreat.
I glowered at the bowl of soggy rice krispies that was Tess' breakfast. How dare he! I could not believe that he thought he could casually stroll back into my life. The first moment of shock almost had me running for his embrace, but then I realised that was what he wanted, expected. Oh no. He couldn't abandon me and then suddenly expect to return and have me fall into his arms in a moment, I was made of sterner stuff then that.
Thankfully just as I spooned the last mouth of wet cereal into my daughter's mouth, the back door opened and reinforcements arrived in the shape of Helena and Edward.
"Ali, Merry Christmas darling," Helena called, taking off a coat before coming and kissing my cheek, her face cold and bright with the frost outside. "I thought you would like to sleep in this morning. Did Tess let you?"
"Yes," I said hesitantly, taking in her smiling visage and wondering if she knew that Eric was home. "Um Helena, did you know that?" Out of the corner of my eye I saw Edward subtly shake his head raising his finger to his lips. Obviously Eric's presence was to be as much as a surprise for her as it was for me. "Did you realise that I turned the oven down, like it says in the cookbook?" Pathetic excuse, but I saw Edward's smile.
"What? Oh thank you dear." She walked over to the oven, unwinding her classic Hermés scarf from around her neck. It was obvious from their smart dress they had been to church. She peered at the turkey merrily spitting in the oven. Obviously it was doing whatever turkey was suppose to do; for she nodded in a satisfied way and turned her attention to her husband as he pulled a chilled bottle of Champagne out of the fridge.
"Darling," shall we go and open some presents?" His voice was casual, not betraying his secret.
"That would be lovely dear," she replied, causing me to smile at their somewhat formal way of treating each other. It was very different from the messy relationships I was used to, although I suppose after years of marriage one did settle down into a certain routine.
"Well, come on then; into the living room, Ali you and Teresa as well. I will be with you in a moment." He shooed as off to sit in the comforting warmth; where I sunk into a chair, firmly holding Tess on my lap, not allowing her to approach and destroy the tree – her primary objective.
Edward joined us moments later, his face flushed with pleasure, obviously setting Eric up for his grand entrance. Soon both Helena and I had a mountain of presents around our feet; mine embarrassingly large for someone who was not even a relative.
He stood back from his job of tree elf and turned his attention to his wife. "Darling; there is something else I've got for you, but as you know I'm not good as this wrapping lark, so I guess you will have to have it as it comes!" His voice had a theatrical flourish to it and we turned our head in unison towards him, Helena frowning slightly at her husband's peculiar behaviour.
Suddenly the beautiful sound of a clear tenor floated into the living room and Eric appeared in the doorway. Helena jumped up from her chair with a gasp, a litter of small presents falling off her lap in a shower.
"Eric!" She stepped over the barrier of gifts and flung her arms around her son, burying her face in his shoulder as I wished I could do. "Eric, Eric, my darling boy. You're home!" She pulled back from him, tears running down her face as she ran a hand through his hair, which I noticed her had cut short again. His face was still behind it's protective plastic mask, but overall he looked healthier, stronger and fitter.
My face painfully cracked into a smile as I watched mother and son reunited. The greeting she had given him was similar to the one I had wanted to bestow. I would be kind to him, in a little while; I just wanted answers to my questions first.
"Hi Mum. Merry Christmas," he responded and she drew back, allowing him to draw breath. His smile was a white flash in his face, the hand that reached up to wipe the tears off her cheek, firm and tanned; not the emaciated skinny appendage I had known. The skin across his knuckles stood on in stark relief; a clear border of colour where it merged together with this own epidermis and I found myself gazing at it with a relentless fascination; easier then looking at his face.
However my daughter; ever the traitor; wriggled of my lap and ran over to him, once again attaching herself to his leg. Without saying a word he swung her into his arms, settling her on his hip and with no more then a brief glance in my direction, continued talking to his mother.
I tried to smile and turn my attention towards my presents, opening them with due attention; as if they were the only thing garnering my attention. Stripy legwarmers, supposedly from my daughter; bath salts, foot cream and a little bit of good quality makeup. There was also a few presents from my friends at work which bought a smile to my face. A special brand of padded plasters and corn stickers; a large packet of painkillers and a few decorative scarves that I always used to tie my hair up in when I was warming up. Ah the glamorous side of dancing.
I looked up; realising that I had actually become carried away with my presents and has missed the fact that the family had once again settled down into an orgy of gift opening. Eric was on the floor; Tess on his lap and they were currently battling with the paper around a squashy rabbit.
"You've been feeding your sellotape addiction again Mum," he called out to her in humour as he finally freed the toy into my daughter's waiting arms. Helena simply smiled in reply; a mistiness in her eyes. She was obviously too happy to even her the teasing sarcasm in her son's voice. He could get away with murder today as far as she was concerned.
"Ali," Edward put another present in my lap and I frowned up at him in confusion; they had already given me so much.
"Thanks." I looked at the label which simply said my name; although I recognised Eric's scrawly handwriting. In a more charitable moment, I had once told him that it looked as if a half dead fly had crawled across the paper.
I swore inwardly; for I had bought him a couple of presents but they were stashed up in my room; purchased at a time when my feelings to him were more romantic and I wished to make this clear. They were also small and could have been sent in the post; as I had no idea where he was either.
Turning my attention back towards the heavy rectangular object sitting on my lap I pulled the paper off and frowned. It was a vase. A very nice crystal vase, but hardly the sort of present that declared undying love and it did not match what I had thought were his feelings for me.
"Thank you Eric," I said realising that he was watching me and I turned my head towards him, trying to mask my disappointment at the coldness of the gift. I narrowed my eyes slightly as I thought I saw the smallest of smirks ripple across his lips. It could have been my over active imagination, so I decided to ignore it.
"I know you don't have one," he spoke pointedly and matched my features. Fake smile for fake smile.
"No, you're right. It's very kind and thoughtful. Um, right I had really better go and get dressed and get Tess dressed. With that comment I picked Tess up from his lap and hurried off upstairs.
"Do you think Ali is all right? Did she like her presents?" My mother turned her attention away from me for a moment to glance at the pile of gifts making an untidy tower next to the chair in which her guest had been sitting. "Her friends have given her some strange presents," she commented. "Fancy a large packet of painkillers!"
"I think it was a joke Mum," I replied. "Whoever it was also gave her plasters." My eye was drawn to the vase abandoned a little way from her other things. I could tell that she was angry with me for giving such a serious and unfeeling Christmas present. I had originally planned to give it to her as a silly gift, but decided instead to use it to provoke a reaction and I very nearly got one.
I stood up, shaking out my legs, which still had a tendency to cramp if I sat in one position for too long. "I'll just grab a binbag," I muttered casting my eye over the sea of wrapping and ribbons, wanting to do something useful and not simply sit here having my mother fuss over me all day.
"No Eric, sit; I'll do that!" My mother jumped up before I had a chance to bend over and pick a single thing up off the floor.
"I don't mind."
"Well I do, you're home, you should rest and relax and not have to worry about all this." I smiled and gently placed my hand on her shoulders, bending over and pecking her cheek.
"I want to. Why not see if Ali needs some help with Tess instead?" I suggested in an attempt to stop her running around after everyone all day.
"Yes, yes, okay." She briefly put a hand over mine, patting it gently and smiling in a way that I knew she was not looking at me in the here and now, but another place far away in her imagination or memory. And then with a brief nod towards my father she calmly walked out the room, leaving us men alone to sort the situation.
I went and grabbed a recycling sack and started to toss the paper that littered the living room floor into it. The hard work of several weeks of shopping and wrapping cast onto the carpet in a matter of minutes. "You're idea worked well Dad," I commented towards my father as I picked up a gift tag to my mother, making me recall the tears in her eyes earlier. He was sitting in an easy chair frowning over a paperback of puzzles and managing to ignore my chores.
"Yes, thought your mother would appreciate the theatre of surprise. Had wanted to surprise Ali as well, but she obviously knew." He spoke without looking up from the page.
"Came looking for Tess earlier and found us together." I straightened up and rubbed my back slightly. It was still cramped from having a toddler balanced on my hips.
"Ah," Dad nodded slowly, looking for all the world as if he was not paying any attention towards the conversation at all. I was not fooled. His outward demeanour was simply a front whilst he was thinking what to say next. "She didn't seem too um, happy, at your return."
"A shock, at least I hope so. I missed her." I barely realised that I had uttered the words until they were out of my mouth. Even my father seemed surprised for he put his book down and gave me his full attention; a slight smile on his lips.
"You missed her eh? Well I think she missed you. When your mother went to see her after a show she was in quite a state and you can see how skinny she is. I don't think she is coping as well as she would like us to think. You two need to sit down and have a good thrashing out, far too many unsaid things between you."
I blinked slightly in surprise, for whilst my father's comments were spot on, I did not expect them to be in the arena of relationships. Car maintenance, banking, golf, yes – but love?
"Thrash it out."
"Yes, you know, explain your absence, what you've been doing and all that. She hasn't said anything to me directly but your mother is convinced that she was very cut up by your sudden departure."
"I had no choice, you know that! Besides we were going around in ever decreasing circles anyway."
"Yes, well it still doesn't make sense to her. Go on and talk to her."
"What now?" I exclaimed in shock. This wasn't part of the plan.
"Why not now? She upstairs at the moment. Carpe Diem and all that. Get your mother to bring Tess down and she can play with her new toys." He pulled a face before once again raising the book as if her were shocked my how much advice he had offered.
It seemed that there was nothing to it but to follow such wise counsel; especially if the truth was anything similar to what my father hinted at. So after dumping the rubbish bag went to find Ali and Tess. Childish bellyful giggles alerted me to the fact that Tess was now downstairs and a peek around the door let me see her playing with a new toy.
She was dressed in a little red smocked dress, her blonde curly hair already escaping from a little ribbon. In a moment of heartache I realised how much I had missed her.
"Carpe Diem indeed," I muttered to myself and the shadows in the hallway, as I climbed the stairs and hesitated outside the ajar door of the guest room. The whisper of clothes being sorted and the soft sound of her breathing, only interrupted by the ticking of the clock.
"Bugger," her words ripped the silence causing me to snigger and push the door open further.
"Bugger what?" I asked with amusement, seeing her in a half crouch by the bed.
"I've just holed my tights. You think it would be the one item of clothing I was used to putting on, but not ten denier!" She held up the ruined pair, one long large ladder renting a leg from groin to knee. With a sigh and a shake of her head she threw them to the floor and pulled another pair out the box. "Why were you skulking outside the door anyway?"
"I wasn't skulking, I came to see you."
"Well thanks for knocking." The tone was sarcastic and I realised with a shock as she stood up that all she wore was a pair of high cut knickers and her tights; now fully in place. Studying her figure critically and impassively I couldn't say she was beautiful. Her physique was muscular from hours of dancing and there wasn't enough weight on her body to hold it all together so she looked on the gaunt side. I preferred her body when we first met, whilst she was still carrying the extra few pounds that pregnancy had given her, softening the angles to curves.
She didn't say a word as I studied her body, didn't blush or try to hide behind a crossing of her arms or turning of her body. Instead she stood there, cool and impassive, staring straight back at me.
"You're looking thin," I finally stuttered, like a blushing schoolboy.
"And you have finally put some weight on and are looking better," she replied in a sharp tone. "Now have you come for any other purpose then to insult me?" She turned and picked up a beautiful skirt that I had not noticed lying on the bed. It's length and cut swished against her ankles, softening out the lines of her body. She matched it with a wool sweater whose softness once again marred the sharpness of her shoulder blades and drew attention to her bright blue eyes. Eyes that were currently flashing fire.
I didn't want to stare but couldn't help myself as I watched her dress, her movements economical and easy. She was not embarrassed and it made watching her easy.
"Are you enjoying staring?"
"No, I; no." I paused. "Yes actually, I like watching you."
"So do a lot of people, although I'm not usually putting my clothes on when they do." I suddenly realised it was a pathetic attempt at humour. Yet she didn't give me a moment to interrupt and barge into the scene by starting a conversation as I had hoped, but simply turned once again to the bed, this time to open a shoebox.
There is something about women and shoes that I will never understand, a connection at the physiological level maybe. She held them up reverently, the sun choosing that precise moment to burst through the grey cloud cover and highlight them in it's beam.
"You're not wearing those!" I exclaimed in shock, looking at the spindly high heels of the classic stiletto she held in her hand. It's pointed toe and soft leather swept into an almost unsupported high heel, held in place by a strap across the arch of the foot.
"Yes I bloody well am. Why shouldn't I?" Her anger sounded petulant.
"Because you told me ages ago that dancer's shouldn't wear high heels. You wouldn't be that stupid, would you?"
"Shouldn't wear high heels Eric, not mustn't. In the same way you shouldn't take your mask off; although I know you do and you shouldn't take drugs and you shouldn't sleep around and you shouldn't abandon those you love!" I was momentarily stunned about how a conversation regarding footwear turned into a personal attack.
"Well you shouldn't be such a bitch," I retorted in fury, hurting from her verbal attack.
"Bitch!" Her face froze for the briefest of moments before crumpling in rage and I felt the air whistle past my ear as the shoe went flying. It's partner was more accurate and hit me square in the chest.
"Fine, if that's the way you want to play it," I roared, too furious to care about my actions. Grabbing her around her waist I threw her over my shoulder like a sandbag, feeling her wrists banging on my back. She hardly weighed anything.
"Stop it you bastard, put me down. You have no idea how to lift a woman you oaf." I was deaf to her curses though and steeled myself against the sharp little blows of her fists until we were another floor in my studio. There I unceremoniously dumped her on the couch.
She looked at me, the redness draining from her face, her new outfit mussed from the fireman's lift and her careful hairstyle ruined. "Bastard," she hissed through clenched teeth. I couldn't help the small smile that crept onto me lips as I saw the start of another ladder in her tights, running up from her ankle.
"Now," I said, my chest heaving with the exertion of carrying her up the stairs. "Can I just confirm that you are Christine Alison de Theale, mother to Teresa Marie de Theale and principle dancer with the Royal Ballet?"
"Yes! What the hell are you…" I held up a hand cutting off her questions.
"No, I am asking the questions. Now, as you claim to be the woman I used to know, can I ask why you seem to be acting as if you barely know me?" I tried to mask the question in a sneer, but knew it sounded more desperate then I intended. However I needed to know an explanation for her unwelcoming and unfriendly behaviour. Whilst I reasonably justified that she should not fall into my arms, I still expected a civil hello. Having a shoe thrown at my head did not count as civil in my books.
I wiped my hand through my hair, feeling the chill of the air in the room, pleasant against my sweating skin. Suddenly the need for air was overwhelming and I tore at the Velcro straps that held my mask in place, pulling it off my face and throwing it onto the piano stool before turning and facing Ali again. She had been sitting stonily silent on the couch, grinding her teeth in either anger, frustration or both, but when I looked at her again she glanced up and froze.
"Oh my god Eric!" the words fell from her lips as she stood up off the couch and stood in front of me, her eyes searching my face, studying it intently. I could not help the shiver as she raised her hand, her fingertips gently stroking down the side of my cheek, almost tickling in their lack of contact as if she were scared to touch it.
I wanted to speak, wanted to say something; anything. Continue the fight that we had been having; explain what had happened, where I had gone, but it was useless. Rational thought had grown wings and taken flight; leaving me hypnotic under her touch.
Her hand finally fell away, but she still stood there, her head tilted back; her spine ramrod straight staring at me with her intense blue eyes, tears swimming in the back of them. I watched helplessly as one of them spilled over; running a simple trail down her cheek, followed by one more and then another until she was crying hard. "Ali, darling; don't cry." I spoke softly but it was the wrong words for with a howl she flung her arms around me, face pressed into my sweater; her sobs soaking my front.
I stood there, letting her cry, the sound more painful then any of her anger; any of the blows she had inflicted on me, almost more sore and defiantly more excruciating then the shoes. It was a good five minutes before she drew back; hiccupping slightly, her arms puffed and red, matching her nose. Her beautiful wool top was crushed and damp; as was my front. Wordlessly I pulled her across to the couch and onto my lap, cradling her against me as if it were her daughter.
"Were have you been?" The words came out with hiccups and I smiled tugging at her ears. "Oww, oww, that's not funny, what are you doing?"
"Curing your hiccups," I replied with a grin. "What did you say?"
"Where did you go? I assume it was to do with…" she nodded towards my face.
"Yes, mainly. It was a surgeon in America who is a leading specialist in his field with reconstructive surgery on facial burns. I didn't know he could see me until forty-eight hours before my appointment, which is why I left so suddenly. It's just the way it was, if I hadn't been then I might have to wait a year or more."
"It's looking a lot better," she said, shyly ducking her face against her arm. The reds gone away and the grafts not so obvious. Will he be able to do more? Do you still need to wear the mask?"
"No not really, yes. I mean no, there is not that much more he can do, it just has to heal now, but yes I still need to wear the mask, not all the time and not forever, probably until summertime next year is a rough guess." I shrugged. "It's getting better all the time and I can have the mask off for three hours a day now, which is nice. Makes it tighter to put it back on though, reminds me of when I used to wear braces and it changed to a retainer."
"Yeah, or when you first put on a new pair of ballet shoes when you've been dancing in old ones," she supplemented causing me to laugh.
"Something I've never experienced. Well, after my surgery I just had to hide away and recover and I went to the Caribbean. I have an old friend there with a house and it has a recording studio, so I just spent some time there recovering. Recovering and recording."
"Recovering in the Caribbean?" The shock was evident in her voice. "You've been in the Caribbean and you could not be bothered to send me a letter, or and e-mail or even, heavens forbid, call me and say that was where you were? Do you have any idea what I've been going through these past few months Eric? Are you always this egotistical and selfish? No, don't answer that, of course you are, why shouldn't you be. Your parents worship the ground you walk on; you've never had to be anything other then perfect your entire life. If you get bored you just up sticks and walk out and let someone else's life fall apart. Well Eric, this girl has had enough! I am so stupid sometimes. God, you would think once bitten twice shy, but I guess I didn't learn my lesson this time did I?"
His comment riled me beyond belief! To think there I was slaving away in England and he was living it up in the Caribbean. And he couldn't be bothered to tell me. I knew then with no hint of uncertainty that he had gone back to his old ways, once again being the playboy; charming, kissing bonking; but never loving. Oh no, Eric St. john did not love anyone; except himself!
Without another word I slipped off his lap, pulling away from his touch as if it were diseased, riled beyond belief not only with his behaviour but also with my stupidity. I loved him so much, imagined that he and I had a future together and yet he could not be bothered. I should have known that silence was the end, but held on as I could not let go.
"I hate you!" I hissed, swinging around to face him before flouncing off through the door and slamming it shut behind me. I managed to get all the way to the bottom step before I could go no further and burst once again into noisy tears.