Disappointments come in threes.

He had been doing OK, attending therapy sessions, going to AA meetings with Vladimir. Trying to adhere to his eating plan, but he still skipped meals when alone. Luci was a busy mother and part time fund raiser for Vladimir's dance company, so most days she lunched with friends and potential backers. Pyotr was the most observant, watching Aleksandr's weight drop, his body slim down and noting the dark circles under his brother in all but name's eyes, from crippling insomnia. He suggested to the maid that froot loops and kaptain krunch make it onto the shopping list, both favourite snacks of the cuckoo in the Stravenkov's nest. Sasha spent most days in his room reading as TV was a communal activity best shared with the kids. After six weeks of utter boredom, Alex started rehearsals with Vladimir. He choreographed three pieces much to his friend's delight. Short and melancholy solos, reflecting his mood.

The Artistic Director had scheduled them into the May performances when the first spanner was thrown in the carefully crafted rehabilitation of Sasha Makarov. Vladimir was not in ultimate control as he had a Board of Director's to convince and the added bureaucracy and small print of the insurance companies involved. Costumes needed to be finalised, when Vladimir broke the dreadful news. If Sasha got a few guest appearances booked, maybe for charitable events, he would be viable again for the company to take on. The twenty-eight year old knew Ludmilla was of the opinion he wait until after his official sick leave was over in June before pursuing new career openings, but she did not have any confirmed bookings, just the hogwash that everyone wanted him fit and well again.

Luci told him of the opening for a choreographer at the Community Dance Centre, with interviews scheduled for the beginning of June. She whole heartedly supported his ideas for changing tack and trying something new, on a smaller scale and near home. He rejigged his resume and sent off videos of his own work and duly got an interview. Work and independence was again a possibility, Sasha was moving forward and no longer stagnating. He even looked up getting proper qualifications, via correspondence course or either night school or part time.

…..

Gregori was the petulant middle child. Pyotr at fourteen was independent, already had his mind set on acting and performance art rather than dance as a career and six year old Nina was everyone's darling and a true imp, pulling tricks and getting away with being unrepentantly mischievous. The middle child felt the most put out by the return of the mysterious Sasha, who had changed subtly since his last stay at home, from intense to quiet and sad. He was jealous that his siblings adored the interloper more than him and the fact his mother and father both seemed to put the cuckoo's needs and health first. At 12, he was exploring his own boundaries and establishing his own persona, now preferring to be called Greg, which was way more normal than Gregori or Grishka.

It was breakfast on the day of Sasha's audition, and Luci had been fussing over him for days. Mother to them all was dressing Nina, before getting ready for a full day working herself. When Grishka went to help himself to Froot Loops, only to be stopped by Pyotr. "Its oatmeal today, Greg, with honey and raisins. You're lucky Nineshka left you some."

The dark haired boy then grabbed the packet, for Sasha to say "Help yourself, just don't let Luci catch you. I've been waiting since January for her to put her foot down about the shit I'm eating."

Pyotr growled out "better sugar filled shit than nothing at all."

Then Grishka let his mouth go "Yeah, precious loony Sasha gets everything his own way. Mom doting on him, Dad spending hours with him. Keep your freaking cereal, cuckoo. Isn't it about ten years since you flew the nest.. hint … hint. Leave and go find yourself another old loser to fuck." When Gregori ran out of the kitchen, picked up his bag and left for school.

Trying to make the peace, Pyotr apologised for his shithead younger brother, "He didn't mean it. He's just blowing off hot air. You're cool, way cooler than him. Wait 'til mum hears about his homophobic rant. He'll be grounded until Christmas."

Alex then started to clear the breakfast table. "You'll be late for school, Petrushka. Your mom can't give you a lift today remember. I'm taking Nina to school because she's at the fundraiser at the Guggenheim today. Remember you're to pick up Nina tonight from ballet. I'm busy." For the first time in months there was work pencilled in on his diary. First things first, was chores, Dishes in the dishwasher, clean the surfaces, Two boxes of cereal and the leftover oatmeal in the trash. Alex got his shoes on and took his princess to school, walking the four blocks as Nina told him everything about her day, her friends and ballet class later.

Alex sat with a roomful; of properly qualified people, again he was positive his name alone, borrowed from a prima ballerina, was opening doors for him.

The Board of Interviewers were all known to Sasha, and who included the artistic director of the American Ballet Company at the Met and the main fundraiser of the Arts Centre, who was a ballet superstar who had defected from the Kirov in the early seventies and was an old friend of Maria's, with the two others being good friends of Luci's.

The opening was to tell the assembled interviewers about himself. Stuff he was sure they already knew.

"Hi, I'm Aleksandr Makarov, I've been choreographing my own pieces for eleven years. My first were performed for the Stravenkov Dance Troupe, whom I have worked for as a guest on and off for ever since. I established a small modern dance company called Troika, where we performed in street venues and arts centres in England, France and Spain. I restaged the Veshin Variations for the Bolshoi. More recently four of my works were included in fundraising events for the Australian Ballet and tutorials for the Sydney Dance Academy. I taught masterclasses on both Classical, Contemporary and modern dance techniques in Russia, London, Australia and most recently China."

The Dick from the American Ballet then stuck the knife in. "You have no formal qualifications expected for such an extensive resume. No scholarships or competitions noted. It's as if you appeared from nowhere."

"I got my high school equivalency in January 2005, my grade point average was good enough for college. I just took a different path."

"Ah yes your association with Manfred Schnagel. There were rumours your Troika works were just cut down pieces created by your former …. Associate."

"Only an idiot would think that, my style has always been more heavily influenced by Maria and Vladimir. Schnagel was unique in his approach and complexity, more Graham than classical. His last pieces only reflected my style because I was his principal and he was kind enough to create pieces that played on my strengths as a classically trained dancer. His last piece was a duality of modern, using Serge as inspiration, and contemporary reflecting his deep admiration of Glen Tetley at Stuttgart. He was also influenced by my work on the Veshin backlog, which I had worked on with Maria before she died and used one of his pieces for my audition for the Met just after her death."

"Were you not tempted to get a place at Juilliard or another accredited dance school then?"

"Frankly I'd had enough of school when I was fifteen. Vladimir suggested it, but I chose to go to live with Manfred in London instead."

"Where you did four performances in your first year, not exactly paying its own way"

"I stripped… sorry, exotic dancing was used to obtain my Equity Card. The Phoenix Club in Soho. I worked there for eighteen months until we got our first tour organised. I paid the bills and funded getting Manfred's company off the ground by shaking my booty for sick fucks." Alex was now staring the guy out before breaking eye contact and laughing "Yeah, I get it, I'm nobodies ideal for any sort of normal job. I only got the stint in Sydney because Martika was my biggest fan. I know you guys want someone with a paper trail and who won't flake out on you. Sorry for wasting your time."

As he stood up he said "Strike three, you're out."

The Russian émigré than spoke for the first time "Excuse me, but what does that mean?"

"Strike one, I fucked up being principal at Sydney, my dream job actually; Strike two, Vladimir was told he could not employ me not even as a guest artiste; Strike three I'm a jumped up stripper and failed whore who can't even get a job at an arts centre while I go to college part time to get real qualifications, which was really my plan. So, I'm out. It was good while it lasted but it's over. Time to move on as no one is calling Ludmilla about me." Alex turned on his heels and walked out whispered under his breath "Say goodbye to Sasha Makarov, back to being sad old Alex Rider. I can lie, cheat and steal to survive, just like my uncle taught me." Only he'd been taught to kill in Venice. He'd rather work in Starbucks than be another Yassen.

…

Viktor Turguniev phoned Vladimir that night to help get Maria's boy back working. One of the children answered "Hello?"

"Can I speak to Vladimir? Its Viktor, I'm ringing about Sasha."

Pyotr thought about breaking up the argument for about three seconds before answering "I'd call back if I were you. Its World War three here at the moment. Then again I might be able to help, since you're asking about Sasha. He's skipped out. Cleaned his room like he was never here. Taken his stuff, well he left Maria's jewellery for Nina. Like a six year old needs that much bling. He left me his iPod doc, I mean it's like a grands worth of German perfection and he even gave Greg his ancient laptop, had wiped it clean though. Greg was most upset to find there was no porn. Yeah, like Sasha's idea of porn is probably old naked guys. Completely gross. I haven't read the letter he left for dad, but the short and the tall is he ain't coming back. Wait Mom's screaming about that now…" The teenager listened to the argument for a moment, before returning to the telephone conversation "Gone to visit old friends. That could mean anything in Sasha's case, you know whores, pimps, dive bars, crackheads or gangsters. I just can't believe he didn't say goodbye. Fuck. It's not good here. Sorry, have to go, Nina's about to flour bomb Greg for being a grade A asshole."