Page 53 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
‘Why are you in Paris?’
‘It is none of your business. Kazimieras, I have no money to give you. Nothing.’
‘Oh, I think you have, Ingrida. I hope you are back from Paris soon as I will be here waiting. In the meantime, maybe I will check out your English home… We will speak again, Ingrida.’
He cut the call, and I had no time to think as Monica and Asha appeared in the bathroom. I make up an excuse why I was upset. I tell them it was because I did not know the dance numbers well – I could not tell them about Kazimieras.
Our practice, it help to calm me before I go to sleep and I say a prayer. ‘Please God, do not let Kazimieras find Neil and the children while I am here.’ God, I know he answers me as I feel his sense of peace lying in the hotel bed. I put my trust in Him as I always have. I must warn Neil about Kazimieras when we next speak.
‘Good, we are now warmed up.’ Asha’s voice brings my thoughts back to our rehearsal, and she directs us to our positions for the first dance.
I stand in Janine’s place and put my concentration to the dancing. It is like when I am professional nurse andcannot let worries distract from doing my job and must put them aside when I am with patients. In same way, I cannot do anything about Kazimieras while I am here and I must not let my dance friends down again. I have put the matter into God’s hands and I will not think about it anymore until the dance competition is over.
When the music starts, I concentrate on the steps and I am soon absorbed by the movement, even though we have little space, and I put my deep feelings into every move.
At the end, Asha is smiling at me and clapping. ‘Ingrida, you danced that with such expression.’
We all sip at the water, and I try to call Neil but there is no reply. I leave a message.
Hello, Neil. We are at the Paris theatre. It has wonderful Wi-Fi, so I can make call to you from here without it costing much money. Please ring me when you can. I miss you. Give the children my love.
14
Fay
I am not used to drinking. Even though I only had a couple of small brandies, they have upset my stomach and it has taken most of the morning for it to settle.
The breakfast in the café near our hotel was cheap and not a good example of French cuisine. It is a sorry discovery to find a dry, almost inedible croissant in Paris, the culinary capital of the world. I know we are close to the outskirts of the city, but I had expected this basic food would be excellent wherever we ate. I suppose standards here are slipping as much as they are in the rest of the world.
To my surprise, I have found I am enjoying being with the other women in our shared room. I am a little cross with myself for letting slip I had gone to Saint Eulalia’s, but I doubt if any of them realise it was an orphanage back then. It is, after all, a boarding school now.
Ingrida is turning out to be as kind-hearted as I had hoped. At first, I had been rather taken aback when I learnt she had married her employer, apparently within weeks of his proposal. Did this confirm my suspicions that she was using him to get British Citizenship? However, there is no indication this is the case. And with a bit of research, I discovered she does not need this in order to work inthe UK. She is counted as a skilled NHS worker with or without a British passport, although why she had to explain this to the French customs officers at St Pancras, I have no idea.
My concerns regarding Neil replacing his wife so quickly have also diminished. Apparently, two whole years have elapsed since the poor woman died. I had thought it was less. Some men just cannot manage without a partner – look at Andrew installing a substitute for me in a scandalously short time. No, I did Ingrida an injustice, and I am sorry I did.
I also find, somewhat to my surprise, that I am warming to Ruby. I am sure she noticed my deformed toes, but she did not say a word. I am grateful for that; it means she can show a little discretion. I have observed her being kind to Ingrida and I believe there is a little camaraderie growing between us as she also notices every incorrect saying Bonnie utters.
Sadly, I cannot say I have connected with Monica. I had hoped to converse with her more during the trip. She is, after all, better spoken than all the other dancers and has great poise and decorum. However, she has stayed aloof so far, and her demeanour is often one of total abstraction. Aside from one moment when she comforted Ingrida with Asha and then joined in our impromptu rehearsal in our nightwear, Monica has a permanent faraway look etched on her face.
As Monica and I waited to check-in at the front desk of the theatre, a group of young adults dressed in shorts, crop tops, and trainers joined the queue behind us.They were chattering loudly in French and pushing each other in some sort of childish game. One pushed me – thankfully lightly – into Monica, so I turned to admonish the individual, but she quickly held up her hand and said, ‘Pardon. Désolée, Madame…’ She did look genuinely sorry, so I let it go.
I leant into Monica to say, ‘These entrants look young. Clarissa said all those participating had to be over eighteen.’
‘They do, but at eighteen they are still teenagers.’ Monica shrugged, and I recalled her twins are aged fourteen.
‘They are clearly in high spirits. Are your twins well-behaved?’
Monica cocked her head to one side and answered, ‘They have their moments.’
This would have been an opportune moment to talk about Edith and Bethan and the difficulties I had experienced with them during adolescence, but Monica turned away.
It is good to go on the tour of the premises of theOpéra Bastille, a diverting occupation for my mind. While the building is not to my taste, with its modernistic architecture and vast airport-like foyers and walkways, one cannot deny it is impressive. Our tour guide is speaking in rapid French, and I do not have the patience to await Ingrida’s translation, so I wander around the spaces a short distance from the group.
I have read up on the history of the building and was amused to learn of all the issues. There was controversyand scandal between the various directors, which could have constituted the plot of an opera in itself. Then the building construction was fraught with difficulties, not least being when the limestone cladding on the facade began to drop off. In the early 1990s, safety nets had to be put into place to catch the panels as they fell. The director made a widely praised joke when he dubbed them ‘condoms with holes’. I can only think this is comical to the French humour, as I do not find it remotely funny. Anyway, the entire cladding was eventually replaced in 2009.
We are shown into the main theatre, where the finals will be held, and I have to say it is extraordinary with its vast hanging balconies. I am not surprised it has been dubbed a vessel as each balcony is reminiscent of a ship – although I have read that in French the term vessel is intended as an insult when compared to the praise given to traditional opera houses. I have to say the place is somewhat soulless, not a patch on period theatres.
I am slightly daunted at the prospect of dancing on the main stage, but this may as yet not happen. We would have to win through the semi-finals today, and there is no guarantee of this. I just hope we can get a respectable placing above Sheila Bold’s group.
