Page 68 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
‘You always did have an overinflated sense of self-righteousness, Edith.’
‘I wonder where I got that from?’
‘Here we go again, rudeness and insolence. One day you will become a mother, Edith. And perhaps then you will realise the sacrifices and devotion I put into caring for you. I must say, all I ever wanted was the best for you and your sister.’
‘Well, you had a bloody funny way of showing it.’ Edith then turned on her heels and it was the last time I saw her. I confess I was on the brink of tears.
Over the past few years, I sent Edith and Bethan cards and money every birthday and Christmas. Annoyingly, I had to send them via Andrew, as I did not know where either girl was living. But I have not received a singlemessage back. Most ungrateful. That was years ago now. I sigh.
In the last few days, I have had a recurring niggle that I may have been a little extreme in my reactions to my teenage girls. Ingrida recently borrowed a book on parenting from my library. When she returned it, I looked through the section of self-help guides to see what else was on offer and I found a book about adolescents. After thumbing through its pages, I decided to bring it with me on this trip. I read it on the train journeys here. It cited several scientific studies and the information contained within has left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable. I thought I knew about the terrible teens everyone talks about, but I had not appreciated teenage children have a different chemical make-up in their brains to adults, to the point where belligerence and awkwardness are often a manifestation of hormone imbalance and over which they had no control. It certainly made for interesting reading, and it has started me questioning if I had been a little too harsh on occasions.
I frequently wonder: if I had known my own mother or been raised in a traditional home rather than the orphanage, would I have been better prepared for the changes in my girls?
I consider the opportunity I now have with Edith here in this very theatre. I had always envisaged being reunited with my daughters once they became parents. Perhaps my new relationship with Edith will start before she is a mother. I vaguely acknowledge she may already have a family, after all, I have had no contact for so long.Although it would be disgraceful if Andrew had not told me if I had become a grandmother.
Perhaps I can make a connection with Edith using our common bond of dance? I give a little shiver of anticipation. She must remember it was I who instilled this love of dancing into her and her sister at an early age. I encouraged them to keep up ballet and just look at Edith now.
I can barely listen to the others gossiping in the changing rooms as all I can think about is Edith and the best way to approach her.
I had asked a few of the competition officials if they could direct me to the dressing room forCorps et Amebut they did not understand me. Perhaps it was my attempt at a French accent. I have never been proficient in foreign languages. I admit it would be marvellous to be as fluent as Ingrida. I was most grateful she acted as interpreter at the Charbon Hotel for our group.
I went on a foray down the adjoining corridors to look for Edith’s group, but I was unable to locate them in the rooms near ours. There are over thirty dance troupes in the competition, and we are spread out over several floors – the place is quite a labyrinth. However, on reflection, it is perhaps as well I have not stumbled into her yet as I need to prepare myself.
‘All right, Fay?’ Bonnie asks and I realise I have been looking in her direction but with my eyes unfocussed. ‘A penny for them?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Oh Lor, have I said that wrong? You just looked likeyou were far away.’
‘No, I mean, penny for your thoughts is the correct idiom.’
‘Who are you calling an idiot?’ Bonnie and Cath laugh out loud.
‘No, I saididiomnot idiot…’
‘Only kidding.’ Bonnie smiles. ‘You look fabulous, Fay. In fact, we all look fabulous. Not long until we’re on stage.’
‘Less than fifteen minutes,’ Asha reminds us. ‘Come on, ladies, we need to warm-up.’
Cath starts to sing about the final countdown but is cut short and before we can take over the vestibule, Sheila’s group bursts back into the changing room. They are arguing and shouting loudly. We stand back to admit them.
‘You silly bitch.’ Sheila is admonishing a large-bosomed female who has clearly been crying as her mascara is now panda-like around her eyes.
‘Why the fuck did you suddenly stop, Bridget?’
‘I went blank. The steps, I just couldn’t remember them—’
‘Well, that collision could cost us a place in the final—’ Sheila stops short when a pink feather flutters into her mouth. She spits it out and only then appears to realise we are all staring at her, so she turns on our group and hisses, ‘And you lot can mind your own bloody business.’
We all turn away without saying a word and exit the changing room.
‘That’s what I call spitting feathers.’ Ruby nudgesIngrida as we hurry towards the green room. I find myself tittering with the rest of our ladies.
In the green room, which is just outside the stage entrance, Asha leads us in a stretch out and warm-up.
We limber up and watch the huge wall screen showing the gymnastic-styled group perform. The loud Elton John song, “I’m Still Standing” blasts out even behind the closed stage door.
Not long now. I am full of anticipation. We all exchange excited smiles as we swing our arms and roll our shoulders back.
