Rudi’s words are still playing round and round my head as I make my way home from ballet practice. Is he right? Do I know which dreams to chase? Everything feels so confused lately. There are so many different dreams buzzing through my head, sometimes it becomes difficult to separate them all. I want to dance professionally, there is no doubt in my mind about that dream. But to do so, I need to gain my freedom from Mother. I stand outside our crumbling red-brick townhouse and gaze up at it. I dream of being free of this place, that much is certain, and I dream of travelling the world, delighting hundreds of people with my dancing in different cities every night. The sound of applause washing over me like resonant waves of love. I suppose I thought winning August’s affection was a dream too, but now I am not so sure …
August would certainly give me the independence from my mother that I so desperately crave, but would I end up finding myself trapped in a different way? The idea of the two of us travelling the world together and following our ambitions seems wonderful, but how long would it be before he was looking for a wife to settle down, to raise his children? I could not put my ambition on hold for that. A ballerina’s career is so short-lived already.
Oh, how harshly I judged Grace for doing the very same thing! I have a sudden and urgent need to hug my sister and apologise for being such an awful grump these past few weeks. I rush up the steps and pull open the front door with gusto.
‘Grace!’ I call, running up the stairs. ‘Grace, where are you?’
I stop on the landing. My bedroom door is open and I certainly did not leave it like that. My heart skips a beat and I rush towards the door. I push it open and a feeling like being doused in ice water floods over me. Mother is sat on my bed, and she is holding Madame Lebedev’s nymph costume.
‘Grace isn’t here,’ she says crisply. ‘So I think it is time that you and I have a little chat.’
‘Mother, please—’
‘Sit down,’ she commands, and my voice dies in my throat as I do as I am told. I take a seat by the window, my eyes set firmly on the precious garment in her hands.
‘So, you went to the party …’ she begins, looking down at the dress. ‘Despite my instruction for you to stay home. I thought you might try. I listened out for your footsteps on the stairs after Grace had left but I heard nothing, so I can only assume you snuck out the window?’
I nod solemnly.
‘And were you helped in your endeavour?’
I think of Grace and Rudi, both of whom went out of their way to help me get to the party. They knew how much it meant to me and I have treated them both so horribly.
‘Nobody helped me,’ I reply quietly.
‘Just imagine if you had been seen!’ she hisses. ‘Do you have any idea how that would look to our neighbours? Like I have raised you as some sort of unruly stop-out. You’re acting like … like a lovesick fool.’ Her eyes narrow as the realisation dawns on her, a malicious smirk spreading across her lips as I bow my head in shame. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You fancy Mr Draper for yourself.’
I do not say anything. I don’t have to. She knows she has me. She lets out a low, cruel peal of laughter.
‘Did you really think he would ever notice you?’ she continues, enjoying herself now. ‘You are plain, Clementine, and you are not a pleasant girl. Who would ever want you?’
Against my better wishes, fat tears start rolling down my cheeks, thick and fast. I keep my head bowed, praying she won’t notice. She is right, of course she is right. My own mother didn’t want me; why should anyone else? A lump forms in my throat, hard and impossible to swallow. I wish more than anything that I could collapse on the floor and let the tears roll through me like waves. I wish to shrink smaller and smaller until I simply cease to exist; anything to be rid of this torment. Mother is still hurling her tirade of abuse at me, but I only catch segments of it now.
‘You will ruin everything with your selfishness!’ she cries, her arms flailing for dramatic effect as she begins hobbling up and down the room. ‘He was never meant for you; he is for Grace!’ She stops. ‘Are you even listening to me, child?’
I don’t want to look up. I do not want her to see the hurt in my eyes.
‘Look at me,’ she commands, but I stare resolutely at the floor. All I have left is this one shred of dignity. ‘There was a label in this dress, Clementine. It said, “Property of Madame Lebedev’s School of Dance”. That is where you have been slinking off to, isn’t it? Dance classes with one of those Russian immigrants … and I thought this family could sink no lower. And here we are, scraping every penny we have together to keep a roof over your head, while you’re wasting your money on ballet. You shall not dance again, Clementine, not while I am living. I shall make sure of it. It is time you got a real job.’
That is when I hear the ripping sound and my head finally shoots up as horror slices through me. She is holding my costume. Madame Lebedev’s nymph costume. The beautiful satin folds are between her bony fingers and she is pulling them apart. My blood runs cold. I am frozen in horror. Her expression is victorious. She knows she has finally won but she keeps going. She pulls at the delicate material with all her might and it rips once more. A strangled exclamation escapes my throat, but there are no words, just pain as she tears at the dress once more …
Madame’s beautiful dress! She trusted me and this is how I have repaid her. Mother pulls at the neck, splitting the bodice in two. She is right. I am selfish. If I had never worn the dress, this would not be happening. It isn’t just a dress, it is a memory of Madame’s previous life before she had to flee Russia. A memento of when she was one of the greatest dancers in the world. It is all she has left, and now it is in pieces, all because of me. With every rip and tear, it feels as if Mother is pulling my own heart apart, until eventually I buckle and fall to my knees. Satisfied, she finally tosses the dress at my feet.
‘You will not leave your bedroom without my permission. You will not see Mr Draper again. And you will not defy me again.’ She rises triumphantly from the bed, leaving me broken on the floor, and I hear the turning of a key in the lock as she leaves.