It was weeks before the letter arrived, addressed to Ellen, care of the school. The American Academy of Classical Ballet was offering Ellen Livingstone Kirby an inaugural scholarship and placement, beginning in the following term.
Ellen waited until Margaret had relaxed after work before handing her the letter, along with one from Louise, explaining what a great honour it was and how proud they all were.
Margaret put the letter down and laughed long and loudly. Watching her, Ellen began to feel afraid and wished she had dropped the letter, as she had considered doing, into the lily pool.
Suddenly Margaret stopped.There was a strange look on her face, her mouth was twisted and her eyes too wide. She seemed to be searching for something to say, or do.
‘Do you want to go?’ she asked bluntly.
Say no. Say no. Say no. Ellen’s heart pounded.
‘Yes, I want to go. I want to be a dancer.’
Margaret’s face spun away from her.
‘You wouldn’t have to clean up after me,’ Ellen went on, then paused, overtaken suddenly by a wild thought. Margaret might not want to lose her! ‘I’d come home in the holidays. It’d just be like anyone going to boarding school.’
Margaret’s face was unreadable. She held up the letter and glanced over it again. ‘Now what do we have here?’ she mused. ‘ “Consent form … indemnity … parent or guardian sign below …” ’ She took a pen from her bag and signed the document carefully with her elaborate signature. Then she folded the paper and handed it to Ellen, glancing at her briefly with hard, bright eyes.
Ellen walked slowly upstairs, the letter like a sacred offering in her hands. She wanted to run and dance with joy. She wanted to see Eildon’s face, glowing with pride. She wanted to take Perdy in her arms and hug him tight. She stumbled over the top stair, her eyes blurred with tears. More than anything she wanted Margaret, mother, to say ‘well done’—to smile at her daughter with pride and love in her eyes.
Margaret came later to Ellen’s room, a glass of pale spirit in her hand.
‘I hope you’re not packing already?’ She laughed again, with the twisted mouth. ‘You’re not really going—you know that, don’t you.’
Ellen stood quietly, knowing that some new wild card was about to be played. There always was one.
Margaret sighed. ‘If it really was a full scholarship, I could hardly stop you. It wouldn’t be right to stand in your way, with your talent. But, as you’ll see if you read on past the glorious opener, the scholarship doesn’t cover living-in expenses, or dance requisites—whatever they might be. They say it costs hundreds more each term.You know I couldn’t possibly afford to take on any more expense, I work so hard as it is.’ She shrugged, with a pained look on her face. ‘Unless you’ve got some secret source of money, I’m very much afraid it’s just a dream, sweetheart—going off by yourself.’ She stared at Ellen, fear shadowing her eyes. Then she spun round and headed for the door. As she reached it, the glass fell from her hand. It smashed, scattering jagged shards.A strong, sharp smell permeated the air.
Ellen stood gazing after her, hearing her footsteps on the stairs. She was running—running away.
In the days that followed, Margaret came home late as usual. She checked Ellen’s homework and inspected her hands and spent the evenings in her study, reading. Slowly the silence of the house returned to normal, as if there had been no letter, no mad dream to come between them. Ellen tried to tell herself that it was over, the whole thing best forgotten.
But when she visited Eildon, he sensed that something was wrong, and pushed her to say what it was. When she told him about the scholarship to the new academy his face lit up with pride and excitement. He jumped up, scattering kittens, and grasped her hand. ‘Well done!’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘That’s my girl!’
‘But I can’t go,’ Ellen said bitterly. ‘You have to pay for lots of things and Margaret can’t afford it.’
Eildon’s smile froze. ‘Is that what she said?’ he asked incredulously.
Ellen nodded. ‘We have lots of expenses. And she works very hard already.’
‘Too hard,’ agreed Eildon, but with no hint of sympathy on his face. He bent to scratch the ear of a cat that rubbed itself around his ankles. ‘Do you want to go?’ he asked quietly.
‘I want to be a dancer,’ answered Ellen. ‘It’s something I can do …’ She breathed in slowly. ‘But she won’t let me. That’s that. She never changes her mind.’
‘She will this time,’ said Eildon firmly. His eyes narrowed, becoming hard and angry.
‘What?’ Ellen shifted nervously in her chair.
‘I may look a bit ragged around the edges these days,’ he said, ‘but I’ve still got contacts.’ There was a moment of quiet, broken only by the low rumble of purring cats. When he spoke again, Eildon’s voice was light, almost casual. ‘She’s a very respected pediatrician, your mother.’
Ellen nodded. ‘People come all the way from England to see her.’
‘Yes,’ said Eildon. ‘I heard she was being considered for an honorary chair at Harvard.’
‘She’ll be the first woman to manage it,’ Ellen stated. Her chin lifted, showing a tinge of pride.
‘Hmmm.’ Eildon’s mouth was a thin line, pulled down at the corners. ‘It just seems odd to me, I guess, the way she spends so much time helping other children and meanwhile you’re left at home by yourself. I’ve never been happy about it.’ He kept on stroking a big old tomcat that lay over his knees. The movement was steady but too hard, so that finally the cat squeezed free and escaped. ‘Any way you look at it,’ Eildon went on, ‘it’s a damned shame. How old are you? Ten? Eleven? It sounds like a case of neglect to me.’
Ellen stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. Her lips parted, waiting to form words. Finally they came in a flood. ‘But Margaret has to work late. There’s all those sick children. They need her at the hospital.’
‘Well, it’s time someone thought about what you need,’ said Eildon firmly. ‘I think I’ll have a little chat with Doctor Margaret. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll take it up with my colleagues at Harvard. They would agree with me, I feel sure.’
‘No, don’t!’ Ellen pleaded. ‘She’ll be angry.’
‘So will I,’ Eildon responded. He leaned forward, looking straight into Ellen’s eyes. ‘Look, you don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure it works out.’
‘But you don’t …’ Ellen began, then her voice trailed off.
‘Trust me,’ said Eildon. ‘It’ll be all right. I promise.’ His faded blue eyes held Ellen’s until she nodded, slowly. ‘Good girl,’ he smiled.
Ellen bent to pick up Perdy and hug him against her chest. She looked down into his eyes, one blue, one brown. ‘Margaret likes me, you know,’ she said. Her voice was faint, vague, like the wisps of fur floating in the air. ‘She does.’
Eildon’s his face softened. ‘Sure she does. But she has to devote herself to her work. It’s impossible for her to look after you as well. What she needs for her daughter is a really good boarding school. And I’m sure the dancing academy would do just fine!’
‘But there’s still the money,’ Ellen said. Her face was strained with uncertainty, torn between hope and pain.
‘To hell with money!’ Eildon grinned as he waved his hand towards the parlour. ‘I’ve got a lot of valuable old junk in there, going to ruin. I’ll pay.’
‘You can’t do that—’ Ellen began, but Eildon leaned forward and placed his finger on her lips. She felt it there, rough-skinned, but gentle.
‘You can have it all,’ he said. ‘My horse, my kingdom …’ He clasped his hands together, mock-begging. ‘Anything for a smile.’
Ellen’s lips wavered. Tears filled her eyes and began to slide down her cheeks. But at last the smile came, wide and lasting, pushing out fear.
When the day came to leave, the skies were blue and the air laced with sunshine. The train station was noisy and crowded. Porters wove crooked paths between ragged groups of passengers, onlookers and friends. Piles of luggage dotted the ground.
Margaret stood near the edge of the platform, one high-heeled, ox-blood shoe tapping a tense beat against the concrete. Eildon was beside her—a big, still shape. Ellen hovered in front, turning her eyes from one face to the other. She swung her arms awkwardly around her body, feeling the stiffness of the new school uniform brushing her legs. In the pocket of her blazer was a small sharp-edged card, tucked close to her heart. On one side was a black-and-white photograph of her face, big dark eyes gazing out. On the other, it said ‘Student Identity Card. American Academy of Classical Ballet’. Ellen sensed it there, hidden, like the proof of a crime.
Margaret handed Ellen’s bags to Eildon with a grim smile and a nod, as if some transaction were being completed.
The guard whistled. Eildon carried the bags onto the train, then came back with a smile. ‘Time to say goodbye.’ He drew Ellen towards him and hugged her hard, smelling of tweed, cats and herbs. ‘You take care now.’ His voice was close in her ear. ‘And write me, you hear?’
Now it was Margaret’s turn. ‘Goodbye, Ellen.’ A kiss on the cheek. A touch of crisp cotton collar. Ellen jerked back, panic springing up inside her. There was no perfume. No hint of any scent at all. She stared, cold with guilt, as if it meant, somehow, that Margaret was dead. Killed. Betrayed. Left alone again.
From the window of the train, Margaret and Eildon looked small. A man and a woman standing side by side, like any mom and pop. Ellen tried to pretend that they were; that they loved each other, and loved her; that they would miss her.
The train pulled away. The two figures waved. Ellen waved back. She opened her mouth to call goodbye, but her voice could not be found.
She sat in the train, rocking with its motion, her head bumping rhythmically against the hard, cold window. Her ticket was limp and damp in her hand. Her shoulders slumped and tears rolled down her cheeks as the train carried her further and further away. She felt numb, frozen; caught between pain, fear and loss and a dim, warm hope.