Little Swan (5 page)

Weezer unpacked her suitcase. She lined up her make-up, her brush, and her comb. Then she looked at herself in the mirror. “Do I look tired, Annie? I didn’t sleep too well.”

“You look fine,” I said. “Sit down and I’ll do your hair.”

Weezer had dressed carefully. She wouldn’t have to take anything off over her head. My task was to arrange her hair in one thick plait and twist it around into a bun-shape. Each swan had to wear a white satin headband.

“Make my hair flat,” said Weezer. “Use lots of pins to hold the bun.”

“Right,” I said. “You don’t want your hair falling down in front of all those people.” I saw Weezer turn pale.

“Don’t panic,” I said. “I’m only joking. It’ll take a lot more than one dance to shake this plait loose.”

Then the other dancers arrived. I’d just started smoothing pale green eye shadow on Weezer’s eyelids. She couldn’t see her friends but that didn’t stop her from talking.

“Hi, Tricia,” she said. “Hi, Maisie. Are you nervous? I’m so nervous I couldn’t sleep. Could you sleep?”

“I could sleep,” said Maisie, “but I couldn’t
eat. I felt sick. I still feel a bit sick.”

“So do I,” said Weezer. “And hot. And cold.”

“You can’t feel hot and cold both at once,” I said. “It’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not,” said Weezer. “My face feels hot and my feet feel cold. And I think I’ve forgotten how to dance.”

“Hello, ladies,” said Miss Matting, coming into the room. “I see you’ve all settled in. Keep your things in good order. We don’t want everyone going home with the wrong make-up. Now don’t forget . . . lots of white powder and pink lips. I hope no one has brought dark red lipstick.”

Elizabeth had.

Miss Matting said: “That’s much too dark, sweetheart. Borrow Louisa’s. It’s just the right colour.” Weezer was pleased.

“When can we put on our costumes, Miss Matting?”

“Wait a while, dear. Everything is clean and stiff now. The tulle will go all limp and floppy if you sit about in it for ages. Now I must go and visit the boys.”

The boys were getting ready to perform their snowman dance. “I don’t know why she’s
going to see them,” said Sharon. “They’re not nervous.”

“Maybe they’re as nervous as we are,” said Tricia. “They just don’t like to show it, so they rush about.”

“They’re silly,” said Lauren. “They won’t have any energy left to dance with.”

“Yes, they will. They always rush about,” said Chantelle. “They’re used to it.”

The girls sat on their chairs and passed the time by telling ballet horror stories.

“Once, Margaret’s ribbons came undone. She fell over them and broke her ankle,” said one girl.

“I heard about a girl who was fine in rehearsal. Then she went on stage and started dancing all the wrong steps,” said another.

“Stop!” I said. “You’re all mad. You’ll be perfect. You’re just nervous. You should go and put your costumes on now.”

Weezer grinned. “You sound just like a proper wardrobe mistress.”

Louisa had just got her costume on when there was a knock at the door. “Who’s that?” said Maisie. “No one’s allowed backstage before the show.” There was more knocking.

“Come in,” I called. A young man came in.
He was holding an enormous box made of pink-and-white striped cardboard.

“Is there a Miss Weezer Blair here?” he asked. “I have a delivery for a Miss Weezer Blair from the Blissful Bites Bakery.”

“I’m Weezer,” said Weezer.

“Then I think this is for you.”

“WHAT IS IT?”
asked Tricia.

“Who sent it?” Chantelle wanted to know.

“Where should I put it?” asked the young man from the bakery.

“There’s a table over here,” said Weezer, hugging herself. “Who do you think it’s from, Annie? And what is it?”

“Open it and have a look,” I said. The young man put the box down. Then he almost ran towards the door as a crowd of girls gathered round the table. There was a gold envelope sellotaped to the lid.

“I’m going to read the card first,” said Weezer. Nobody said a word.

“It’s from Dad,” she told us at last. Her smile was the widest I’d ever seen. “He says, ‘I know you will be a tremendous success. After the show, please share this cake with all the other swans, big and little. Make sure to give
some to Annie and your mum and anyone else who’s around.’ Oh, Annie, Dad’s sent a cake! Take the lid off and let’s see it.”

The cake was huge and round. The sides were covered in white icing. Pale blue icing over the top of the cake had been shaped into waves and ripples.

“It’s a lake,” said Weezer. “It’s Swan Lake, look! There are the swans . . . eight of them. And they’ve put trees all around the water, too. This is the best cake I’ve ever seen. What are the swans made of, Annie? Can you eat them?” I touched one to see.

“No, they’re plastic,” I said.

“Great!” said Weezer.

While everyone was admiring the cake, she whispered in my ear, “I’m going to give a swan to everyone who’s in my dance. And to the understudies. Isn’t it lucky they put eight swans on the cake?”

“Very lucky,” I said.

Just at that moment, Miss Matting came in. She said, “Louisa, is that your cake?”

“Yes, Miss Matting.”

“How beautiful!” She looked around the dressing room.

“Is everyone ready to go on? Yes, I can see
that you are. Good. Now we have a special visitor. I know that you’ll all want to hear what this person has to say. Please, everyone, sit down quietly.”

For one instant, I thought: maybe it’s Dad. Maybe he came, after all. But it wasn’t Dad. It was the last person I expected to see backstage.

“Mrs Posnansky!” Weezer jumped up. “What are you doing here! Why aren’t you with Mum?”

“Ssh, dear,” said Miss Matting. “Sit down and listen. Children, this is a friend and neighbour of the Blairs’. Her name is Nina Posnansky, and she has a very interesting story to tell.”

I hardly recognized Mrs Posnansky. She usually wore dark, shapeless clothes, but she had put on her best outfit for Weezer’s show. It was a purple silk dress. She had a sequinned scarf around her neck. She smiled at us. In her hand she held a paper shopping bag.

“Good evening, girls,” she said. “My English is so bad, but you forgive. I come from Russia. My mother was a ballet dancer long ago. Her name was Natasha Arlosorovska. Before I am born, she dances in Paris. She dances
Swan Lake
in corps de ballet.
This I already tell Weezer and Annie.”

Weezer nodded. “That’s right. I’m going to Mrs Posnansky’s house to look at her photo albums.”

“I bring here one picture,” said Mrs Posnansky. She took a photograph in a silver frame out of her paper bag. “This is my mama. She does the Dance of the Little Swans. Is second from right.”

The girls passed the photograph from hand to hand. Four beautiful dancers stood in front of a backcloth painted with dark trees and a moonlit lake. Their dresses were old-fashioned, but you could see exactly what they were meant to be.

“Imagine!” said Miss Matting. “This photo was taken eighty-four years ago, and yet the dancers look just like our own Little Swans.”

“They’re beautiful,” said Weezer, going up to Mrs Posnansky and giving her back the photo. “Your mother is the prettiest.”

“Wait,” said Mrs Posnansky. “I have for you something very special. You come to see me. You offer me ticket. After you go home, I think. I think a lot. I remember suitcase of Mama. Is under bed. I pull out suitcase. I think, maybe is still there, the special surprise.
I look, I look. Is much old clothes, old shoes. Is jewels and scarves. Then I find . . .” She reached into the paper bag. “The headdress of my mother. This is what I seek for Weezer. This is what I wish to give a new Little Swan.”

Weezer’s eyes were shining. “Oh, my goodness!” she breathed. “Real feathers! Is this the one your mother is wearing in the picture?”

“Oh, yes, same one,” said Mrs Posnansky.

“And you’ll let me wear it for the show?”

“Yes, for the show,” said Mrs Posnansky. “But you keep forever. For gift. Is good luck for the ballet. Come. I put it on.”

Weezer ran to Mrs Posnansky. She flung her arms around her. She hugged her. Weezer hardly ever hugs anybody.

“It’s the best present ever,” she said. Mrs Posnansky arranged the white feathered headdress on Weezer’s head. Everyone started clapping. Weezer blushed and smiled.

“Well,” said Miss Matting. “I’ve been putting on shows for years, but I’ve never been so thrilled. Thank you so much, Mrs Posnansky.”

“Yes, thank you!” everyone else called out. Mrs Posnansky turned to leave the room.

“I wish you all wonderful dance,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

“I’ve got to go now, too,” I told Weezer. “I have to get to my place before the show starts. Good luck, Weezer. You look just like a proper ballerina.”

“That’s what I feel like,” she said, pointing her toe and lifting her arms gracefully into the air. “A really, truly, proper one.”

THE THEATRE OF
Fairvale High was full. The parents and families of all the dancers had crowded in to see the show. Mum and Mrs Posnansky had listened to Weezer. They’d arrived early and found seats in the front row. Mrs Posnansky’s sequined scarf glittered and sparkled. She and Mum were studying the programme when I came to sit down.