Authors: Sarah Webb
Dancing Daze (13 page)
“You’re not helping, Mum.”
“Sorry. But I’m sure she’ll come around. And I have something that might cheer you up. I was going to give it to you after your homework, but you can have it now.” And she hands over a magazine.
I instantly recognize the face smiling out from the front cover. It’s Claire Starr, her dark hair scraped back in a high ballerina bun, the sides plaited with thin white ribbon. She’s wearing a simple white-chiffon dress, and she looks stunning.
“Clover dropped this off earlier,” Mum says. “It’s a great piece. She’s a clever writer, that sister of mine, I’ll give her that.”
Mum’s only trying to be nice, and I shouldn’t be taking my feelings out on her, so to make up for it, I say, “You’re a great writer too, Mum. It must run in the family.”
She smiles. “Thank you, Amy. That’s a nice thing to say. You can have a break to read Clover’s article. Then, when you’re feeling a little better, it’s back to your homework. Deal?”
“Deal.” I flip open the magazine before Mum has a chance to change her mind.
“Try to stay positive, Amy,” she says. “Time is a great healer.”
“Mum! I’m trying to read.”
“OK, OK, I’m going, I’m going. I’m glad you seem to have perked up a bit. Oh, and Clover said to ring her once you’ve finished reading the article. You know my sis, a total praise monkey.”
“Will do.” Any excuse to ring Clover.
I find Clover’s interview near the front of the
Goss.
A whole three pages of it too! I start to read:
Claire Starr is a name you’d better start getting used to hearing. This megatalented Irish seventeen-year-old is about to set the stage of the Bord Gáis Energy Theatre alight with her stirring rendition of Juliet. Watch out, world, there’s a new Starr on the horizon. But where did Claire get her amazing talent, and what drives her? The
Goss
sent its own rising star, Clover M. Wildgust, behind the scenes to find out . . .
Ireland is not known for its ballerinas. Apart from Ninette de Valois, who set up the famous Sadler’s Wells Ballet in London, and Monica Loughman, who danced with the Perm Ballet and now has her own ballet company in Dublin, few Irish dancers have hit the headlines. But Claire Starr is set to change all that. And like both Loughman and de Valois, she started young.
“I’ve been dancing since I was tiny,” Claire tells me from her family home in Glenageary, Co. Dublin. “I was always skipping and jigging around the house, and Mum thought I’d like ballet, so she enrolled me in Miss Smitten’s School of Dance when I was three. I loved it from the very first day. And then in February 2010, Miss Smitten heard that the Budapest Ballet Company was in Dublin auditioning for students. She thought I was ready, so she put me forward. And the rest is history.”
I read on, fascinated. Although I know Claire’s background better than almost anyone, Clover still manages to make it interesting. Mum’s right, she’s a really good writer. Clover goes on to ask Claire about Budapest and the academy, information I already know from reading Claire’s diary, of course. Claire tells Clover about the journey from pupil to soloist, about the tough classes and the demands that ballet puts on dancers’ bodies. It’s all fairly upbeat, but toward the end of the interview, the tone changes a little.
So what’s in the future for this extraordinary girl? And what roles would she like to dance?
“Definitely the Sugar Plum Fairy in
The Nutcracker,
” Claire says with a smile. “It was the first ballet I ever watched live as a child. Mum took me for my birthday when I was eight, and I’ve never forgotten it. And Giselle, obviously. And Odette-Odile, the white swan and the black swan, in
Swan Lake.
That’s an amazing role. As for the future, I’m just not sure. It will depend on a lot of things. Don’t get me wrong, I love dancing, but I miss home a lot, and it’s a tough world. You have to fight both physically and mentally to stay on top. Will I still be dancing in five, ten, fifteen years’ time? To be honest, I just don’t know.”
Hopefully Claire Starr will continue to dance for many years to come. She’s just too good not to. And maybe after that, she will teach a new generation of young Irish dancers by setting up her own ballet school in Dublin, like Monica Loughman. But one thing is for sure: the Irish Ballerina’s debut as Juliet is not to be missed!
I put the magazine down on my desk and sit back in my chair. I give a low whistle. That’s a pretty honest interview. Claire is definitely having second thoughts about her ballet career. And I’m almost positive it’s all because of Zsuzsanna and the bullying. I can’t keep the information to myself any longer. I have to tell someone. Claire’s ballet career is at stake. Luckily, there’s someone I can tell who will understand instantly, someone who (I hope!) won’t judge me for reading Claire’s diary in the first place. I pick up my iPhone and ring Clover.
“Y’ello?” she says brightly. “You are speaking to the rising star of the magazine world. How can I be of assistance?”
“Fabarooney interview, Clover. Best yet. Even Mum’s impressed.”
“It’s pretty spectacular, isn’t it? And Saffy digs it with a capital
D.
I’ve never heard the woman gush before, but gush she did, like a fountain. In fact, she loved the piece so much, she’s asked me to do a follow-up interview. She wants me to find out more about Claire’s life in Budapest and the ‘grueling reality of a dancer’s life,’ triggered by Claire’s confession that she might give it all up someday soon, which I have to admit I also found pretty shocking, as I told you before. I still wish I could help her. There was definitely something on her mind on the day of the interview.”
I already knew I had to tell Clover about Claire’s diary, but thankfully she’s just given me the perfect in! I take a deep breath and before I can chicken out say quickly, “I think I know what’s wrong with Claire . . . She’s being bullied.”
“
Bullied?
Seriously? How do you know that, Beanie? Did Claire say something to Mills about it?”
“No, I read Claire’s diary.”
“
What?
I don’t understand.”
I tell Clover exactly what happened: how I stumbled on Claire’s diary while she was home for the prepublicity tour, and how I made a copy and then read it. I explain what I’ve discovered about Zsuzsanna and the kick marks. As I talk, I can feel my cheeks burning with shame.
“I know it was a terrible thing to do,” I say finally. “Reading someone’s private thoughts like that is unforgivable. But I didn’t feel I had any other choice. Claire is so obviously in pain, and I want to help her.”
There’s silence for a few seconds and I wait in agony for Clover to say something.
Eventually she sighs. “Sometimes life is complicated, Beanie, that’s for sure. No, you shouldn’t have read Claire’s diary. It was one hundred percent wrong, but I can tell you’re genuinely worried about her, and I think you have every reason to be. So in this case, I guess maybe the end justifies the means.”
“So you’re not disappointed in me for stealing her diary and reading it?” I feel almost dizzy with relief.
“No, Beans. I probably would have done exactly the same thing if I’d been in your shoes. And if I know you, you’re probably already beating yourself up about it every single day. Am I right?”
“Yes,” I admit. “
Serious
guilt pangs.”
“And that’s just something you’re going to have to live with, I’m afraid. But this does make my next piece of news rather interesting for both of us. Saffy’s flying me out to Budapest to talk to Claire. My darling editor wants me to hang out with Claire for a day, watch a
Romeo and Juliet
rehearsal, get a feel for where she lives, what she eats, what the other dancers are like — that kind of thing. Plus, I have to organize a couple of photo shoots. We’re getting an amazing response to my first interview with Claire, and Saffy’s itching to make the next interview another cover story. She’s putting me up in a swanky boutique hotel and everything. And, boy, am I hungry for Hungary.”
I laugh. “That’s terrible, Clover. The joke, I mean. But it’s fantastic news, and you really deserve it. You rocked that interview.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“And maybe you can get Claire to open up about the bullying. Encourage her to talk to someone, get some help.”
“Ah, that’s where my second piece of news comes in. Are you sitting down, Green Bean? I talked to Sylvie earlier and . . . you’re coming to Budapest with me! So we can talk to Claire together.”
I squeal. “Are you serious, Clover?”
“
Absolument,
babes. Would your old aunt lie to you? The tickets are already booked. We’re leaving Friday late afternoon for two nights of ballet balhooey in Budapest.”
I still don’t quite believe it. “Are you sure Mum said yes?”
“I talked her around. But you so owe me one, Beanie.”
“I owe you a lot more than one, Clover. Can we do the whole touristy thing? Visit the art gallery? I haven’t had a proper art fix for ages. And I’m sure there are castles, and museums and . . .” The line’s gone quiet. “Clover? Are you still there?”
“You’re joking, right? Culture, smulture. Not this trip, babes, sorry! You’ve got the wrong girl. I intend to eat, drink, and be merry. Oh, and have a good old soak in one of the famous baths. . . . Oops, Brains is on the other line. Better boogie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And no guidebook studying, OK? Promise? I don’t want any lectures on Hungarian history on the plane.”
I cross my fingers. “Promise.”
I click off my iPhone, a big grin on my face. Budapest! With Clover! And only four more sleeps!
“Nothing’s going to happen, Beanie,” Clover says as we take our seats in the blue Aircoach bus. “Stop being such a worrywart.”
“You say that, but something always goes wrong. On the way to Paris, you forgot your passport and Gramps had to tear up the M50 to give it to you. On the way to Miami, we nearly missed our flight ’cause you were trying on posh sunglasses. When it comes to traveling, you’re jinxed.”
“Not this time, babes,” she says confidently. “My passport’s safely in my handbag, along with the tickets, my laptop, and thousands of florints.” She pats the chic tan Alexa satchel, “borrowed” from the
Goss
’s fashion wardrobe especially for the occasion.
“
Thousands
of florints? Are we rich?”
“Don’t get too excited. There are about three hundred florints to a euro. It’s for our expenses. And that does not include icky, cheap, plastic models of Hungarian castles.”
“Boo!” I say. Clover knows I love touristy things, the tackier the better. “So how long is the flight?” I ask.
“Just under three hours.”
“And will you be snoozing, snoring, and drooling as usual?”
“I do not snore or drool, Beanie. How dare you!”
I smile to myself. She
so
does.
Sure enough, halfway over England, Clover is already sounding like a Great Dane with an adenoids problem. She’s snoring seriously loudly. Comedy loudly. Everyone’s staring at her, and they don’t look happy. I’d better do something. After taking out my iPhone, I stick it in front of her open mouth and make a short sound recording. Then I shake her arm. “Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty.”
She gives one last shuddery snort, then peels her eyes open slowly, one by one. “What? Are we there?”
I shake my head. “Some of the passengers are starting to get seriously worried. They think there’s a farmyard animal on board.”
I press “play” on my mobile, and her slobbery snores ring out.
“Beanie!” she cries. “That’s disgusting. That can’t be me.”
“It is, Miss Snuffleupagus.”
“Maybe I have a bit of a cold or something. I don’t normally snore, you know.”
I try not to laugh.
“You’ll have to keep me awake, just in case,” she says huffily. “Tell me some interesting facts about Budapest. I know you’ve been secretly reading that travel guide you’ve sneaked into your backpack.”
I love travel guides, especially glossy ones with lots of photographs. I like to know a bit about the history of a place before I visit. Clover thinks it’s boring, but Mum says that’s because Clover’s mind is a cultural black hole and her idea of history is last year’s
X Factor.