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CHAPTER

One

Ellie Trengilly stood in the middle of the biggest gym she’d ever seen in her life. A vast white space with a sea of blue mats spreading out in all directions, white brick walls stretching up to viewing balconies and vaulted ceilings, and an arch leading to a pitted area. The National Sports Training Centre was all so shiny-new and high-tech that if Ellie’s heart hadn’t been bursting with excitement, she would almost have felt homesick for the familiar tatty surroundings of her old Academy. Almost.

Ellie still couldn’t believe she’d been offered a place in the Junior GB gymnastics squad! Only twelve girls qualified for that honour each year. It meant they were invited to attend National squad camps like this one: a week of intensive training with top coaches at the National Sports Training Centre. It meant they were entitled to wear the coveted GB leotard, and it might – just might – mean a chance to compete for their country.

Of course, that was still a distant dream – for now, just being invited to National squad camp was enough for Ellie, as well as the fact that she was there with some of her best friends from the London Gymnastics Academy! Sweet, sensible Bella and Kashvi the tomboy were there, and even crazy little circus girl Katya had been offered a place – incredible, since she’d only started formal gymnastics training less than a year ago. And then there was Scarlett, Queen of the Beam – although Ellie didn’t really consider her a friend!

Not all of her old Pre-Elite squad mates had made it into National squad, though. Camille had missed out due to injury, and Nancy . . . Ellie sighed at the thought of her best friend, who had given up gymnastics last year. Nancy’s twin brother, Tam, was here with the boys’ squad, but it wasn’t quite the same as having Nancy herself here to share everything with.

‘Welcome to National squad camp.’ Ellie’s thoughts were dragged sharply back to the present by the small, elegant, grey-haired figure of Barbara Steele, head national coach. She was addressing the twelve Junior girls who were lined up on the practice floor in their GB leotards, the Union Jack running across the shiny red fabric. Ellie had dreamed of wearing a GB leotard for her whole life and she still couldn’t believe she’d finally earned the right to do so.

‘I’ll be overseeing all of the training camps taking place this week,’ Barbara went on, looking them up and down critically, ‘from the Seniors down to the babies who’ll be arriving in a day or two.’

Ellie glanced over to where the Senior National squad were already warming up on the other side of the gym. She recognised Sian Edwards and Sophia Mitford, the two most senior gymnasts at the Academy, as well as a few other well-known faces. Just watching them made a shiver go down her spine. They had represented GB at the last Olympics, and Ellie dreamed of following in their footsteps one day. She could hardly believe she was training side by side with them now.

But Barbara’s reference to the babies also made Ellie remember that most of the girls lined up alongside her had been coming to National squad camps since they were eight or nine years old. She was a late joiner – she had only arrived at the Academy last year – and so she had to prove she was as good as her squad mates.

‘Your focus in this camp will be on new skills,’ Barbara went on. ‘You’ll be working on new combination tumbles on the floor, more advanced vaults and acrobatics series on the beam, as well as new flight element combinations on the bars.’

Ellie felt a flicker of excitement. The last few months had been all about perfecting old skills. The opportunity to work on new manouevres was terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

‘I want to see each of you stretching yourselves to the max,’ said Barbara. ‘I’ll be looking for potential in this camp – I’m already thinking ahead to selections for European Championships later in the year.’

Ellie’s heart started pounding again. Only five of the girls standing here today would be selected to go to Berlin for Euros. And looking at the others, she couldn’t imagine she would be one of them. Apart from her old Academy squad mates – all of whom were stunning gymnasts – they were also up against Eva Reddle, the Junior British Champion, and her friend Willow Hall, both from the famous Liverpool gym. Then there were two incredibly talented Welsh gymnasts – Phoebe and Rosa – and a sweet little Irish girl called Niamh. And then there was Memory Danster.

Memory was the same age as Ellie but she looked much older. She was mid height with a tight, compact frame, broad shoulders and limbs so muscly they made Ellie’s look like twigs that might snap at any minute. Even the expression on Memory’s face was fierce. Her dark hair was tightly plaited to her scalp in cornrows which ran away from her furrowed brow, beneath which were a set of intense black eyes and a firmly-set mouth that looked as if it had forgotten how to smile.

Ellie had tried to say hello as they’d put their stuff in the lockers earlier, but Memory had completely blanked her.

‘Perhaps she is just shy,’ said serious, dark-haired Bella, who always tried to see the best in everyone.

‘Or maybe she is getting out of bed on wrong side this morning,’ said Katya. The tiny blonde-haired girl had grown up performing in a circus in Moscow, and she still spoke with a pronounced Russian accent. ‘She will be friendly tomorrow.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Ellie. From Memory’s fierce expression, though, Ellie got the feeling that she wasn’t here to make friends.

‘I’ll mainly be working with the Senior squad girls in the lead-up to Euros,’ Barbara Steele was saying. Ellie tore her eyes away from Memory to focus on the head coach. ‘But I am thrilled to announce that a brand-new coach will be overseeing the Junior GB squad.’

A shiver of excitement and anticipation rippled through the line of gymnasts. Katya turned to Ellie and mouthed, ‘Lizzie ?’

Ellie’s stomach did a flip. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

Lizzie Trengilly – Ellie’s aunt – had been the greatest GB gymnast of all time, until her career had come to a tragic end when she was just eighteen, after a terrible fall at the Olympics.

‘She is a name so familiar that she hardly needs an introduction,’ Barbara went on. ‘And she knows better than almost anyone what it takes to get to the top.’

Ellie’s heart was racing. Could it be . . . could it be?

The thought of Lizzie being here – now – seemed both impossible and impossibly exciting! Ellie hadn’t seen her for years. After her accident Lizzie had gone travelling round the world, barely sending more than the occasional postcard home. Ellie had always believed that Lizzie wasn’t interested in her own gym career until the discovery a few months ago that her aunt had been watching all along. After that, Ellie’s longing to see Lizzie – talk to her – get to know her – had deepened to a desperate ache.

‘Ah, here she is . . .’ said Barbara. ‘Right on cue!’

Ellie heard the door to the gym swing open and the sound of footsteps crossing the mats. Her heart was pounding as she tried to catch a glimpse in the mirror, but she was standing at the wrong angle to see.

Could it be? Recently rumours had been circulating about Lizzie leaving her coaching job in California, about her returning to the the UK.

‘Let me introduce . . . Vivian Ponting.’

Ellie turned round. There, striding across the blue floor in flip flops, was not Aunt Lizzie, but a taller gymnast, with broad shoulders, bleached blonde hair and a face so tanned her smile glowed whitely out of it.

‘Hi guys!’ the woman said, in a strong Australian drawl. ‘It’s grand to meet you all.’

Ellie’s heart did a bellyflop. She felt a bitter pang of disappointment.

‘Vivian is a vault expert,’ Barbara was saying. ‘She has an Olympic gold medal on vault, and she won all-around silver at World Champs as both a Junior and Senior gymnast, by performing some of the most difficult vaults ever seen in competition.’

As Ellie tried to push her disappointment to one side, she stared at the coach. Vivian’s face looked familiar, although she couldn’t quite place why.

‘Vivian has been coaching in Australia,’ Barbara went on, ‘but she’s kindly agreed to give up the sun and surf to help prepare you girls for Junior Europeans.’

Ellie knew she should be excited. They were lucky to be working with someone so experienced. She could teach them so much, and Ellie had come to National squad camp to learn. But all she could think was that Vivian wasn’t Aunt Lizzie.

Vivian looked the line of gymnasts up and down critically. ‘You’ll hear a lot of people talking about the qualities that make great gymnasts,’ she said in her lazy Australian drawl. ‘Precision, technical skill, grace, artistry. These are all important.’ Vivian’s eyes narrowed as if she was weighing up each girl’s potential in a single glance.

‘But times are changing,’ she went on. ‘Nowadays great gymnastics, the kind of gymnastics you need to get to the top, requires power.’ Her eyes came to rest on Memory for a second. ‘I’ve no doubt you girls are bendy and graceful.’ Vivian spoke dismissively as if none of that mattered. ‘But to tackle new skills some of you are going to need to seriously build up your strength.’

Ellie glanced at herself in the mirror. She knew she was still short for her age, and compared to some of the others she was delicate. So were Bella and Katya. But she also knew all three of them possessed strength that might not be obvious.

‘Strength protects you from injury,’ Vivian went on. ‘Torn muscles, ripped ligaments – all these are common in gymnastics because it’s a high impact sport. The stronger you are, the less likely you are to sustain injuries.’

Ellie couldn’t help thinking of Camille, out for a year with an ACL tear, and of Aunt Lizzie after her terrible fall at the Olympics; laid up in bed, her leg in plaster and all her hopes and dreams lying in tatters around her.

‘So I’m going to build up your strength,’ Vivian said. ‘It’s not going to be pretty – you’re going to go to hell and back. But power comes from pain, that’s what I say.’

Ellie knew that Nancy would have had something to say about Vivian’s ‘pain is power’ mantra! She’d probably also have done a funny impression of the coach’s Aussie accent which would have had them all in stitches. But maybe it was a good thing that Nancy wasn’t there: Vivian didn’t look like the type who would approve of giggling. She looked as though she didn’t approve of much, in fact. Ellie had thought the Academy coaches were strict, but she had a feeling that Vivian would be ten times worse.

‘Right, let’s get to it!’ said Vivian. ‘The pain starts here, ladies!’