Читать книгу Match Pointe - Indigo Bloome - Страница 7

To those in the know, Eloise Lawrance was the latest up-and-coming star on Britain’s ballet scene, and had just been chosen to dance the lead in Swan Lake. Her movements were technically perfect, her timing precise, and due to her young age perhaps she could be forgiven for lacking a little passion or soul in her otherwise flawless performances.

Eloise was uniquely beautiful, though she only ever saw the imperfections in herself. Men and women alike were attracted to her fragile radiance, but she never noticed their attentions. She wished her fingers were a little longer and her feet were more delicate, but most of all she longed for her hair to be manageable and straight – which was why she seldom wore it out. Her soft translucent skin only caused her frustration, as she could never go out in the sun without it freckling, and she believed her aquamarine eyes were too big for her heart-shaped face, instead of seeing them as her most distinctive feature. At least her body proved to have excellent proportions for a ballerina, though she would have preferred a tad more height.

Yet Eloise had long ago relinquished all rights to her own body. Her diet was strictly controlled so she maintained the delicate balance between her fear of putting on even one additional pound of weight, and ensuring she had the stamina to endure the demanding twelve-hour days. Adept at being weighed, pinched, probed and analysed on a regular basis, she was more than skilled at detaching herself from her physical form. Every measurement had to be recorded in detail; even ‘point to point’ (the distance between her nipples) was noted for each new ballet performance. She liked the way others took control so she could focus solely on her craft, her one creative outlet. In her mind, her body was only a means to an end; merely an instrument to enable her to dance.

She was a quiet, reserved person, not exactly shy but certainly not outgoing. Although she was friendly enough when spoken to, she preferred to keep to herself and didn’t have many friends. Being in the ballet meant that her opportunity to form any real friendships was limited, for in her mind the other ballerinas were all potential threats who could unravel her dream – something she was fiercely determined to protect. She had been ensconced within the realm of ballet for more than a decade and it had protected her from the harsh realities of the outside world. She had experienced this world in her youth, and had no desire to revisit such a heartless place again.

So she never raised her voice or caused any trouble, instead choosing to focus on listening intently to what was required of her. She appreciated the calm passivity of conforming with her ballet masters’ strict requirements – with the aim of always exceeding their demanding standards. And from her perspective, this compliance had finally paid off.

Earlier this year, Eloise had been proudly announced as Principal of the Royal Ballet. Everything she had worked for with utmost focus and physical dedication had finally been acclaimed by her esteemed ballet mistresses and masters, and endorsed by the Board. Striving for such recognition had given her the drive to ensure she was as close to perfect as she could be since arriving as a student at the Royal Ballet School aged twelve. Throughout her teenage years, she had never socialised if it interfered with her studies, rarely succumbing to potential suitors, who would no doubt distract her from achieving her dream.

Now she – and everyone else – knew that her dedication to the art of ballet had been worth it. For she was the best; she was Number One. All of the other girls would aspire to be like her, to act like her, dance like her, be her. It provided her with an identity she had never had before. And she loved it!

But even though she had reached the pinnacle of all she’d ever wanted to achieve, before each performance, the fear of losing everything crept insidiously into her thoughts. Fortunately, she had become adept at forcing her mind outwards – to focus on the rapt applause she would hear from all over the darkened theatre at the end of each act, and the beautiful flowers she would receive at the end of the performance, rather than on the lonely holes in her emotional life. After all, to show fear was to admit weakness, which she saw as a dreadful imperfection. Imperfect was something a prima ballerina would never be.

Staring into the mirror on the opening night of Swan Lake, she saw a vision of what she was about to become onstage. She had discarded the loose grey sweats that usually covered every inch of her feminine body, and her wild auburn mane was now tightly restrained and unrecognisable beneath an elaborate headpiece. She liked the fact that her pert lips were artificially red and her aquamarine eyes were buried beneath a swathe of dramatic black make-up. The headpiece accentuated her neck – long and supple, as a swan’s should be – and her striking costume and feathers miraculously gave her the birdlike qualities that would see her fly onstage. And though she was petite, at five foot four, she knew she would become larger than life in order to do whatever the ballet required of her.

She had come from nothing to being the most revered person in every performance. She lived for this feeling and for this feeling alone. When she danced beneath the heady lights, she was as close to home as she had ever been. It was the only sense of belonging she had ever experienced, and she would cling to it for dear life. For to fail now, when she had reached the peak of her career at twenty-two, would destroy her. To fail was intolerable. She had dedicated her life to perfection and there would be no turning back.

So, drawing her dramatic eyes away from the vision in the mirror as the announcement was made for her to make her way to the stage, she completed the ritual she performed before every performance. She sat down, placed both her hands on top of a small, worn music box and closed her eyes. After a moment of quiet meditation, she opened the box and watched as the tiny ballerina swirled around and around, to the tune of ‘Music Box Dancer’.

Eloise imagined herself as the ballerina, who only ever truly came to life when the box was open and provided her with an opportunity to dance. Absorbed by the music and the tiny dancer’s pirouettes, Eloise transformed into the tragic heroine Odette, losing all sense of self in the process.

She turned and made her way to the stage, to give the performance of a lifetime to her many admirers – knowing the music box would only be closed after the final curtain was drawn, and be safely packed away until next time.