Page 39 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

Fay

My leg is broken. I felt it crack. The X-ray shows a hairline fracture of the fibula just above the ankle. I am to wear something called an airboot and use crutches until I can weight-bear again. I have no idea what this will cost, and I am concerned what excess my insurance will expect me to pay.

Still, I must consider myself fortunate not to have a bad head wound, just bruising.

At least I will be allowed to travel home provided that it is by train.

Perhaps Janine did me a favour after all when she did not use our money for flights?

Going home by aeroplane would have been out of the question.

‘ Attendez ici s’il vous pla? t? ’ a nurse asks me.

I look blank, so she asks, ‘ êtes vous indienne? ’ pointing to my outfit; I am still dressed in the sari costume.

I shake my head and reply, ‘ Ju-swees-englaze .’

She smiles and says, ‘Wait here, please.’

I sigh. As if I can do anything else.

It will no doubt be a long wait to have this boot fitted and I will probably miss the dinner cruise on the Seine, now my only opportunity to see a little of Paris. And when on earth will I be able to get changed?

Pull yourself together, Fay. It could have been a lot worse.

I am glad I am by myself. I sent Ingrida and Asha back to the theatre – thankfully just a short distance away – as soon as they confirmed I could be a while. Ingrida kindly said she would come back for me. I was most appreciative she was able to translate the doctor’s diagnosis.

Goodness, it has been a day full of incidents, and I decide to relive it as I sit in the treatment area of the Saint Antoine Hospital.

The accident was not my fault. But it is true to say my mind was not on the Bollywood dance, that is for sure. The conversation I had had with Edith in the café was going round and round endlessly in my head.

It had been such a relief she had indeed recognised me just before we went on stage to perform the Adele number. She had not known I had hidden in the wings to watch her dance at close quarters. “Fix You” was magnificent and the applause in the amphitheatre had been thunderous.

‘Bravo.’ I had clapped when they came off stage. ‘Edith, you were superb.’

She had half-smiled, unsure how to respond. However, I was unable to engage in a lengthy conversation as I had to rush back to the dressing room to change for “Dancin’ Fool”.

‘Will you meet me in the foyer café after our next dance? We are on again soon.’

She had nodded, but her face betrayed a degree of uncertainty. Indeed, she appeared to have clamped her mouth shut. Perhaps she feared saying the wrong thing. I realise this is exactly how I felt. I did not want to say anything that would cut off communication before it had begun.

I decided there was insufficient time to change after “Dancin’ Fool”, so I threw on my coat over my costume and rushed to the café, forcing down a rush of unchecked emotions. This was not the time to be losing my head.

My voice felt a little constricted when I sat down opposite her.

She was sipping from a bottle of water, and I resisted the temptation to advise her to drink it from a glass.

Unsure of how to start, I was quite sure alluding to the lazy habits of people drinking directly from tins and bottles was not what she would want to hear.

‘Edith, I…’

‘You danced really well, Fay.’

‘Ah, you watched “Dancin’ Fool”.’ I am pleased with her compliment but my heart sinks when she addresses me with my forename.

‘Yes. The choreography was excellent. How long have you been dancing?’

‘Almost four years now. And you, Edith, are you living in Paris?’

‘No. We are living in Nice. Just staying in Paris for the competition.’

‘We?’

‘Yes, we.’

When Edith did not elaborate, I glanced around the café and noticed Clarissa and Hazel sitting together. I was glad they had not seen me. I wanted my conversation with Edith to be private.

‘You danced beautifully, Edith.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you working in Nice?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you been living there long?’

‘Just over a year.’

‘I would like to see Nice. Did you know it has the longest seafront on the French Riviera?’

‘Yes, I live there remember?’

‘Quite.’

We both stared at the table for what seemed like a good few minutes. I saw Ruby enter the café with a male companion. They sat a few tables away, but she was too far to overhear, and I resolved to deliver my rehearsed oration before I changed my mind.

‘Edith?’

She looked at me and nodded.

‘I am not one to make speeches, but I would like to say a few things and I would appreciate it if you would hear me out.’

She folded her arms.

‘I did not have a mother when I grew up. Please do not sigh. I know this information is not new to you. The reason I mention this is I did not have the benefit of a kindly mother to show me how to be a parent to pubescent girls. My upbringing was rather austere – oh, I am not looking for sympathy, I did perfectly well at St Eulalia’s – and well…

what I am trying to say is I may not have handled your adolescent years as well as I could have. ’

‘Understatement of the century.’

‘If you would hear me out, Edith?’

She shrugged, but I feared I had lost her attention.

‘I did my best, or what I thought was my best, but perhaps I should have…’

‘Should have what?’

‘Should have sought some assistance. I mean, you and Bethan were quite a force…’

‘Oh, here we go.’

‘What I am trying to say is I am sorry—’

‘And?’

‘I am sorry we have drifted apart.’

‘Oh, you’re not sorry for turning your back on us when we most needed you.’

I sat back, startled. This was not going at all how I had planned.

I saw some of the other ladies joining Ruby at her table. I did not want them coming over to me, so put my head down and studiously ignored them.

We sat in silence for a good long time. I sipped at my coffee and Edith finished her bottle of water.

Eventually, Edith looked at her watch and began to tap the table with her fingernails.

I knew I only had this one chance, and it was fast fading, so I turned to her and tried again.

‘Edith, I know we cannot turn the clock back. We cannot alter the past. But I do not want to be a stranger to you or Bethan. I was hoping we could…’

‘Play mother and daughters? Glance over those years where you ignored us and pick up as if they hadn’t happened?’

I knew then she was not in a receptive mood, and this had been an error of judgement on my behalf.

I slowly moved my chair back and stood up.

‘I am sorry. This was a mistake. I had only wanted to say I was sorry. I also wanted to have… well to have some contact… but I can see I have misjudged the situation. Edith, I am happy I have seen you. I am delighted you are dancing. I hope you… well, I hope everything will go well for you in life. Please send my… my regards to Bethan.’

Edith had stared at the table, and I had walked away.

I forced myself to go to the dressing room. If it were not for the final dance, I would have left the theatre that instant and wandered around Paris to gain some equilibrium, but I was duty-bound to perform with the others. I could not let Clarissa down.

And now this. A broken leg. I can hardly take it in.

They wanted me to inject myself daily with an expensive drug for the next week.

Apart from what will no doubt be a ridiculous cost, I have a deep-seated fear of injections dating back to my school days when I was held down for a tetanus jab.

This is more than being a little squeamish.

I was diagnosed with trypanophobia, an extreme fear of medical needles after that.

I had to see a specialist doctor to have gas and air in order to have my Coronavirus vaccines.

I would be unable to explain this to the young French doctor who asks if I know how to inject myself.

I merely nod. I am given seven days’ supply.

The hypodermics are thankfully hidden in a box.

I am deeply relieved I do not have to look at them.

I have absolutely no intention of using them and will leave them on my chair.

I heard them say the word préventif , so I know the medication is only precautionary.

I just want to get out of this hospital.

I press my fingers into my forehead as I contemplate what lies ahead.

There will be so much to sort out. Insurance, transport, weeks of rehabilitation and no more walks or dance for months.

How will I manage stairs? Getting in and out of a bath?

Going to work… I quickly stop myself before sinking into a quagmire of self-indulgent pity.

This is not the way I was brought up. Perseverance, steadfastness, and practicality; I can visualise Sister Josephine telling me so.

I stare at my swollen foot. I am unsure exactly what happened; it is all a bit of a blur.

One minute we were crossing through each other, our scarves held high; the next minute, I was on the ground.

I banged my head on the floor and my ankle was in agony.

I tried to stand up – I certainly did not want to make a spectacle of myself – but my leg would not hold my weight.

It was dreadful to be out there, everyone looking at me.

I had to be supported to get off the stage.

Monica was on one side and Ingrida on the other. I could not have been more embarrassed.

They deposited me on a chair in the green room and Ingrida placed my foot up on a low table. She carefully removed my ballet shoe and examined my ankle while they fetched the theatre first aider.

‘It may be broken, or it could be sprain.’ Ingrida had turned to one of the backstage staff to ask, ‘ Avez-vous un bloc de glace? ’

‘What is that you are asking for?’

‘Ice. I am afraid this will uxbriest … what is English word?’ Ingrida puffed out her cheeks.

‘Swell up?’

‘ Ja . Swell up. You need rest leg.’

I stared down at my foot and realised my foreshortened toe was on display for all to see. Ingrida must have seen the look of alarm on my face as she gently placed my scarf over the foot to hide it and smiled at me. I have not been wrong in judging her to be a kind soul.

Monica shook her head and sat down next to me. ‘You’ll not be able to dance for a while, Fay. Even if it’s only a sprain, sometimes that can be worse than a broken bone. James was weeks recovering from a sprained ankle playing rugby last term.’

‘I think you are right,’ I responded. ‘I may have some difficulty getting back to the Charbon Hotel. Oh dear, I do not know how this happened. Perhaps it was my scarf? Did I drop it?’

‘You tripped on part of Bonnie’s sari – it’d come loose at the back.’ Ruby crouched down next to me. ‘Poor you.’

I must say, they were all being very kind.

‘Oh dear, was it my fault? I’m so sorry, Fay.’ Bonnie went to pat her open hand on my raised foot, but thankfully Ingrida caught it mid-air and stopped her.

‘ Ne .’

‘Oh, my word. I’m so sorry. What was I thinking? If I had hit your foot, it would certainly have been adding upset to injury…’

‘ Insult .’ I grunted out the word at exactly the same time as Monica, Asha, Ruby, Cath and even Ingrida.

Despite the circumstances, we found ourselves smiling at each other when we saw Bonnie’s consternation at the combined correction.

‘Well, that’s me told.’ Bonnie grinned good-naturedly. ‘Adding insult to injury? Who’d have thought that was the right saying?’

A competition official motioned for Monica to go and speak to him. Within a few minutes, she was back.

‘What shall we do? The organisers want to know if we want to start again?’

‘Can we do it without Fay?’ Asha had a deep frown in her forehead.

I was grateful they at least contemplated not dancing without me even if they then decided to go ahead.

‘We can try. We could just leave a gap where Fay normally dances,’ Ruby suggested.

‘We have to go now if we are going to dance.’ Monica indicated the official tapping his watch.

‘You must dance. Go. I will be fine,’ I urged. I knew Clarissa would want them to continue, and this is, after all, Asha’s special wedding dance.

So, with a wave, the ladies disappeared through the stage door.

I heard the music start and watched them on the screen.

I found myself welling up and had to exert supreme control not to give in to tears.

It was more than being excluded from the performance of a dance I loved; our time together had bonded us in a way I had not expected.

I had felt an integral part of the ensemble, but not any longer.

This injury has put paid to that. Of course, I wanted them to dance well, but I felt so utterly useless and suddenly quite alone.

Then a voice pulled my attention back to the green room.

‘Mum. Are you OK?’

I found myself unable to speak when I looked up at Edith. She had not addressed me thus in years and I confess, I could not find any words and my lower lip began to tremble.

‘Oh, Mum.’ Edith crouched down and put her arms around me.

I blinked back a tear and placed my arms around her, too.

We did not talk much. The first aider arrived and said I should see a doctor.

Edith called the hospital and arranged for me to get an X-ray.

I loved listening to her speaking in fluent French on her phone.

Living in France has certainly developed her language skills.

Edith then conversed with the theatre manager and found they had a wheelchair they would allow me to borrow.

She explained the hospital was only a twenty-minute walk away and offered to push me, but it was clear she was due somewhere else when one of the male dancers of Corps et Ame arrived in the green room to indicate they needed to hurry away.

As it happened, as soon as Ingrida came off stage, she and Asha insisted they would take me.

I did not introduce Edith to the others as my daughter, the situation seeming delicate and precariously balanced, but I was aware Asha was looking Edith up and down and about to question her.

Before she could say anything, I talked deliberately loudly about requiring my insurance details and made a big show of finding the information I had saved on the notes app of my mobile.

As I checked them, Edith leant in and asked for my device.

When she handed it back, she whispered in my ear that she had put her telephone number in my contacts list.

‘Let me know how you get on.’

‘Thank you. I will and Edith?’

‘Yes?’

‘Bless you.’

There, I said it directly to her. After years of going to bed and saying, ‘Bless you,’ to both girls in the photograph in my flat, I have finally said it to Edith in person. Maybe one day I will say it to Bethan too.