The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

She stood at the window.

This should have been the greatest moment of her young life, but all she felt was the clench of nerves in her stomach and a niggling doubt in her mind. The lady who had welcomed her had been friendly enough, and her room was lovely, but she still felt out of place. Imposter syndrome maybe, it still didn’t feel real.

It was early evening and all the other students were lazing on the grass in front of the impressive old Georgian building, laughing, fooling around or reading. They all looked completely at home. Would she ever feel comfortable in her own skin?

It was not surprising that she doubted herself, for others had always doubted her too. After all, not many girls aspired to be a prima ballerina – not with any real conviction anyway. After her mum died when she was a toddler, she had gone to live with her Great Aunt Maud. She was kind enough – motherly even, but she was a lot older than the other mums at school and Grace often felt embarrassed when she was dropped off and collected, and then tortured herself with guilt for feeling embarrassed; after all, her Great Aunt had saved her from the care system and had also encouraged her to follow her dream and dance.

Encouragement was something she didn’t get from her teachers, sadly. Although they pretended to recognise her dream, they always added a pinch of sobering realism:

‘You need to have a back-up plan…’

‘It’s a very difficult field to succeed in, maybe you could be a dance teacher.’

And one particularly unkind comment that had always plagued her, ‘You’re not really the right shape.’

The tears sprung to her eyes as she recalled that moment in her young life. She was five years old for goodness’ sake, and had gone home to her Great Aunt distraught. To her credit, Maud had immediately enrolled her for ballet and tap classes at the local church hall, where the lovely, kind, Miss Butterfield had nurtured her confidence and trained her wayward limbs.

Over the years she had become a competent – no, a good – dancer, and blossomed from ‘good toes, naughty toes’ to ‘arabesques, pirouettes and complex enchaînements, and from leather ballet slippers to ribboned block-toed satin shoes. She worked hard, spending hours in the practice studio and surviving the excruciating transition to pointe shoes, learning to bind her bruised toes with lambs’ wool and darn her blocks regularly. It was a fact that without Miss Butterfield, who allowed her to use the studio free of charge whenever there wasn’t a class on, and Maud who paid for all of her lessons, shoes, leotards, tutus and examination fees, she would not be where she was today.

Grace pinched herself. It was her sixteenth birthday and here she was, a scholar at the great White Lodge, home to the younger students of the famous Royal Ballet School.

A knock at the door drew her from her reverie, and she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Before she could respond, the door was flung open and a pretty, doll-like girl breezed in, gathering her into an unexpected warm embrace.

“You’re here at last! Come along, let me show you around.”

The next hour was spent in a dizzying whirl of activity, as Marguerite gave Grace the grand tour. The three-hundred-year-old building was now unrecognisable as a hunting lodge, and had been repurposed and continually developed since the 1950s.

Having only ever seen White Lodge through pictures in the brochure and online, Grace was mesmerised by the myriad of rooms: classrooms, practice rooms, dance studios, dining room and recreational facilities, including a swimming pool and tennis courts. Each of the cosy common rooms was surprisingly homely, with squishy sofas, games, TV, and even video games.

But the one space that Grace had been most eager to see completely exceeded her expectations; The Fonteyn Studio Theatre, named after her heroine, Margo Fonteyn.

As they walked into the huge space, her heart soared and tears, once again pricked at her eyes – this time out of sheer joy and complete amazement. Marguerite gently propelled her forward, guiding her down the wide aisle towards the stage.

“It’s beautiful,” she gasped, “it’s everything I imagined and more, just stunning.”

“And one day you will be up there, watched by hundreds of people, doing what you were meant to do.” whispered Marguerite.

Grace spun to face her, completely overwhelmed and suddenly filled with self-doubt.

“I can’t do this. I’m just a nobody. People like me don’t belong here! I’m poor, and an orphan, and I’m probably not even going to be the right shape for a ballerina.”

Marguerite took her by the shoulders and looked intently into her eyes. “You are in exactly the right place; you were made for this. You just need to believe in yourself.”

Back in her room, Grace lay on the bed pinching herself.  Was she really here? Was this really happening to her?

“Well, I suppose I had better unpack then.”  She said to herself, a small bubble of confidence growing inside her.

She had an hour before dinner, just one more hour before she would meet all her fellow students and become part of the White Lodge family; and just one more night before she started her lessons and set out on the path to her dream.

Slowly and methodically, she began to unpack, hanging her few clothes on the rail in the small wardrobe and packing her practise bag for the next morning. At the bottom of the bag was a parcel that she didn’t remember seeing when she packed.

Curiously, she lifted it out and placed it on the desk. The parcel itself looked quite old, wrapped with old-fashioned brown paper and stuck with brittle, cracked tape which just about held it together. It was tied with string, and pushed underneath the string was a new envelope with her name written on it, just one word, Grace.

She opened the envelope and began to read. It was from her Great Aunt Maud.

Dearest Grace,

 It has been a pleasure to raise you for the last twelve years, and to watch you grow into the beautiful and talented girl that you are. That does not come without hard work, though, and I could not be more proud of the way you have overcome the obstacles that life has put in your way and are now realising your dream. I cannot wait to be sat in the audience watching you shine on a stage somewhere as Odette or Giselle, or maybe even the Sugar Plum Fairy, which I know is your favourite. Whatever role you dance, I know that you will be amazing and I have no doubts that one day you will be the prima ballerina that you have always dreamed to be, and have continued to work so hard for even when people doubted you or let you down.

I never doubted you, Grace, and neither did your mother. I’m afraid I have not been entirely open with you about your mother. Yes, she was my niece, and yes, she did leave you in my care twelve years ago, but I was vague about the circumstances of her death as I didn’t want to make life any more difficult than it already was for you, as an orphan. The truth is that she was quite unstable. Your father was an important man, but he was already married and when your mother found herself pregnant with you, he vanished. I don’t believe she ever saw him again.

She adored you, though Grace, and always called you her little ballerina, and I know that if she were here today, she would be thrilled at your success, and so, so proud of you. So, when you get up on that stage for the first time, I will be watching from the stalls, but your mother will also be looking down on you, I promise.

The parcel you have just discovered was left for you by her and I have kept it safe for all these years not knowing what is inside; I am as intrigued as you are, believe me. She asked me to give it to you on your sixteenth birthday, which will be next week, on your first day at White Lodge. I was sorely tempted to give it to you before you left, but I felt that I had to honour her wishes, so I am left wondering. Please let me know what is inside, it must have been very important to her.

So, I leave you in the place where you belong, to fulfil your career and dreams, but be assured that as long as I live, I will always be here for you.

With love and affection, your Great Aunt Maud.

It was true, Grace had always wondered about her father and about the circumstances of her mother’s death, but when she had asked Maud, she had been vague, claiming that she and her mother weren’t close and that she didn’t know, just telling the story of a call from a social worker asking if she would care for Grace as her next of kin and her only family member.

And that she had done, and done with love and kindness, and Grace considered herself fortunate to have been so lucky; but she had wondered about her parents; her birth certificate only recorded hers and her mother’s name, the space where her father’s name should have been staring at her like an open wound.

She stared at the package on the desk, wanting to open it but apprehensive about what she may find under the layers of brown paper. Slowly, she untied the string, tied in a simple bow. The first layer of paper fell away, the glue on the tape being old and no longer sticky. The second layer had held better and she picked at the ends of the tape, trying to unfasten it without ripping the paper. In the end, she had to though, and as it fell away, it revealed a small music box, made of white leather and decorated with pink roses. Grace flicked open the clasp and slowly lifted the lid, bringing to life a twirling ballerina rotating slowly to the tune of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Inside the box was another simple white envelope, once again labelled with her name, this time in her mother’s handwriting, and she held it in her hand for several long minutes before opening it and sliding out a single piece of paper.

Grace’s tears fell freely as she unfolded it to read her mother’s words:

My little Ballerina, my beautiful girl, Grace,

              How I wish that I could be with you today, on what will be your sixteenth birthday.

I owe you an explanation, and an apology, but where do I begin?

I led a charmed childhood until my parents, your grandparents, were killed in a car crash. I did well at school and had just begun college, but when I lost them, I felt so alone. A few months later, I met your father. He was older than me and I now realise that I saw him as a father figure. I fell completely in love with him, was charmed and bewitched by him, and at the age of eighteen, I fell pregnant with you. I was glad!

He wasn’t. He had a wife and a daughter – I promise you that I didn’t know this – and he chose them. It was as simple as that. I was broken-hearted and I had to give up my career; in short, I was devastated.

For a while after you were born, I was lifted from my depression, so enamoured was I with you; your button nose, your stubby pink fingers and toes and your beautiful smile – you were such a good baby and I loved you so much. But slowly, I sank once again into the depths of despair and was so unwell that I couldn’t care for you properly, so I gave you up to the care of my dear Aunt Maud. She never had any children of her own and I knew that she would love you and care for you, and I made her promise that she wouldn’t tell you of my treacherous decision.

I think she hated me for what I did, and I certainly hated myself, but I was young and selfish, and also quite unwell. I returned to my studies and continued with my life. It sounds callous but it was the only way that I could survive.

Years later I realised what a fool I had been. I never stopped loving you, Grace, my little ballerina, but I couldn’t bring myself to return with the possibility that you would reject me, so instead I wrote you this letter and hoped that when you were sixteen you would find it in your heart to find me and give me the chance to be the mother I wish I could have been to you. I know that I will live my whole life missing you and wishing that I had done things differently,

              I love you more than words can say my little ballerina,

                                                                                      Mum  (J. M. L)

Grace read the letter again, at first shocked, then angry at her mother’s words and the almost flippant recount of her actions. She didn’t know whether to be elated that her mother appeared to be still alive, or furious at the way she had behaved, deceiving her for fourteen years and forcing her Great Aunt into complicit silence.

Despite her mother’s instructions, she couldn’t believe that Maud had kept this from her, her whole life. No wonder she didn’t want her to open it until she was two hundred miles away in Richmond. She paced the floor, her emotions all at sea, before flopping down on the bed, exhausted. She needed to speak to Maud.

Down at the office, she asked if she could use the telephone, explaining that she had an important call that she needed to make. The secretary asked her to take a seat and wait for a moment, before making another call, speaking quickly and quietly as she made sidelong glances in Grace’s direction.

Almost as soon as she had put down the phone, another door opened and a smartly dressed woman called her name and beckoned her inside.

Once Grace was inside, the woman introduced herself as The Principal and asked if Grace was all right.

“I just need to speak to my aunt.” Grace replied, aware that her eyes must be swollen and her face blotchy from crying.

“But you have only just arrived dear, surely she won’t even be home yet.”

Grace flopped back into the chair, suddenly feeling defeated.

“This was supposed to be the best day of my life so far, a dream come true, and it has all turned sour. I’m not sure that I can do this, I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

The principal eyed her keenly. She had delt with many homesick students, but this felt different. “Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter and then I can take you on a tour of the school and facilities. I’m sure that you will change your mind when you have met the other students and seen what we have to offer here. We would be so sad to lose you before we have even got to know you.”

“But I’ve already seen the school, I was shown round earlier.” Grace replied, confusion clouding her face.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, dear, I always show new students around myself.”

Grace, however, no longer appeared to be listening. She was staring behind the principle at one of the many photographs of ballerinas on the wall. “It was her,” she said, pointing to the picture, “That’s the lady that showed me around.”

The principle turned to look at the picture, and then slowly turned back to Grace with a strange look on her face.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible dear. That is Marguerite de Lacey. She was one of the finest students we have ever had and would certainly have been one of the best in the world, but she died tragically ten years ago. It was a very sad affair, she was let down badly by a man and had to give up her child, and I’m afraid she never got over it.”

x

Five years later, on the eve of her twenty first birthday, Grace stepped confidently out onto the stage in her debut performance as a prima ballerina. Her Great Aunt Maud was sitting in the front row looking as proud as any mother, and high above the stage the lights flickered, as the spirit of Marguerite de Lacey watched over her beloved daughter, as she danced what was later to be reported as, ‘the greatest ever performance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.’