Elspeth knew it was time to go.
She put her hand on Debbie’s shoulder and squeezed it. The two of them looked at each other with watery eyes. Their gazes were deep and neither of them had any words.
‘I’ll let them know’, said Debbie. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked, reflecting that this was probably the last one she’d make her mum.
‘That would be lovely, please.’ replied Elspeth. The steam rose and Elspeth held up her cup, as much as she was able, to admire the delicate blue flowers on it. ‘We got these as a wedding present.’ Elspeth sighed.
Debbie nodded. She’d heard this many times before.
‘You do make a lovely cuppa’, said Elspeth.
The ambulance men were calm and quiet. They handled her gently. They knew what to do. The ride to the hospice seemed to take forever, as Elspeth breathed through her pain and focused on memories of the many happy times at 9, Leewood Avenue. They had moved in when Debbie was just three weeks old, so it was the only home she’d ever known. Now Debbie had her own daughter, Eleanor, who reminded Elspeth of herself as a young girl, especially as Eleanor was a mad keen ballet dancer just as she used to be.
Moving Elspeth into her room was smoothly done. They passed by the beautiful hydrangeas, still flowering so late in the year, on their way to the patio doors. As though to welcome her, Elspeth thought. Holmwood House was silent. You wouldn’t know there was anything going on in the background: the nursing staff, the administrators, the small restaurant, visitors coming to see their loved ones, the managers, the maintenance men and a whole team of gardeners making sure everything was pristine for their special guests.
Yes, they did make you feel special. Not like someone who didn’t have much time left but more like someone whose remaining time was so very precious that every moment had to be cherished for them and with them.
Elspeth only had to ring the bell very lightly and smiley people would appear, ready to tend to her every need. She felt like the Queen of Sheba. She didn’t mind any more whether she was here for a day or for a week or a month. Time had ceased to be important. Elspeth switched on Classic FM. She and John always used to have it on in the background, even when they were reading companionably with their feet up in the lounge. Hearing Swan Lake or The Sleeping Beauty reminded her of when she used to be on stage, back in her twenties. At once she could feel the movements. ‘Remember, you are Clara,’ Miss Stone, the ballet master would say. Clara was her favourite role. She closed her eyes and could feel her blue silky dress floating and the laces of her ballet shoes on her legs, raising her arms high as she pirouetted across the stage.
She knew Debbie and Eleanor would be coming to visit as soon as she came out of school. Eleanor would be excited to see Granny in a different place. No doubt she would want to play with the electric bed, making it go up and down, and eat some of the colourful fruit out of the bowl on the sideboard. She wouldn’t understand why Granny was here or that soon she wouldn’t be. The important thing was to continue making happy memories for her to keep.
She felt very frail and drowsy now but she managed to find a pen and the little notecard she had chosen at the stationery shop a few weeks ago. It had a pink ballet dancer on the front. She wrote the message she’d been thinking out in her shaky hand then sealed the envelope and propped it up behind a vase on the shelf above her head. Then she decided to have a little snooze before they arrived.
**
‘Granny, Granny.’ called a high voice as the little girl skipped into Elspeth’s room. ’Wake up, we’ve come to see you.’ Eleanor picked up Elspeth’s hand but it went floppy in hers. Debbie gasped and pulled Eleanor to her. ‘It’s OK. Don’t try and wake Granny. I think she’s deep asleep. Let’s go and get a drink for now.’ She knew. Elspeth had held on long enough. She had such a peaceful expression on her face, that all Debbie felt for now was relief. She would find a way to tell Eleanor later.
**
After the funeral, Debbie went back to Holmwood House to collect her mother’s things. She found an envelope with her daughter’s name on it. How lovely, she thought. Her mother was always thinking about her family.
‘It’s a letter Mummy. Oh look at the picture on the front. It’s so pretty. It looks like me,’ said Eleanor. She read it out loud,
‘Dear darling Eleanor,
By the time you read this, I’ll have left your world for the next one. I’m sure it’s going to be full of sugar-plum fairies, all dusted in icing sugar, dates stuffed with pistachios, and chocolate brownies, all those yummy goodies. I’m going to miss you so much, my sweetheart. But, when you put on your tutu for your shows –I’m sure there will be many – think of me and I will be there in the audience, watching and encouraging you, my lovely little dancer, even though you won’t see me. When your name goes up in lights, I will be clapping and cheering you on, even if you can’t hear me. I will be there in your dreams, even when you don’t remember them. My heart is inside yours forever, all my love Granny. ‘
**
Ten years later, Eleanor was still mad-keen on dancing. She auditioned for a role with the English National Ballet. She was delighted to be chosen to play Clara in the Nutcracker at The Coliseum.
‘That’s so exciting,’ said Debbie. ‘Your granny danced in that ballet at the Coliseum. She would be so proud of you.’ She helped Eleanor pack her bag for the dress rehearsal. ‘So, you’ve got your point shoes, your white tights, your costume is at the theatre. Anything else?’ she asked her daughter.
‘You’re forgetting one very important thing,’ said Eleanor, reaching into her bedside drawer and taking out a scruffy, folded piece of paper. ‘Granny may not be here in person, but I always take this when I’m in a show.’ She popped it in her bag.
‘Of course,’ said Debbie. ‘I’ll be in the audience for the dress rehearsal so if you get a chance give me a wink.’
‘I think that may be difficult with all the lights, but I’ll try,’ said Eleanor.
**
The smell of the chalk on the floorboards, the sound of the swish of skirts. Eleanor could almost taste the dust. It all felt natural to her. Like home. As she warmed up in the wings, all she could see was dark shadows across the auditorium, going back and back for ever. The Coliseum was after all the biggest theatre in London. But she didn’t feel overwhelmed, she just couldn’t wait to dance.
As she tiptoed onto the stage with the other children to decorate the Christmas tree, everything seemed to light up even brighter. Tchaikowsky’s music engulfed her body and she stepped across the magical scene more delicately than she’d ever danced. She remembered to glance very quickly into the stalls, where she knew her mother would be sitting. There were hundreds of parents and friends there to support them. She couldn’t make out any faces in the shadows, just silhouettes. But as she looked, she stared and blinked. She hesitated for a moment in disbelief. There was one face that stood out from the audience, lit up in a strange but beautiful way. She fleetingly noticed the familiar smile, saw the love in her granny’s eyes, before the dark shadows returned. This would be the best dance of her life.
About the auhtor
Sally Locke has recently retired from her work as a counsellor and coach. She has always been equally fascinated by human behaviour and by figures from literature. She’s been writing all her life but especially enjoys writing about quirky things that happen to ordinary people like herself.
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