Chapter Text
Sidney snatched up his phone to increase the volume and blot out the sound of the lady next to him crying. He looked up and spotted another woman glaring, her large brown eyes piercing in their disdain of him. What was he supposed to do, goddammit? Lend a complete stranger a shoulder to cry on? It was the London Underground, for chrissakes, you just didn’t do that sort of thing here.
Or apparently you did…
“Are you ok there?” he heard the woman say. He’d turned the volume down instead of up. “Silly question. Of course you’re not ok. Here, have a tissue.”
The lady wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thank you darling,” she said. “I’m just missing my girls. Jojo and Kisi - see their pictures here?”
The brown-eyed woman looked at the lady’s phone. “They’re beautiful! Where are they?”
“Back home in Ghana. I’m here making money for them. It’s good, but sometimes I get so tired and I miss them…”
“Of course you do!”
A woman with a head of black plaits shouted from across the carriage, “Char, it’s our stop next!”
Sidney looked up and realised it was his stop too. He’d been so absorbed in eavesdropping he’d almost missed it. He heard the woman - Char - say her goodbyes to the crying lady before standing up and making her way to the tube doors. Sidney watched her before standing up himself and following. She walked like a dancer, smooth and graceful, yet with a different shape to the women he was used to. They were willowy and long-limbed, whereas this woman was strong and curvy. He heard her black-plaited friend laugh and say, “Girl, don’t be speaking to strangers on the tube!”
“Oh George, you Londoners! You’re all so rude…” She looked up and caught Sidney’s eye before saying, “How anyone could sit next to that poor woman and just ignore her crying....”
In the lift up to street level, Sidney tried to ignore the two women although he couldn’t help glancing their way more than once. Finally, the lift doors opened and Sidney hurried out into the frosty air, strangely discomfited by a complete stranger’s poor opinion of him.
Watching him go, George said, “You see that guy - he was checking you out.”
“Not interested,” Charlotte said flatly.
“Buff though…”
“Rude and look at the way he walks - bet you he’s a ballet dancer.”
“And?”
“Not interested,” she repeated.
The two women left the tube station and were hit by a gust of icy wind. Shivering, they hurried round the corner to the Papaya Dance Studio. As they entered the building, they saw a girl nudge her friend and they both stared, eyes wide. Charlotte smiled at them. Emboldened, one of them asked, “Aren’t you... ? Didn’t you win…?”
“Yes we did,” she replied.
“That never gets old, does it?” said George, laughing, as they climbed the stairs. “I hope we never get used to it.”
In one of the studios on the first floor, the teacher was fiddling with the sound system, but heard them come in and turned round.
“Hey! My two favourite students!” She gave them both a hug. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you off doing bigger, better things now you’ve won ‘Britain’s Got Talent’?”
“We’re in rehearsals downstairs so we thought we’d come to your class first, if that’s alright,” said Charlotte.
“Of course it is! But this isn’t your usual rehearsal venue, is it? Or are you moving here?”
George shrugged. “I dunno. Ash asked us to come here and when he says jump, we jump.”
Other people wandered in and the class began, Charlotte and George attracting curious looks as they all faced the floor length mirror that covered one wall. The moves were just basic streetdance steps, but Charlotte enjoyed being back, with people from all walks of life there simply because they loved to dance.
After the class, the two women met up with Ashley, Mack, Aaron and Shawna - the other four dancers who made up their streetdance crew, ‘Breaking Point’.
“So, Ash, are you gonna tell us why we’re here, and not at our usual studio?” said Shawna.
Their crew’s founder and choreographer looked at her and then moved his eyes slowly round, taking them all in. “We’re here because I’ve got something to tell you. We’ve been asked to create a new piece of work with another company, another company that’s just a few streets away from here…”
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Sidney entered the stage door of the Royal Opera House. He made his way to the changing room, put on his leggings and padded gilet and took the lift to the De Valois studio for morning class. Inside the stale, sweaty room, the other dancers were chatting and laughing, but Sidney, as usual, remained aloof, only exchanging nods with some of the other principal dancers. He took his place at the barre next to his friend, Sasha Babinsky, and started to stretch.
“Sidney! Excited for meeting later?” Babinsky said.
Sidney shrugged.
“I love new season details.”
“I know you do. More tragic prince roles for me, no doubt,” Sidney said with a grimace.
Babinsky punched him playfully on the shoulder. “But Sidney, you do tragic so well.”
The teacher and accompanist entered the room, the latter taking her place at the piano, the former standing in front, clapping her hands for quiet. “Plié, plié, tendu, tendu…” Sidney focussed completely, feeling his mind empty and his body repeat the familiar steps he had done every day for the last twenty years.
Unknown to Sidney, a meeting about him was taking place elsewhere in the building.
“We’re happy with the final cast lists?” said Susan Worcester, artistic director of the Royal Ballet.
“I’m happy,” said Frank Crowe, resident choreographer.
“And you’re sure you want Sidney Parker for your new project? You know he’s going to cause a fuss when he finds out.”
“I know and I’m ready. He needs this, Susan. We know he’s a beautiful and brilliant dancer, with a great capacity for joy - and I want to help him find it again.”
Susan squeezed his arm. “You’re a good friend to him, Frank. Sidney feels things deeply, that’s what makes him such a great artist. But you’re right, he’s losing the light and shade from his craft. Still, this new work of yours is a bold experiment - I’m excited for it, but at the same time, a little apprehensive.”
Frank looked at her and grinned. “Trust me, it will be spectacular!”
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“We’re going to be doing what?” Charlotte said again.
“Creating a piece with the Royal Ballet,” Ashley repeated.
“The Royal Ballet?” Shawna echoed.
“Cool,” said George.
“Cool?” said Charlotte. “Is that all you can say? I mean ballet and streetdance don’t mix! They just don’t. And the Royal Ballet? You know they’re going look down their noses at us - bunch of street urchins entering their hallowed doors.”
“Street urchins! Speak for yourself,” said George laughing.
“You know what I mean,” said Charlotte. “They’re classical ballet dancers - I’m telling you, they’re going to disrespect what we do.”
“Char,” said Ashley. “It was their resident choreographer who approached me, you understand? It’s their idea and it’s us they want.”
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“We have an exciting spring and summer season lined up,” said Susan, to the assembled company of the Royal Ballet. “We’re planning a season of Balanchine and Robbins…”
“Good, very good,” commented Babinsky.
“... and we’ll be doing a couple of full-length classics, Romeo and Juliet…”
“Good tragic role for you,” Babinsky whispered to Sidney. Sidney rolled his eyes.
“... and Manon…”
Manon... Sidney’s thoughts went back to the time he’d first danced the lead role as a student.... The spark that had ignited between him and Eliza, dancing as Manon… The memory stabbed him in the heart.
“... And we have a new exciting collaboration with the streetdance company, Breaking Point…”
There was a murmur of surprise, sneers and interest from the meeting.
“Streetdance? Cool,” said Babinsky.
“What the fuck?” said Sidney.
“Frank Crowe and their choreographer Ashley Moduro, will be devising a work based on our dancers and theirs. Frank and I have selected the dancers that we think are best suited and will bring the most to it. Remember we have a duty to engage the wider public and teaming up with the winners of ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ is a way of demonstrating our work is approachable to everyone.”
“Britain’s Got Talent...” Sidney muttered incredulously. “We’re the Royal Ballet, for fuck’s sake. This crap is appealing to the lowest common denominator.”
“Such a snob, Sidney,” said Babinsky, shaking his head.
“What’s Crowe thinking of?”
“Crowe, always thinking out of box. I hope he’s picked us both.”
Sidney snorted. “Over my dead body.”
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“Girl, what is it with you and ballet?” said George.
“Been there, done that,” Charlotte muttered.
Ashley looked round at the rest of his crew. Besides George, the rest looked as shocked and unhappy as Charlotte. “Listen, I know you’re struggling with this, but it’s all good. Their choreographer and me have just had a couple of meetings so far, y’know…”
“But bro, you never said nothing!” cried Shawna.
“... I feel ya, sister, but we’ve sketched out the basic idea and it’s banging! We’re gonna do a streetdance battle, ballet versus streetdance. You think our way’s better than theirs? Wicked. It’s a battle and we’re gonna win!”
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Crowe heard the hammering on his door and smiled to himself.
“Door’s open,” he called out.
Sidney burst in. “What the fuck, Crowe! Is this your idea of a joke?”
“You’ve seen the cast lists then?” said Crowe sitting back in his seat.
“I’ve got eight years of classical training. I’ve worked my way up to principal dancer. And now you want me to streetdance? No fucking way!”
“Sidney! Take a chill pill, come on, relax.”
Sidney stopped pacing. He stood still and glared at his so-called friend.
“Right, you listen to me,” said Crowe. “You’re not going to be streetdancing, you’re going to do what you’ve always done, classical ballet. It’s ballet versus streetdance - in their world they have battles - each crew takes it in turn to dance, and they ramp up their moves each time. You don’t think much of their style of dancing? Good, because it’s a battle and we want ballet to win.”