Surprisingly, my part in the performance hadn’t damaged my career prospects. I was approached by another choreographer who’d been in the audience who wanted me to work on a project with her. It wasn’t the path I’d envisioned for myself when I’d begun at the Conservatory, but I was starting to realise there were other ways to play professionally, and I was excited about working on smaller projects with other creative people,rather than feeling lost sitting in the middle of an orchestra.
Justin was thrilled for me, of course, said we should go out to celebrate when we had a night free, but then the shows began at Sadler’s Wells in early July, overshadowing everything. I knew this was a big deal for him, so I attended every single night, even though I usually had to sit alone because he was dashing around backstage and would often watch from the wings, only occasionally managing to slide into the auditorium and stand at the back.
When we returned home after the third performance, Justin slammed the front door behind us. He strode into the living room and threw his keys on the coffee table. They skidded across the glass surface and landed on the rug on the other side. ‘It was a hot mess! Did you see how the principal dancer messed up her solo on the final piece?’
‘I’m sure no one will notice. And the applause afterwards was just as loud as it has been the other nights.’
I hadn’t realised that Justin had been careful to invite only friends and supporters, along with a few ‘nice’ critics, to the preview performance. The reviews that had come out in the last couple of days had not been so complimentary.
‘They’ve got their knives out,’ he said darkly, heading for the sideboard that contained the spirits. ‘Just like they always have. Because once someone is successful, they have to knock them down again.’ He pulled out a bottle of brandy and poured himself a glass, offered one to me.
‘I don’t like it, remember?’
‘Don’t start picking at me, Angel, not after the night I’ve had.’
‘I’m not! I … Sorry.’ I led him to one of the large sofas that stood in the middle of the living room and sat down next to him. He took a large gulp of brandy, placed his glass on the coffee table, then closed his eyes and let his head loll back on the sofa cushions. ‘I wouldn’t be so frustrated if I hadn’t just given the whole company a good talking to. They’re just not working hard enough, especially Diya … I should never have promoted her to principal. It’s as if she deliberately wants to ruin things for me.’
I leaned across and snuggled into him. ‘Remember what you say to me …? Don’t let what others say upset you. Who cares what the critics say?’
‘I do,’ he said wearily, not opening his eyes. ‘They were vicious about my last show … “Justin De la Hay is going stale, churning out the same old dances, rehashed with different lighting and different costumes.” Or how about, “De la Hay was theenfant terribleof the dancing world when he first arrived on the scene, but now he’s settled into conservative hum-drum”.’ He opened his eyes, sat up and looked at me. ‘If the Arts Foundation no longer thinks I’m a trailblazer, they might cut my funding, and I can’t afford to float the company on my own – I plough enough money into it as it is. It could be the end of my career!’
‘I’m sure it won’t. The reviews haven’t beenallbad.’
He humphed, reached for his glass, then stood up and began to pace on the wide stretch of floor between the back of the sofa and the window. ‘They like thatfirstpiece,’ he said, staring out into the night beyond the glass.
I turned, bringing my knees underneath me so I could kneel and rest my hands on the back of the sofa and face him. ‘There you go!’
‘But not because of anything I created or decided. Because of your …’ He caught himself and looked away. ‘And then they consider the rest of the programme and think it doesn’t measure up, that it’s not a cohesive whole … I wish it had never happened.’
I swallowed. So did I. But I hadn’t realised until now that Justin felt this way. Did he blame me? ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said quietly, probably for the thousandth time.
He carried on as if he hadn’t heard me. ‘It’s okay for you.’ He took another sip of his drink, his jaw muscles tensing as he swallowed. ‘You’ve got all these exciting opportunities coming your way. Your career is taking off …’
That was hardly true. Not yet.
‘Whereas I’m just a has-been, a washed-up purveyor of hum-drum. You don’t know what it’s like to have put years into something and for it to just have it all flushed down the pan.’
I wanted to remind him that if anyone understood what it was like to have your dreams wrenched away from you, it was me, but I didn’t want him thinking I wasn’t listening, that I was making it ‘all about me’, as he sometimes said I did – something he and Lo could finally connect about.
His words stung, but I knew he didn’t really mean what he was saying. He was just upset, and now he’d explained it to me, I realised he had every right to be. I thought about how I’d felt when I’d just dropped out of the Conservatory, how sometimes I’d lashed out and been grumpy with my parents and my sister. I should try to show him the same patience and sympathy they’d shown me.
With the benefit of hindsight, I realised how horribly self-absorbed I’d been,how much of a brat. It made me glad we were going round to Sunday lunch the next day because it would give me a chance to apologise.
When I got up the following morning, I found Justin in the living room with his laptop and his phone. He was having a terse conversation with someone, so I snuck past him into the kitchen, where I made us both a coffee from his fancy machine (it had taken me weeks not to be intimidated by it) and then took it back into the living room. While he carried on with whatever he was doing, I made him his favourite omelette for breakfast, then carried it out to him so he could eat it on the sofa.
When he was finished, he handed his plate back to me. ‘I’ve had to call an emergency rehearsal at one o’clock,’ he said, adding his coffee cup on top of the plate. ‘The whole last piece needs an overhaul.’
‘A rehearsal? At one? But we’re supposed to be going to Mum and Dad’s for lunch.’
‘I’m sorry, Angel. It can’t be helped.’
I sat down beside him. ‘But we put them off last time we were supposed to go.’
He shook his head and gave me an apologetic look. ‘I’m sorry …’
I made him another coffee and then left him to it while I got ready to go to Mum and Dad’s. It was a job to choose something. I didn’t want to get all dressed up because it felt as if I was flaunting my new lifestyle in their faces, as if all they’d provided for me hadn’t been enough, but I knew Justin wouldn’t like it if I dressed too casually. I ended up trying to compromise, which didn’t really work. Thankfully, when I returned to the living room,Justin was too absorbed in his planning to suggest an outfit change.
I went over and kissed him on the top of his head. ‘I suppose I’d better be off.’
