Page 36 of Tendu: Dancing in the Castle

“I’d check that before you commit to anything, Phi,” advised Justin.

“I’m going for a walk up the train,” I said, having had quite enough of the bizarre discussion.

It had been my intention to spend some time alone, so it was annoying when Will chose to join me. However, he was relaxed company, and we soon stood in another space between carriages, looking out at another city as the train slowed to a stop. “What a shame there’s not time to get out and look round,” I noted. “We’re only getting to see industrial bits of all these towns near stations. It makes me realise I’ve never been anywhere.”

“Didn’t you used to go on posh holidays with your parents?”

“We would fly somewhere hot and hang around a beach and pool for two weeks. I wasn’t allowed to eat or have any sort of fun. You remember my mother?”

He laughed. “Loved me, didn’t she?”

“Don’t worry. She only likes vile people.”

“What’s she think of you doing this then, going up north?”

“Umm…”

“You haven’t told her?”

“D’you think I should?”

He shrugged.

We stood to the side to let people on and off. The train moved again. I caught glimpses of a big station clock, a newsagents shop, and a mother dragging a small child along the platform. My parents did sometimes call round to our flat, always unannounced, always askance at something: the mess, Justin’s pyjamas, or the fact I’d still been in bed at eight-thirty on a Sunday morning.

I braced myself and hit call. “Hi, Mum. Yes, I know, I’ve been really busy. No, he was a complete bastard. I explained that.” I took the phone away from my ear and glared at it for a moment. She was still talking when I replaced it.

“Anyway,” I said over the Gavin gush. “I’ve something to tell you. I’m going away to study at another school. Yes, a ballet school. Yes, a good one. Nothing. It won’t cost you anything. We’ve been having lessons from one of the teachers already, Aleksandr Zolotov. No? Well, look him up.” Perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea. “Will and Justin are coming too.” I held the phone back to avoid damage to my ears. It was hard to tell which boy she disliked more.

She set off on a disparaging rant about my bad taste in friends. I did a little dance with the phone, waved it around my head and out the window. Eighties-style disco moves twirled while Will laughed. I listened to part of a talk on my general irresponsibility and lack of concern for others, and then felt the buzz of a text. “Sorry, Mum. Have to go. Thanks for the support.”

“She hasn’t changed much then,” said Will.

I read Aleks’s text and struggled to maintain a bland expression. We would make love under the stars? Was that likely in somewhere so cold? I sent a question mark in response and pocketed the phone.

The afternoon felt cosy. Ruaridh and I read books, Sun and Sadie fetched tea and coffee for everyone, and Will rubbed my feet.

“You’re good at that, Hearst.”

“I’m good at a lot of things, Malph.”

Green fields and cows whipped by. There was a muted ‘ooh’ when the choppy sea came into view and much amazement at the wild craggy bays and cliffs. Everyone grew quiet, lost in contemplation. A ruined castle struck a dark silhouette against the greying sky, but it wasn’t the place of our destination.

The train hurtled along, unstoppable, and headed to, what, exactly? An adventure. I could do that. A new country. That too, was conceivable. But what were Aleks and I doing? The intensity of our relationship became terrifying as I watched the sky grow darker yet. I panicked. I curled up with my phone in the tiny bathroom cubicle and spoke to him.

He was comforting. He was kind. He assured me that living together as we would be at the castle would remove any confusion or doubt we might be feeling. We would have our own bedrooms for personal space. He said it would be quiet. He said it would be calm and good and wonderful. And I believed him.

Part Two

Castle

Chapter 11

Anticipationmounted.Thejourneyfelt slower as it got later, and it was a tired and disgruntled group of people who dragged their bags onto the platform in Aberdeen. We were greeted by a friendly seeming plus-size woman who talked gibberish, and a stick-thin man with receding, oiled-back hair. No Aleks. An hour’s minibus journey lay ahead.

We followed the man and woman along the long platform. There were old wooden slats and riveted steel bars above, none of the modernity of Kings Cross. As we travelled through the open space of the main station, Justin screeched: “Oh my God! There’s a bomb!”

Other passengers and a ticket inspector turned in alarm as we inspected the gold-coloured artillery shell. The old warhead was being used as a charity collection tin. Everyone relaxed and continued on their way towards the exit.

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