Pirouette (14 page)

thirty-one

Hannah arrived home on Friday to a disgruntled Harriet, who'd left work early with a headache.

“You forgot to wipe the kitchen sink this morning,” she complained to Hannah. “And as for the state of your bedroom, I can't bear to look.”

“Don't, then,” said Hannah.

“Don't be so rude.” Harriet folded her arms across her chest. “Just tidy your room.”

“Why should I?” said Hannah. “Why do you care?”

“It's my job to care. I'm your mother, Simone.”

“Well, maybe I wish you weren't,” Hannah shot back, then clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized what a terrible thing she'd said. Harriet gasped, her expression changing from shock to pain.

“I didn't mean that,” said Hannah. Her retraction was met with a hurt silence. She ran to her room.

Alone with her guilt, she thought about what she was missing at home. It was Shabbat tonight, and the house would be filled with family and friends. She felt so far away from them all.

She ventured out only when she needed to eat. Harriet was sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling numbers in a notebook.

“What are you doing?” Hannah hoped Harriet could hear the apology in her voice.

“Balancing the budget,” Harriet said. “I still have some outstanding bills.”

Hannah felt another pang of guilt. Maybe being a single parent wasn't easy. She shouldn't be adding to Harriet's problems. “How's your head?” she asked, wanting to make amends.

“It hurts,” said Harriet, her tone frosty. She snapped the notebook shut. “I'm going to bed.”

Alone once more, Hannah waited till it was late enough to call Simone, then haltingly told her what she'd done.

There was a brief silence. Then Simone said, “If you really want my mum to know you're sorry, ask her to take you to confession.”

“
Confession!
Give me a break!”

“Do you want to get back in her good graces or don't you?” asked Simone.

“But—”

“Trust me, Hannah. It's not that scary. And Father Tim's a lovely man.”

Hannah bit back another protest. “So, should I tell this Father Tim the truth?”

“Well, don't mention the fact that you haven't been baptized. Other than that, you can tell him anything. He's bound by the Seal of Confession. He won't tell a soul.”

On Sunday, sometime after morning mass, Harriet dropped her off outside the church. Hannah wished she didn't have to enter the imposing building. She'd never been inside a church before. But Harriet might mention something to Father Tim, and Hannah couldn't risk him saying he hadn't seen Simone. She braced herself and went inside.

There was something awe-inspiring about the church, with its high vaulted ceiling, cavernous spaces, and polished floor. The colorful stained-glass windows softened the light, and tall white candles added to the otherworldly glow. Flowers spilled out of enormous urns—roses, lilies, gladioli—and the scent of lavender mingled with the smell of incense.

From the moment Hannah stepped inside, guilt and curiosity welled up within her. She walked slowly down the aisle, her eye drawn toward a huge statue—a tortured Jesus on the cross. To the right was another, smaller statue—a serene Madonna, mother and child. A voice inside her said that this was idol worship, that she shouldn't be here.

“Sorry,” she said to God. “Sorry for pretending to be Catholic.” She wasn't sure whether she was addressing the Jewish god or the Catholic one.

The church seemed empty as she made her way toward the confessional. Then a man who matched Simone's description of Father Tim approached her. Hannah tried to force a smile.

“Hello, Simone. Are you here for confession?”

Hannah nodded.

“No need to be nervous,” the priest said gently. He drew the curtain aside and motioned her to enter the little booth.

She waited until she heard Father Tim enter from the other side, and the grille between them slid open.

“Yes, my child.”

She took a deep breath and began the way Simone had instructed. “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It's been seven months since my last confession … ” She broke off, not having rehearsed quite how she'd continue. She didn't have to mention Harriet—she could say what she liked.

“I … haven't been honest,” she said at last. “I've been deceiving people. I …
am
deceiving people.”

“Go on,” the priest said gently.

“I … I've been pretending to be someone I'm not. And no one knows who I really am.”

“Many people feel that way,” Father Tim said softly. “God knows who you really are.”

thirty-two

It was hard to concentrate at the study group, and although Simone joined in the discussion of Shakespeare's tale of star-crossed lovers and mistaken identities, her mind kept wandering to Tom.

The morning couldn't end soon enough, and when it last it did, she rushed home, dumped her books in Hannah's room, and changed her outfit three times before settling on the jean shorts and crimson T-shirt she'd put on in the first place. She brushed her hair, leaving it lush and full.

She raced downstairs and grabbed two rice crackers and a bunch of grapes.

“Will you come bike riding with me?” Adam asked.

“Sorry, I can't. I already have plans.” Then, seeing his disappointed look, she added, “Maybe next weekend.” She regretted the words as soon as she'd spoken—she'd never owned a bike and hadn't learned to ride.

“Where are you going?”

“Running late,” she mumbled, dashing past him. “Talk to you later.”

Tom was standing outside the entrance to Luna Park and called out to her when he saw her arriving. “Hey, Simone!”

It was a relief to answer to her own name again. “Hi,” she called, returning his wave. Since the first day at Candance, she'd felt a lurch of excitement every time she'd conjured his image—the shock of dark hair, the deep-set eyes, the attractive features and slightly brooding demeanor. She'd often wondered what it would be like when she saw him again, back in Melbourne. Now she knew—the giddy feeling hadn't diminished.

They grinned at each other and headed straight toward the beach, darting happy glances at each other as they ambled along.

“It's great to see you,” he began.

“You too,” she admitted shyly. “I didn't know what it would be like … seeing each other back in Melbourne. I wasn't sure if … ”

“If what?” he prodded.

“If you'd still be interested … ”

“You did string me along,” he admonished lightly. “But you were right,” he said, a touch of laughter in his eyes. “It was worth waiting till we got back to Melbourne. It's much more fun when it's just the two of us.”

They reached the pier and strolled barefoot along it, swinging their sandals by their sides.

“You know,” he continued, “you really are different when you're on your own. That person at Candance, that girl who was so out-there in class and at lunchtimes, she didn't seem like the real you.” He shook his head as Simone gave him an awkward smile. “Sorry,” he said. “That must sound crazy. Talking as if you were two different people.”

“No, I know what you mean. And it kind of makes sense because I'm a Gemini—sign of the twins. We're incredibly moody. What star sign are you?”

“Taurus. Down-to-earth and practical. I guess that's why I didn't argue with my parents when they suggested I dance less and focus on my studies. Although,” he added, “I'm not sure I'd feel that way if I had your talent. Tell me again why you don't want to be a professional dancer.”

Simone hesitated. One day she'd tell him about the awful stage fright, the constant exhaustion, the despair at having no way out. But not before he knew about her and Hannah. “A dancer's life is so … consuming,” she said at last. “There are other things I'd rather do.”

Tom gave her a quizzical look. “Then what's the point of going to the VSD?

Simone swallowed. “My mum still plans on me being a dancer.”

“So … you haven't told her that's not what you want?”

Simone shook her head. “She's not the easiest person to talk to.”

Tom frowned. “But shouldn't you be open with her? Wouldn't she want to know what you think and how you feel? I know I do,” he added. A sheepish expression crossed his face. “I can't believe I just said that.”

“You want to know what I think and feel?” Simone's voice was small and shaky.

“I want to know everything about you,” he admitted. “Every detail of your life before I met you, and every thought that's going through that interesting head.”

“Interesting?”

“And beautiful.”

They'd reached the end of the pier and stood on the edge, close but not touching, looking out at the endless horizon.

Simone felt his eyes on her as he turned his head to study her face, and her heart rate quickened.

“Tell me something about yourself,” he said. “Anything I don't already know.”

“I was adopted,” said Simone.

“What's your favorite number?”

“Two.”
Me and Hannah. Me and you.

“Name one thing you value in life.”

“Love,” said Simone. “You?”

“Honesty.”

Simone gulped and turned to look at him. Sunlight glinted in his hair, and her own face, seemingly ingenuous, was reflected in his trusting eyes.

Hand in hand, they walked back along the pier and sat down on the sand, their denim shorts and bare legs touching as they peered out at a tranquil sea.

From beneath her sunhat, Simone stole a glance at Tom's face, and her heart skipped a beat. She remembered lying by the pool in Canberra, certain she'd missed her chance to get to know him.

Tom turned toward her, and, like on the day she'd first seen him, caught her in the act of staring. A broad grin spread over his face. This time she didn't look away.

“Swim?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer he stood up, tossed his hat onto the sand, and stripped down to his trunks.

His lean body was smooth and toned, and for a second Simone was mesmerized, unable to speak.

“Race you,” he said.

“Uh … okay.” Simone pulled off her T-shirt and shorts to reveal a skimpy purple bikini.

“Wow!” he said.

Simone blushed. “Give me a head start,” she said. “Your legs are longer.”

Tom laughed. “Bet I still win. Ready?”

“Uh-huh.” And Simone was off, running fast toward the sea.

He gained on her just as she reached the water's edge and he plunged in before her, turning back to drag her with him.

She held her breath as he pulled her under, and she came up laughing and gasping for air. The water reached her chest, lapping gently against her skin.

Tom surfaced beside her, his dark eyes shining.

This day
, she thought,
could not get any better
.

A moment later they were facing each other, and he caught hold of her waist and leaned slowly toward her till his lips touched hers.

His kiss was perfect—soft and electric.

Simone had never been kissed before, and it was dreamlike and magical and everything she'd ever imagined.

Hours later, after the sun had dried them off, Tom gallantly offered to drive her home.

“You have a car?” Simone asked.

“A second-hand bomb, but it's better than nothing. You live in north Fitzroy, right?” Tom lived in Essendon, which was nowhere near Hannah's house.

“Um … yeah, but I'm not going home. I'm going to a … a relative's house in Armadale. I go there for dinner every Sunday night,” she added, thinking ahead.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll give you a lift.”

There was something thrilling about sitting in the passenger seat of his old sedan. Even the streets looked different with him beside her—less mundane and more exciting. Simone wished the car ride would last longer.

When they crossed Dandenong Road, she asked him to park a street away. “If my relatives see you,” she explained, “I'll be fielding questions all night long.”

“No problem,” he said.

“By the way,” she added as he killed the engine, “my phone number's changed since we spoke on Friday.”

Tom grinned and held out his arm. She thought of Candance and the first time she'd written her number on his muscled limb.

“I'll call you,” he promised, as once again she scribbled a number on his skin. It still smelled salty from the sea.

After he kissed her goodbye—a long, lingering kiss that left her reeling—she watched the car till it disappeared.

Simone sang in the shower as she thought of Tom. Now she knew what was meant by “whirlwind romance.” She'd never expected things to move quite so fast. Too fast? Some people would say that kissing on the second date was much too soon—but somehow she felt like she'd known Tom forever. And of course, as far as he was concerned, he'd spent almost all day every day with her for an entire three weeks.

As she lathered her hair, she relived every moment of that wonderful afternoon.

She toweled herself dry and stared at her face in the bathroom mirror, wondering how she looked to Tom.

The phone rang, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Hello?”

“Missing you already,” Tom was saying.

Simone's smile was so wide that her cheeks were aching. “Yeah, me too.” She was glad he wasn't there to see her blushing.

They talked for nearly an hour and made plans to meet up again, same time same place, the following week.

Simone was still smiling when she put down the phone. She couldn't wait to call Hannah and fill her in on all that had happened. She made herself a cup of hot chocolate and brought it upstairs. Then, just as she was picking up the phone, a text came through from an unnamed sender:

I knw ur secret

A shiver of fear went through her, and Simone dropped the phone. It was several minutes before she calmed down enough to pick it up and call Hannah, but she was still trembling as she told Hannah about the creepy message she'd just received.

On the other end of the line, her sister was silent.

“It could be a mistake,” Hannah said at last. “Maybe whoever sent that text intended it for someone else but got the wrong number.”

“Maybe,” Simone agreed, as unconvinced as Hannah sounded.