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“Takes long while to drive through the traffic. They go early, make coffee in office.”
“Do you want coffee, Aleks? I’ll make it.” His hand felt very cold in mine.
“No, I will do,” he said with a small smile. “I want it to be good.”
My face wavered between laughter and offence.
“You are the most surprising and delightful woman I have ever met, but you cannot make coffee. And I love how you still cannot accept a compliment.”
“Am I allowed to make toast?”
“Yes. I love the way you make toast.”
We had arrived at our game.
“I love the way you hide your cigarettes from yourself,” I said, watching him replace the packet behind a loose red brick.
He continued on in the kitchen. “See, I love this you do with the toast, the one side burnt. Is the English way, no?”
“I love how you think disgusting food is nice,” I said, eyeing the mixture of eggs and vegetables, to be topped with caviar, in distaste.
His mobile rang. I stirred the eggs. He had a brief phone conversation in the studio before returning to switch off the burner.
“This afternoon,” he said. “Michelle is coming to assess who of my class has right attributes for her research. Such short notice. Always she is like this, obsessive, and blind to any consideration but the work.”
“Oh.” I tried to sound neutral at the mention of the red name, then thinking his words through. “So this is the real audition?” I asked. “We won’t all be going to the new school? I might not be going.”
He tipped my face up to look at him. “A point has been reached now where this is not thinkable.”
I shivered as a gust of wind blew in from outside, suggestive of how cold and empty life would be without him. I could see myself standing in this small kitchen, alone and longing for Aleks, and it was a deeply distressing vision.
“So. Is simple.” His fingertips danced through my hair and settled low down on the back of my head. “This is the place where discomfort is to be felt in suitable candidates. You will do Amalgamation C, a strange combination of movements, very bad choreography. But it stimulates the brain in some people. First time I do was like, ahh…” He put his hand to his own head as if in unexpected pain. “Is only hurting first time. Don’t worry. And is only for funding. The teaching, the part that really matters, it will not be affected by this.”
“So, if it doesn’t work on me, this amalgamation thing, you’re suggesting I fake it?”
“I love that this is so unnatural an inclination for you…”
Chapter 8
IgaveJustintheinformation about the amalgamation before morning class, so he could fake it too if he wanted. Then I found myself blurting it out to Will as well while we waited in the studio at four. The ensuing, “But how do you know…” conversation petered out as Madame Genevieve, in a newsprint dress and sunflower-bedecked boots, came into the room accompanied by the horrendous colour clash of Michelle.
Posh Scottish Michelle stood tall in shiny red stilettos, her petite figure flattered by a tailored red skirt suit that was slightly lighter than her shoes. Her long blonde hair was elaborately twirled on top of her head, and perfect make-up was set off by cherry-red lips and nails the colour of congealed blood. The smell of her perfume caught my throat from across the room, just as cloying as before, probably originating from an expensive and perfectly formed red bottle.
Aleks and Michelle greeted one another with cheek kisses and friendly smiles. The mirror chuckled.
Class commenced with a short barre. I felt scrutinised and judged, and was three times corrected by Aleks. “Eyes up, Amalphia. Where is your confidence today?”
“Let’s do it,” said Michelle, licking her lips in obvious excitement. “There can be some disorientation or mild discomfort when you first try this,” she told us. “Though, as dancers, you are prime candidates to work with the technique. Listening to music uses the whole brain, and you do that all day long. The specialised choreography of Amalgamation C will enhance the abilities you have already developed and, with you all being so young, I’m hoping for spectacular results.”
Justin raised two eyebrows.
Aleks took us through the strange dance sequence. It reminded me a little of the brain-gym classes I’d done as a child as my mother attempted to ‘fix’ me. There was lots of crossing the midline, and changes of direction were complicated by the accompanying arm exercises.
“Is very quick with the music,” Aleks explained. “No worries if you don’t get it right first time.”
The sound from the studio speaker was unusual and very loud, a deep resonant hum running below the melody. I had picked up the complex routine perfectly, as had Justin beside me, but we didn’t quite reach the end. The final turn went black. The base of my skull felt as if my brain were swelling under it, the pressure excruciating. When my eyes cleared, I found myself crouched on the floor, Aleks and Michelle filling my field of vision and focusing my thoughts.
And my thoughts were fast. In the few seconds it took Aleks to bend down and put his hand on my shoulder, many dots were connected. I’d wondered about the two of them, today, and before, and now all those little moments were available for inspection and deduction. I re-ran every look, smile and kiss of the afternoon. I scanned all the times he had mentioned Michelle in conversation, noting the tone of his voice, his facial expressions, the brief avoidance of eye contact. Then there was the red nightdress picture, a photo he had assigned to her name, a photo he had most definitely taken. The red around her in that image had been a pillow. Those facts melded into the present picture: her red nails like claws on his arm, her body turned towards him, so intimate, so familiar. And I knew. I absolutely knew.
