The Dance Camp Stick

Quest
Jack and Hannah Ormerod and Lucia, Delphine & Fin
Thu 21 Jul 2016 11:05
Hi Everyone, 

‘I don’t want to go to dance camp,’ I hear as I’m serving up the morning plate of pancakes in Quest’s cockpit. I squint at Delphine. The sun is low and pale but already strong. ‘Why not?’ Delphine shrugs. ‘Monique hit me on the ankles yesterday wither her stick.’ ‘Well, no, technically she didn’t,’ Lulu says, pouring cheaper than maple syrup and slightly more cheerful nutmeg syrup on her pile of pancakes, ‘she waved the stick near to you.’ The girls are talking about Monique, the dance teacher from France or more accurately, the dance teacher who owns a dance school in France. She comes to Grenada at least twice a year, so often that she rents a room and leaves much of her stuff when she’s not here. She’s also running Teheria’s dance camp for the next three weeks. ‘She asked me where my “eel" was,’ Lulu says, chewing the first pancake in her impressive stack, ‘and I was like, eel? I don’t have any eels.’ She giggles as she remembers. ‘I even looked around my body to check for eels. Then Monique pointed to my foot with her stick and I was like, ohhh! You mean my heel. And she was like, yes, your “eel"!’ ‘Exactly,’ Delphine says definitively, spreading butter on her pancake, having no time for syrup of any kind, ‘I don’t want to go.’ 

Now, I’ve seen the stick the girls are talking about. A couple of Saturdays ago before class finished for the summer break, I’d seen Monique pull it out of her small purse. It’s metal and shiny. She took it out and extended it. Had she personalised some kind of car antenna? I watched her wave it around too. The girls in Delphine’s class saw it, giggled and stood a little straighter. Plied a little deeper. Afterwards, I watched her in Lulu’s class of older girls. She pointed it at someone and assumed the position of a sad clown. Floppy limbs. At one stage, she came out onto the dance balcony and said in the most thick-cut of French accents, ‘'Ow do you say, Sharlie Shaplin, in English?’ Me and the Grenadian dance mums stared back. ‘You mean Charlie Chaplin?’ ‘Yes, merci.’ We watched her stomp back into the class and shout, ‘You want to be Sharlie Shaplin? Because you dance like him.’ I’m not going to look at who she’s talking about, I thought, in case it’s Lu. I don’t want to know. Whether it was or not however, never emerged. Lulu came out of the class as happy as when she’d gone in. And that was pretty happy. 

It's eight o’clock now and Lulu’s on her third pancake. ‘She says there’s no point being nice to us if we want to be good dancers.’ I nod, attacking my own pile of pancakes. ‘Probably true.’ ‘Well I hate her,’ Delphine says and pushes her plate away. ‘I’m not going.’ I sit back and sip on my coffee. Since the end of last July, almost a whole year ago, we haven’t had a day where I didn’t hang out with at least one of my girls pretty much all day. I’m not complaining, right, I chose this life. Still, for the next two weeks dance camp is from nine till two. Five hours of dancing. I calculate all the things I can do in my head. Like nothing. Nothing at all. ‘Miss Teheria comes in the afternoon,’ Lulu says, 'and does stretching with us.’ ‘You like Miss Teheria, no?’ I ask Delphine. She shrugs again. Not a yes but neither a no. I stand up. ‘You’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll pick you up at two.’ 

We take the dinghy into the harbour and Jack drops me and the girls off behind a line fishing boats where there’s a pretty permanent slick in the water and a penetrating smell. ‘I’ll go tie up by the yacht club. You take the girls to dance and come and meet me.’ The yacht club is about a fifteen minute walk from here. As he says it, Fin bounds out of dinghy along with the girls. A number of people passing-by at this moment jump before they can stop themselves or look at her and cross the road. After weeks in the boatyard Fin’s looking a little ropey; like she’s made of black rope. Mental note, Fin needs a haircut. We say good-bye to Jack and the dinghy and make our way down St George's dirtiest stretch of road. We pass the fishing boats and then a number of small ferries and Delphine stops to gag. ‘Don’t breathe through your nose,’ I admonish her, though it’s true that breathing through your mouth doesn’t seem right either, like you’re swallowing the stink. We pass the casino on the other side of the road where the most outlandish-looking ladies in Grenada congregate on its balcony. Blue hair, nails that curl around clenched fists, dresses you can see through. ‘Are those ladies of the night?’ Lulu asks. It’s not the first time she’s asked it either. ‘Just keep going,’ I say. All the time, Fin is dragging us from a piece of blue rope since we lost her actual lead, like a shaggy bear who’s late for a snack. We get to the end of the boats, turn and cut through the basketball court. We say hi to the teenagers milling round in sporty strips who raise their eyebrows at Fin and head up the stairs to the building on stilts with a small balcony on the middle floor. 

Monique is waiting. There is one other girl waiting too. We tie Fin to the bench on the balcony who slinks down, panting and go into the studio. ‘Is this everyone?’ I ask, slightly worried and trying not to show it. Monique sighs, deep and sorrowful. ‘This is Grenada. People don’t like to be on time.’ She looks up and claps her hands. ‘Come on girls! It’s time to dance.’ Like a someone who’s just punched in their work card, Lulu goes straight to the changing room but Delphine stands in the studio, motionless. We both watch Monique slip on an ancient pair of ballet shoes. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Suddenly, Monique looks up as though she’s read my mind and stares like a hawk at Delphine. ‘Are you ok?’ Delphine shrugs. Monique comes up to her and puts her hands on Delphine’s shoulders. ‘We will dance beautifully together,’ she says softly, 'you will see.’ Delphine’s shoulders relax like something heavy’s just flown off them. The moment is broken by a small, shrill scream on the balcony. 'Is that a dog?’ a girl’s voice calls out. I look behind me. ‘I better go.'

Love from F/F Quest and her crew xx