Billy Elliot (7 page)

‘Aren’t you a bit old, miss?’ I asked her.

She snorted. ‘Not me, Billy. You. I’m the teacher. Christ!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘They hold auditions in Newcastle,’ she said, and gave me a long look.

Ballet school? Me? But that’d be ... something else. I mean, it was a hobby, that’s all. But if you went to a special school ...

‘Can you do it as a job, then, miss?’

‘Course you can. If you’re good enough.’

‘I’d never be good enough. I hardly know owt.’

‘Look.’ She twisted round in her seat to face me and blew a spurt of smoke over her shoulder. ‘Listen. They’re not interested in how much ballet you know. They teach you that. That’s why they’re a ballet school. It’s how you move, how you express yourself that’s important.’

‘Express what?’ I didn’t know what she meant. It’s just dancing, isn’t it?

‘I think you’re good enough,’ she said. And that was the only time she ever told me I was any good. ‘It’d be an awful lot of work,’ she said.

‘I’m banned,’ I reminded her.

‘Aye, well. Maybe I should have a word with him.’

‘No!’ I almost jumped out of the seat. ‘Miss! Don’t.’

‘For god’s sake.’ She puffed away on her fag for a bit, then she said, ‘You know, I could teach you on your own if you want.’

‘I’ve got no money.’

‘I’m not doing it for the money,’ she snapped, as if I’d offended her.

‘But what about Dad?’

‘He doesn’t have to know, does he?’

‘What about me boxing and that?’ I wasn’t asking her just about the boxing, like. I wasn’t even allowed to do that any more. It was about ... being one of the lads. You know. Being a boy. That sort of thing.

‘For f***’s sake, Billy. If you want to piss around with your little mates, that’s fine by me. This is serious.’

‘All right, don’t lose your blob.’

‘Blob?’ she said, and we both laughed.

I thought about it a bit. It was a bit much, wasn’t it? Doing things behind me dad’s back and that. Training to be a ballet
dancer. But – wow! You know? That’d be summat, wouldn’t it?

‘So we could do it in private, like?’

‘Just you and me. No one else need know.’

I dunno. Behind me dad’s back. And her doing dancing instead of sex, it was all a bit ...

‘Miss, you don’t fancy me or owt, do you?’

She turned and stared at me in amazement. Then she looked furious. ‘No, Billy, I do not fancy you, strange to say. Now piss off, will you?’

I stared at her. She was really cross. There was a long pause. She nodded at the door. ‘Go on, then,’ she told me.

I thought, f*** it. What had I got to lose?

‘Piss off yourself,’ I said. Then I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I turned to get out of the car

‘See you Monday, then,’ she said. ‘Six o’clock at the Social Hall. I’ll be waiting.’

I didn’t say yea or nay. I just stood there facing away from her with the door still open.

‘And bring something with you. Something personal. Anything you want. Something to give us an idea for the dance.’

‘What dance?’

‘Your audition dance, blockhead.’

I shut the door and she drove off. I thought, What am I getting into? I still hadn’t got a clue if I was going to go there or not.

T
he doorbell went and I sneaked to the bedroom window for a peek down. I was wearing a violet frock, a pair of tights, me mam’s red shoes and a little crocheted cardigan me sister used to wear. It looked outrageous. If it’d been anyone else down there I’d’ve pretended I was out.

I thought, I’ll show him. I’ll show Billy Elliot. Well, he couldn’t say owt, could he? He’s the bloody ballet dancer, not me.

I ran downstairs and opened the door and he nearly fell backwards off the step. Then he pushed me back in through the door before anyone saw.

‘What are you doing, man?’

‘Nothing, just dressing up,’ I said.

‘Whose dress is that?’

‘Me sister’s. Are you coming up or what?’

He followed me up the stairs to Mam’s bedroom. ‘Eh, you,’ I told him. ‘Are you trying to look up my dress, you dirty little bugger?’

‘Get off. Has she given it to you?’

‘She doesn’t know. All right, man, it’s just a bit of fun. Look!’ I did a little swirl and curtsied. He was worrying me, he looked so scared. You know what I felt like doing? Just to scare him, like? I felt like running across and giving him a big
kiss. That’d scare him half to death. Billy Elliot! What’s he got to talk about?

‘If you can prance about in ballet gear, I can wear me sister’s clothes, can’t I?’

‘I don’t prance about in ballet gear.’

‘What do you wear, then? Don’t you wear one of them tutus?’

‘No, you dope, they’re just for the girls.’

‘What do you wear then?’ I asked him.

‘Just me sports gear. My shorts and T-shirt and that.’

‘Really?’ I’d thought he must wear a tutu or something like it. But it was just his shorts and his T-shirt. I think, you know, if I’d known that I might not have let him see me wearing me sister’s gear. But it was too late now. I began to root about in the wardrobe for something that’d suit Billy. It’d be a right gas if I got him to dress up too.

‘What about this one?’ I pulled out a skirt, but he shook his head. ‘No? I suppose it’s not really your colour, is it?’

‘I don’t care whose colour it is, I’m not wearing a bloody skirt.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’

‘Just because I dance doesn’t mean to say I’m a poof, you poof.’

‘Just because I’m wearing me sister’s dress doesn’t make me one, either, you poof.’

I said that just to stick up for meself, but to tell you truth I do wonder about myself sometimes. I mean, putting on my sister’s stuff, that’s just a gas. It doesn’t turn me on or owt. On the other hand ... well. I like Billy. I like it when he shows me his dance moves under the old bridge when we should be doing cross-country. I like it when he jumps and spins. I like it
when he sits close and tells me his secrets and when we have little fights. So I do wonder about meself. But he doesn’t have to know that, does he?

I put the skirt back and went over to me mam’s dressing table where the makeup was, and I dusted a bit of blusher onto me cheeks. I was doing it to tease him as much as anything.

‘What are you doing now?’ said Billy.

‘I’m just trying it on.’

‘Christ.’

I smiled at him in the mirror and he smiled back. It was just a gas. I was a bit disappointed he didn’t want to join in, though.

‘Come here, you.’ I jumped up and grabbed him, shoved him back onto the bed.

‘Gerroff!’

‘Stay still!’

He did as I said, and I started to put lipstick on him. It was funny – him sitting there holding his face up to me while I put it on. You know what? He looked good. It really changes your face, lipstick. I wonder that more men don’t do it. It’s quite fashionable nowadays to wear makeup. He had nice lips, Billy – a pretty bow on top. The colour suited him and all.

‘Won’t we get into trouble?’ he asked. He got up and looked in the mirror.

‘Nah.’

‘Eh, Michael, look!’ He leaned forward and kissed the mirror. There was a lovely kiss shape on the glass. Billy leaned forward to have a better look.

‘Just like a girl’s kiss,’ he said.

‘Girls’ lips and boys’ lips are just the same,’ I told him.

‘Do you reckon?’

I stared at the kiss. I wanted to kiss the kiss, but I didn’t. ‘It’s just the lipstick and stuff makes them look different.’

‘You’re weird. What if we get caught?’

‘Don’t be daft. My dad does it all the time.’

It’s true. Well, not all the time, but I have seen him wearing makeup and putting me mam’s clothes on and stuff. There was no one else in the house, he thought I was out. He was just doing it to please himself, I reckon. If he did it once, I reckon he must do it all the time.

‘Really?’ Billy was amazed.

‘All the time,’ I told him. I just wanted him to know it was perfectly normal. I’ll bet everyone does it when they think no one’s looking. It’s fun.

Billy sat down at the dressing table and looked at himself in the mirror.

‘Michael, do you think being a ballet dancer would be better than being a miner?’ he said.

That was a tough one. ‘I dunno,’ I told him.

‘It’s just ... I’ve got this audition in Newcastle in a couple of weeks.’

‘What for?’

‘For to go to ballet school.’

‘Ballet school? In Newcastle?’

‘London.’

‘Would you have to go with your Tony and everybody?’

‘No, I’d have to go on me own.’

‘Eh, that’s a bit steep. Can’t you be a ballet dancer here, then?’

‘Divvint be stupid.’

Aye. Ballet in Newcastle! No chance of that. You know,
when he first started dancing he asked me to join in with him, but I said, No way! No way! Can you imagine it? You have to admire him, though. He’s always getting teased at school and that. Kids picking on him. But he was never scared of a fight, our Billy. Well, he’d never have stuck with the ballet if he was, would he, because he was bound to get one. Round here it’s about the quickest way of getting your face kicked in, I reckon.

Look at me. I’d run a mile to get out of a fight, it’s a waste of time. But people are always picking on me anyhow. If there was something I could give up that would stop people picking on me, I’d do it. But there’s not. You can’t give up being just yourself. My dad always says that I’m different and I should be proud of it, but round here being different isn’t such a good thing at all. It’s a bloody problem. In infants I was always getting picked on. In primary I was always getting picked on. We’re going to be starting high school soon and I’m going to be picked on there and all, I bet you.

But Billy’s always been a good friend to me. He never minded me being different. I don’t know why, I always thought he wasn’t at all different himself, he always seemed to be exactly the same as everyone else except that he stood up for me instead of picking on me. I always thought he could have got on with any of them, except for some reason he’d ended up with me, like a sort of accident. Like he’d made friends with me before he realised how weird I was and then just stuck with me. It always used to worry me that one day he’d realise I was all wrong and drop me, but he never did. And then he took up ballet and after that he was just as weird as I was, and I stopped worrying about it.

And now here he was planning on going down to London to be a ballet dancer.

‘So when are you going?’ I asked him.

‘I don’t know, I haven’t even got in yet. It might never happen.’

I thought about it. ‘So what does your dad say, then?’

‘Doesn’t know.’

‘Are you not going to tell him?’

‘Not yet, anyhow. He’ll go f***ing mental.’

‘No, he won’t, he’ll be pleased, then he can rent your room out,’ I told him. I was just joking, but Billy looked really pissed off.

‘Don’t say that,’ he told me. ‘Anyhow,’ he added, ‘he couldn’t rent it out – what about our Tony? It’s his room and all.’

I wandered back off to the wardrobe and rooted about for more frocks. I didn’t really want another frock, I was hiding me face. I was upset. I wanted to say, ‘Don’t go, Billy, I’ll be left all on me own.’

‘What do you reckon?’ he asked me.

‘I think you shouldn’t bother,’ I told him.

‘Why not?’

I glanced round at him. ‘Well, I’d miss you,’ I said.

‘Oh, bloody hell, Michael!’

‘Well, it’s true,’ I told him. I wasn’t being much use, really. I suppose he just wanted some advice. I was being selfish, but what do I know about London and ballet school and that? I don’t know anything. But I knew I’d miss him if he went away. I was feeling lonely already.

Billy started cleaning his lipstick off. He wanted me to come out and muck around but I didn’t feel like it. I was thinking, shit, shit, shit. If Billy goes away, who can I talk to then? And who’ll want to talk to me?

As usual, I think he felt sorry for me, because he said, ‘Tell you what, I’ll show you.’ He pushed back the chair and made a little space next to the bed and started going through the moves. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘and you. Bend your legs. Plie. Like this.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s French.’

‘Why’s it French?’

‘I don’t f***ing know! Look, like this. Beautiful neck. Like a princess, you poof.’

He showed me the moves and I followed what he was doing. I’m not that type myself, but I enjoyed watching him go through it. He half closed his eyes and he seemed to forget that I was wearing a dress and pretending to be a girl. He just went through the moves one after the other, murmuring, ‘Up and round and one and two ...’ to himself. He looked really lovely, lost in his own little world. Then he jumped up and did this spin like a f***ing top. It almost made me shout.

‘F*** ya!’ he yelled, and he went round and round so fast he nearly took my head off.

‘Wow,’ I said, and he grinned at me.

‘How about that, then?’ he said. ‘How about that? That’s dancing, ain’t it?’