‘What about the show?’ sniffed Mama.
‘There is an understudy, Mama,’ I said as she ended the call.
I could not bear to look at Lira at first, although another part of me wanted to throw myself into her arms and let her hold me and comfort me. But that was not how I handled things. Although, how did one handle a parent being seriously ill? It had never happened to me before. For all Papa’s ailments and poor health, I had never expected anything anywhere near as terrible as this – not yet, not this soon.
Suddenly, Lira was standing next to me, slipping her arms around me.
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
I swallowed hard, her care for me making me feel like crying, something I had not done for many years and had no intention of indulging in now. I would remain positive,expect the best. My father would make a full recovery. I had to believe he would, because the alternative was too awful to contemplate.
‘My father had a heart attack,’ I said. My voice sounded weak and strained, I could hear it myself, so I knew that Lira would pick up on it too.
She held me tighter.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
I gently removed her hands from around me. It was not that I was unappreciative of her being here, but I could not be emotional in front of other people; it just was not in my DNA.
‘I should go,’ said Lira, picking up on the cues.
I turned to face her, trying to be kind, to not leave her feeling rejected or as though I did not appreciate what she was trying to do. I touched her face lightly.
‘I think I need to be alone for a moment or two. If that is okay,’ I said.
She nodded, immediately beginning to get dressed, gathering up her things that were strewn around the room.
‘Of course,’ she said, sounding flustered.
I had hurt her feelings, but I could not think about that now. I felt almost robotic, as though my brain was shutting down to protect itself, and that it was not sending the right signals to the right places.
I watched her leave, closing the door behind her, feeling wretched about a whole host of things. I sat on the edge of my bed and only then did I let the tears fall.
Please let Papa be okay, I said to nobody in particular. Because who was going to help me now? I was entirely helpless, at the mercy of the gods, and the hope I had pretended to have a few minutes ago was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONELira
Gabriele wasn’t himself on stage that night, although the audience would never have known. He danced each step perfectly, executed each lift with skill and confidence, and to the naked eye, our chemistry on stage was as sizzling as it had ever been. But there was something in the way he held me that wasn’t the same. I couldn’t put my finger on it, exactly, but it was like he was touching me, holding me, spinning me because he had to, not because he wanted to, or because he was so caught up in the moment, in our dance, that it flowed organically from one movement to another, which was how it usually felt. And when he looked at me, his eyes weren’t sparkling, flirtatious; they were deadened, as though his mind was elsewhere entirely, which, naturally, it would be.
We still got a standing ovation. He still held my hand as we took our bow. He still smiled and waved at the audience who were enraptured by his good looks and his phenomenal dancing. But as soon as he was able, he dropped my hand and walked ahead of me, going into his dressing room and shutting the door behind him.
‘What’s up with Gabriele?’ asked Daniella, falling into step beside me.
It wasn’t my place to say. ‘Not sure,’ I replied.
I went to the dressing room I was sharing with a few of the other girls and removed my stage make-up, combed out my hair and changed into jeans and a light sweater, because the temperature dropped a little in Lisbon at night. I wasn’t sure what to do – whether to leave Gabriele alone or to knock on his door and see if he was okay.
Daniella and Luca had already left for drinks in Bairro Alto, trying their best to persuade me to join them. Daniella had teased me about not coming anywhere unless Gabriele was there. I’d laughed it off because maybe it was true, but all I could think about was him and how he was doing after the news about his dad. I knew he had a complicated relationship with him, a dynamic that sounded even more challenging than the one I had with my parents. At least I didn’t think they were disappointed in me; they were just a little unobservant and caught up in their own needs and wants, but I could forgive them that in a heartbeat.
After hanging around aimlessly for a bit, still undecided, I picked up my bag and headed out of the room, taking mytime as I walked along the corridor, which was quiet now, subdued and dark. I stopped outside Gabriele’s dressing room, wondering whether I would be able to hear something if he was still inside. He could be back at the hotel already, for all I knew, and I’d have been skulking around outside his door for nothing. But then I couldn’t bear to think of him being all alone in there either, struggling with whatever was going on with his dad.
I tentatively knocked on his door. No answer. I put my ear to the door, checking to see if there was any sign that he was inside, although he clearly didn’t want to talk to anybody even if he was. I tried once more.
‘Who is it?’ I heard him say.
His voice sounded strange – muffled, subdued – but perhaps that was just because there was a wooden door between us.
‘It’s Lira,’ I said, elevating my voice as much as I could, without drawing too much attention to myself. I wasn’t sure who would still be within earshot – some of the production team would most likely be hanging around, clearing the stage, setting it for the following night’s performance.
