‘Scoo . . .’ said Sophie.
‘That’s right, Sophie, your school,’ Li said, joining the excitement. ‘Let’s go to dance in your school.’
We put on our costumes and make-up in the gym change room. Li looked dashing with his satin harem pants and bare chest, and I had managed to squeeze into a frothy midnight-blue tutu and wore a glittery tiara. There were little gasps of excitement as we made our entrance. ‘Quiet, please, girls,’ said the teacher. All the little girls gazed at us in wonderment while Sophie looked very proud – sitting up tall and grinning from ear to ear. I showed the children my pointe shoes and they touched the tutu.
Li led me to the centre of the space to Adolphe Adam’s romantic score, and we began. The carpeted floor felt different for me en pointe, but then the music and movement took over and it was all fun. It felt good to be dancing again. I was happy to be doing this for Sophie and her classmates. The music came to a climax and we took our last turns, then Li lifted me high above his head, finishing in an arabesque position to loud gasps from the enraptured audience.
The children and teachers jumped to their feet, clapping with delight. We stood there hand in hand and both looked at Sophie. She was positively beaming. The teacher turned to us. ‘Mr and Mrs Li, it has been a great honour to have you here for our girls today. It’s very generous of you to give up your time with Houston Ballet to be here, Mr Li.’
‘It was a pleasure,’ said Li, squeezing my hand. ‘I hope the children enjoyed it.’
‘I’m sure they did. And it’s lovely for Sophie. Look how proud she is.’
It was exactly the outcome I’d wanted – a connection of some kind, an understanding of her and us.
The new routine of school, therapy and play continued for the next year. By now, I knew it was useless to hope that Sophie would pick up language from her surroundings. I had to be the one to put the language in our lessons. We were getting through more things in therapy, beginning to touch on concepts like ‘How’, ‘What’, ‘Where’ and ‘Why’.
To get the concept ‘Why’ could take a long, long time. But her vocabulary was picking up, so her auditory memory was beginning to develop. By the time she was approaching her sixth birthday, her language was slowly beginning to form. She still didn’t make much sense, but I could understand what she was saying. Sophie and Tom began to talk with each other, too. She would babble at him and he would take up the conversation when she paused. At two, he was speaking really well.
‘Let’s go to the park!’ I’d say. ‘Why won’t the door open?’ I’d say, looking at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Oh, look, Sophie! The door is locked.’ When she’d had enough of my constant talking, she’d reach up to try to put her hand over my mouth and plead, ‘Sto Mummy, pleeeee!’
The big test of her progress was the annual language proficiency test done in the auditory booth. Although it showed she was improving, she had the auditory memory of a one-year-old, and she was five.
Saturday mornings with Ava Jean continued to be an oasis in the week for us all. Sophie and I were usually so exhausted with each other by then. I often felt there was no time for me just to be her mother. I longed for Saturdays. As soon as I turned into the long leafy driveway that led to Ava Jean’s bungalow, Tom and Sophie would start jumping up and down in their car seats. Then, there she was, our very own Mary Poppins! The children absolutely adored her. She let them run wild, free to play, grow and explore.
‘Ava Jean, Ava Jean,’ Tom sang.
‘Yes, Tom,’ Ava Jean would reply.
‘Ava Jean, Ava Jean,’ Tom would call out again.
‘Yes, Tom,’ Ava Jean giggled at Tom’s calls.
‘You are soooo fun!’ Tom would giggle back and run off to play.
Ava Jean was not only a friend, she was family too.
The McKendry clan back in Queensland was growing. Everyone had moved from Rocky to Brisbane. Ger, Mick and Matt had two or three children apiece, and Brig was having her second baby. Paddy and Dom were both working, Paddy as an industrial relations advocate and Dom in insurance. Jo was still footloose in New York and Dad was retired and slowing down with Mum. His heart wasn’t too good.
I yearned to be back with my family in Australia. You couldn’t take away that crazy childhood we had shared – we had formed such a strong bond, always there for one another. I wanted to be an aunty to the growing number of nieces and nephews. I wanted Sophie and Tom to know their cousins, uncles, aunties and grandparents. I wanted a simpler life.
I also knew that Li’s career was nearing its end. ‘I’d like to retire while I’m at the top, Mary,’ he told me one day. But I knew that even at thirty-three, he was at the peak of his career and had more to give to ballet. Maybe it was because I had stopped mine prematurely, but I felt quite strongly that he really needed to stay with it for as long as he could.
‘I know your back is not perfect, but I think you will still be able to dance at this level for a few more years. I mean, what else would you do?’ I asked him earnestly.
‘I could do real estate. I’ve bought, renovated and sold a few times now, and I know the local market well. I could also do business in China,’ he said.
Even though Li did buy, renovate and sell houses successfully and had established two joint ventures in China with his brothers and the Bandit, this all sounded precarious to me. Working at Houston Ballet was stable and we would lose our medical cover through the ballet if he left. How would we pay for Sophie’s medical costs?
‘Maybe you just need a change,’ I said. ‘After all, you have been with Houston Ballet for fifteen years.’
Li began considering the possibility of moving to New York City to join American Ballet Theatre. It was considered the crème de la crème of international ballet, with a massive repertoire, and it performed in one of the best theatres in the world. However, the company only offered nine-month contracts for dancers, which would have meant Li finding a second job to sustain our family for the rest of the year. Besides, I didn’t think New York City was right for bringing up our children, even if Jo was there. Li also considered the Royal Ballet, but he wasn’t convinced that living in London would be good for the family either.
Then we heard on the grapevine that the Australian Ballet was in need of experienced dancers. Two of their top principal dancers, Greg Horsman and Lisa Pavane, had accepted principal artist positions at my former company in London, now called the English National Ballet. The Australian Ballet’s artistic director, Maina Gielgud, had once said to Li, ‘If you’re ever interested in joining the company, I would be most delighted.’ Li called her to see if her offer still stood. Without hesitation, she offered him a principal artist position.
The company was very well regarded internationally, but few people in Australia would know who Li was. He would have to start all over again, make new friends, gain respect for his artistry, learn a different repertoire and fit in to the rhythm of a new company. He would be dancing alongside Lisa Bolte and Miranda Coney, as well as Steven Heathcote, David McAllister and other principal artists.
I was so excited when he got off the phone. Melbourne, the Australian Ballet’s home city, was where the cochlear implant had been invented. I also knew the Australian medical and education systems were among the world’s best. And of course my family was there. It was home.