The School Gates

By Fiona Snyckers

"We know what's best for our children." Burnt out after years as a professional dancer, Ella Burchell moves to a small town on the KwaZulu Natal north coast hoping to rebuild her life. Things look up when she gets a job teaching dance to children at a for-profit private school. But Ella hasn't reckoned with the cabal of private-school mums who run the Pines Academy as their own personal fiefdom. Circling into cliques at the school gates every morning, the mums are a force to be reckoned with. Soon Ella is too busy fielding their demands to concentrate on her own troubles. Distraction arrives in the form of an attractive cricket coach, but Ella hardly has time to pay attention. Fun, fast-paced and hilarious, this novel by an award-winning author skewers the world of private-school privilege.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Modjaji Books
• Release date: May 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781928433200

Fiona Snyckers

Fiona Snyckers is the author of the Trinity series of young adult novels, the Eulalie Park series of mystery novels, and two high-concept thrillers, Now Following You and Spire. She has been long-listed four times for the Sunday Times Barry Ronge Fiction Prize.

Book preview

Prologue

Ella watched the sweat fan out around her as she spun into a pirouette. The angle of the spotlight seemed to catch and hold the droplets suspended in the air, like stars.

She hoped the audience in the front row didn’t notice. Nobody wanted to see the dancers’ gleaming skin and heaving chests. It destroyed the spectacle, and ballet was all about spectacle.

Especially Giselle — the role of a lifetime.

She chanted the steps in her head, as she had since early girlhood. Chassé developpé à la seconde, petite battements frappe pas ballonné with temps de fleche en avant to switch leading leg. Chassé en pointe, chasse en pointe, five more ballonnés ending in arabesque. Then jeté, jeté, grand jeté and arabesque.

As she held the arabesque, the music began to sound hollow in her ears. The chiaroscuro of spotlight and darkness was turning yellow. Music and light retreated into the distance and all she could hear was the wash of blood in her ears.

It was happening again.

Ella quickened her breathing and tensed her leg muscles as Peter had taught her, trying to force the blood back to her head. She couldn’t pass out now. You didn’t faint on stage in Vienna. You died elegantly five nights a week, but you never fainted.

The music of the orchestra seemed to rush closer and the world lurched back into focus. Ella released her breath. The crisis was over — for now.

The relief that flooded into her carried her through the sissone and a series of coupés. Then developpé en pointe and jeté entrelecais to carry her towards Antoine for the assisted jetés leading into a gruelling series of chaînés and finishing in front of Antoine in a kneeling croisé.

•

During the interval, Ella’s teeth chattered, and her muscles trembled. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Low blood sugar, said the producer, watching the makeup artist trying to repair her maquillage as long shudders shook her frame. Here. Get some Gatorade into you.

Are you kidding me? Peter intercepted the Gatorade and flung it out of reach. That’s like thirty calories a swallow. Have some water, Ella.

I’ve had enough water.

It wasn’t dehydration that ailed her. The producer, Miles, was right. It was low blood sugar. Ella glanced at the bottle of Gatorade lying on its side and tried to imagine herself swallowing its syrupy contents. She felt her throat slam shut at the thought.

Up! said the makeup artist.

She lifted her chin so he could powder her neck and décolleté.

Peter stood at her side, scowling. At least you didn’t have one of your fainting spells this time.

I did. During the second arabesque. Didn’t you notice?

I didn’t. You’re getting better at hiding them.

Yes. She concentrated on slowing her breathing so her heart rate could level out. Three cheers for me.

CHAPTER 1

Dear Mom and Dad,

Are we really doing weekly emails like it’s 2005? How about Zoom? Skype? WhatsApp? How about phone calls?

I’ll try to keep this up, if you insist. But in return I expect you to make an effort to master one new form of technology a month. What’s new on my side?

I saw Dr Ngcobo today. She’s pleased with my progress. I’ve put on weight, and my blood markers are better. I celebrated by having coffee and a muffin at Bean ’n Gone.

The cottage is cosy. That leak in the bathroom turned out to be no big deal — just a pipe that hadn’t been connected to the geyser properly. The plumber Dr Ngcobo recommended sorted it out.

I’ve registered at a temp agency. They tested my typing speed and computer skills, and said they’d be in touch. I know I can’t live off the money I inherited from Gran forever.

Pineapple Beach is beautiful. I love being woken by the screeching of seagulls. I love how the sun drops like a stone at seven o’clock each night on the KwaZulu-Natal coast. I’m even learning to love the wind that starts kicking up the waves by lunchtime.

I met some of the local kids. They reminded me of Ben and Sharma. They are the only things I miss about living in Joburg. Give them big kisses from their Auntie Ella and tell them we’ll Skype soon.

Love,

Ella

Dr Sindiswe Ngcobo loosened the blood pressure cuff and slid it from Ella’s arm. You’re still far too thin.

But I’ve put on weight, right? You said I had.

A hundred grams, Ella. That’s nothing. That would be a decent weight gain for a hamster. For a human being, it probably means you need to pee.

But it’s a step in the right direction?

Dr Ngcobo waved the sphygmomanometer under her nose. This is a child’s sphyg, Ella. This is the cuff I use for measuring the blood pressure of children under the age of twelve. You are a twenty-eight-year-old woman.

I bought the stuff you recommended. I made the smoothies and the energy drinks. I even cooked dinner one night.

None of that helps if it didn’t end up inside your body. A smoothie that gets poured down the drain won’t help you put on weight. Nor will a dinner that gets scraped into the bin. That’s what happened, isn’t it?

Ella pressed her lips together to stop them trembling. Okay, yes, I had to get rid of most of it. Every time I try to eat something new, my throat closes up. I can’t swallow, so I end up choking. I know how silly it sounds, but it’s true.

Dr Ngcobo took a breath. She needed to see Ella as a patient, and not as the child of her oldest friend.

I’m sorry. I’m being unprofessional. I keep expecting your mom to drop by with a knobkierie, demanding to know why I haven’t fixed her daughter yet. The truth is, you have an eating disorder. You’re not just too thin — you have a full-blown pathology. You should be treated as an in-patient at an eating-disorders clinic with a full range of professionals monitoring you. I’m just a GP, and I don’t have the experience to deal with this.

It’s not that bad …

You’re still not menstruating, are you?

Ella sighed. No.

Then it is that bad.

I don’t want to go to a clinic. I love Pineapple Beach. This is the happiest I’ve been in ages. And it’s not as though I’m unhealthy, apart from being thin.

I wish you would at least consider medication and therapy.

I’m not saying never. I’m just saying I’m not ready to take those steps yet. I don’t mind coming to you because I’ve known you since I was born.

Dr Ngcobo closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened Ella’s file and started to make notes.

Your resting pulse is fifty beats a minute. Your blood pressure is ninety over sixty. You’re either incredibly fit or recently dead. Considering your history as a professional dancer, I’m going to go with incredibly fit.

That’s good, isn’t it?

We need to get your body-fat percentage up to a level at which you start producing oestrogen. This early menopause you’ve got going is basically a written invitation to a whole slew of gynaecological diseases. It is also endangering your long-term fertility. Do you think you might want children one day?

I’m not sure, but I’d like to keep that option open.

Then here’s a plan. Go straight from here to Bean ’n Gone and order a latte macchiato with a chocolate muffin. Grab yourself a glossy magazine from the rack and read it while you take tiny bites very, very slowly. Let them dissolve in your mouth. If you feel your throat starting to close up, just breathe through your nose and wait for it to pass. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. You can stay there all afternoon if you like.

Ella wondered if her smile resembled a rictus grin. I’ll try.

She wouldn’t think about how many calories there were in the latte, or how the muffin would be bulging with chocolate chips. She would do as she was told. She had always been good at that.

•

As she stepped out of the surgery, the wind slapped her cheeks and lifted her hair. It smelled of salt and ozone. The sun stung her eyes, forcing her to grope for her sunglasses. She reached for her car keys before remembering that she had walked to the surgery. Her car was tucked into the garage at the cottage she was renting. It hadn’t been out in three days.

Pineapple Beach was small. The roads were steep, almost vertical in places. But you could get around on foot in a way that wasn’t possible in Johannesburg.

At a bend in the road, the trees parted, and Ella could see the Indian Ocean spread out below her. Glimpsing the sea never failed to give her a lift. She wondered if she would ever get used to the thrill of living on the North Coast.

A signboard pointed her towards Pineapple Beach CBD, which made her smile. Central business district — a grandiose name for a row of shops, a couple of restaurants, and a post office.

The first storefront she came to was a combined recruitment agency and real estate agent. One side of the door was plastered with photographs of properties for sale or let, and the other with notices of job vacancies.

She had avoided the place for weeks, but yesterday had finally gone inside to fill in an application. A bored clerk made her type out a five-hundred-word passage and set her some tasks to perform on Word, Excel and PowerPoint. Ella had never learned to touch-type, and her computer skills were at school level. Fortunately, that seemed to be all that was required. The clerk took her details and promised to give her a call when a temping job came up.

Ella asked whether permanent jobs ever came up, and the clerk replied that with her skills she would be better off starting as a temp and using the opportunity to make herself indispensable to the company so that they decided to keep her on. It was the first step she had taken towards finding employment in the four weeks that she had lived in Pineapple Beach. But instead of buoying her up, it had left her feeling depressed.

People had warned her for years that focusing on ballet to the exclusion of all else would leave her unemployable when she retired. It was depressing to realise how right they were.

You didn’t get to dance professionally without devoting your youth to ballet. And Ella wasn’t content with joining a ballet company and dancing minor roles. She wanted the big time. That meant putting in more hours than anyone else.

It just wasn’t meant to end so soon.

At twenty-eight, she still had many good years left in her. It was her own weakness that had let her down. Weaklings suffered from burnout.

Her good mood ruined, Ella was about to turn down the steep cobbled road that led to her cottage when she remembered the promise she had made to Dr Ngcobo — coffee and a muffin at Bean ’n Gone. Her stomach rebelled at the thought.

She hesitated at the edge of Seagull Lane. She had made a promise. She had given her word to her mother’s oldest friend.

Dammit.

She turned and walked into the coffee shop. The smell of freshly ground coffee and baked goods made her stomach roll over.

•

Ashton looked up as the door chimed.

It was her again. The thin blonde woman with the blue eyes. She smiled at the waiter and held up a finger. Table for one.

The waiter showed her to a table by the window and she sat down. Ashton thought she seemed preoccupied. There was a crease between her brows, and her gaze was focused on something far away.

The waiter hurried back to take Ashton’s order.

One cappuccino with cinnamon, one filter coffee with hot milk, and two small chocolate milkshakes, said Ashton.

Right away, sir. I’ll bring it to the table for you.

Ashton nodded, but stayed where he was at the counter, watching the stranger by the window. Cassy would be annoyed if she noticed, but that couldn’t be helped. He glanced over to where she sat with the boys. She handed out colouring-in books and pencils to keep them occupied. He knew they would have preferred iPads, but the colouring books would keep them quiet for a minute or two.

He turned his attention back to the woman. The waiter put an enormous, foamy latte in front of her, along with a muffin the size of her head. Her expression didn’t brighten at the sight of either. She sighed and stood up.

Her carriage was remarkable, he noticed as she glided towards him. She looked as though she were floating.

Excuse me.

He snapped out of his reverie when he realised she was trying to get past him.

Sorry.

He moved to one side so she could reach the magazine rack that Bean ’n Gone provided for patrons. She heaved another sigh as she appeared to debate between Grazia and Hello.

I know … He arranged his face into mournful lines. I too was devastated when the Duchess of Cambridge chose plaid for Ascot.

Her eyes met his for a puzzled second, and then she laughed. It’s not just the plaid skirt. It’s the red and black fascinator. She should know better.

Now you’ve taken me out of my depth. I don’t know what a fascinator is.

It’s that feathery hat-thingy she’s wearing. And there I was thinking you were an expert.

I fall down on the technicalities. Actually, I wanted to ask you a question.

A wary look came into her eyes. Really?

Nothing sinister. I just wondered if you’d moved to Pineapple Beach permanently or were here on holiday.

Permanently. It’s only been a few weeks, but I love it. The weather is mostly great, and I don’t mind a bit of wind or rain.

That’s good, because we get a lot of both all year round.

That’s what I hear.

So, what do you do for …

Ashton!

He looked around. Cassy was calling him to the table.

Our drinks are here. She indicated to the waiter placing cups in front of the boys.

Oh, right. Coming. He turned to Ella. Sorry, I have to go now. Cassy and the kids are waiting for me. He went back to the table where the woman was all but tapping her foot.

•

Ella grabbed a Marie Claire and returned to her table.

That was strange.

She had been out of the dating game for a long time now — if she had ever really been in it — but she knew when a man was interested in her. What kind of person hit on a woman when his wife and kids were sitting in the same restaurant? Did he think they wouldn’t notice?

She felt almost guilty about the tug of attraction she had felt while they chatted. But she wasn’t the one who had done anything wrong. And now that she knew he was a family man, she could avoid him, however small Pineapple Beach might be.

Ella opened her magazine and took a tiny sip of the latte. The first sip was never the problem. Nor the first bite. She nibbled at the muffin, focusing on the magazine, trying to interest herself in the latest runway fashions so her body wouldn’t notice how many bites she was taking.

It was as she put the fourth morsel of muffin into her mouth that she felt it — a clenching of the throat muscles that told her it was all over. Her body was about to reject the food she was trying to put in it. Some people vomited compulsively. Ella rejected the food before it even went in.

She wanted to stand up, throw money on the table, and get out of there. But that would be to admit defeat. Instead, she removed the piece of muffin from her mouth and put it back on the plate.

She turned the page and tried to become engrossed in an exposé on female circumcision rites in Chad. The photos alone were enough to put anyone off their food, but Ella breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth until she felt her throat muscles start to relax. Then she ventured another sip of the latte.

•

The gulls dipped and screeched overhead as Ella walked home, just before dusk.

Seagull Lane was so steep she had to lean backwards to negotiate it. Her flat shoes threatened to slip on the cobbles as she picked her way down the hill. The wind had dropped as it often did in the early evening, the fading sunlight leaching colour from the sky and the sea.

She looked at the dog-walkers and joggers on the narrow, paved promenade that ran along the beach and tried to cheer herself up. It wasn’t an easy task.

You’re a failure, her demons muttered. You’ll never be normal. You’ll never have babies. You’re pathetic.

It took effort to silence the chatter. Yes, she had failed, but at least she had tried. You didn’t fix a lifetime of disordered eating overnight. Ella’s heart swooped as her foot slid out from under her. She had to do a very nimble leap to stop herself from falling. There had to be a better way to get home.

A side road stretched to the left. She had been meaning to explore it because it seemed to lead to a small park. Now was as good a time as any.

The side road was flat, which was a relief after the slippery cobbles. Ella’s spirits lifted as she saw that it did indeed lead to a tiny public park. It was no more than a green, really — a square of grass and trees with benches dotted around it. She cheered up more when she saw three young girls capering on the grass.

They were lost in their own world, and didn’t notice when she sat on a bench to watch them.

Ella smiled when she saw that they were practising dance steps. She remembered herself at that age, playing ballerina games with her friends. They would watch ballet movies for hours and then practise the steps they had learned. Enjoying the nostalgia, she watched the girls scamper and twirl.

It amused her to realise how unable she was to shut off the professional part of her brain. In less than a minute, she had pegged the plump, black girl as the best dancer of the group. It happened like that sometimes. A child might appear clumsy, even ungainly, but when you gave her music to move to, she turned into a miracle of grace and precision.

One of the other girls — tall, skinny and coloured, with thick glasses — wasn’t bad either. She had a certain sense of rhythm and carried herself well. The third girl, who was white, was just ordinary, the kind of child you saw in dance classes the length and breadth of the country.

Twirl, Natasha, twirl! the skinny girl shouted, spinning herself in circles until she started to stagger.

I’m getting so dizzy.

Me too. How can you keep going, Shoshanna?

The black girl performed very creditable pirouettes, one after the other, without falling over. Ella doubted she even knew what she was doing right.

It’s easy! Shoshanna said. Look! I can keep going and going.

Ooh, I feel sick.

Urgh.

The other two collapsed on the grass and closed their eyes.

Everything is going round and round.

Stop, Shoshanna. It’s making me dizzy just to look at you.

Then don’t look! She beamed as her turns got faster and faster.

How is she doing it?

Shoshanna turned her head to look at her friends, and immediately fell over. Oops! Now I can’t do it anymore.

She stood up and tried again but couldn’t manage more than two turns. That’s weird. I’ve lost it.

Ella was on her feet and walking towards them before she had thought it through. Hello, girls. I was watching your pirouettes, and I wanted to show you a trick I learned.

Three pairs of eyes watched her warily as she approached. The girls looked as though they were about to bolt.

Ella stopped and held up her hands. Sorry. I’m a stranger, aren’t I? You’ve been warned not to speak to people like me.

They nodded. But my mom says men strangers are worse than lady strangers, said the one called Natasha.

Your mom is quite right. Is there a grownup looking after you?

Natasha pointed to where a woman was sitting on a nearby bench. That’s my nanny. As Ella turned to look at the woman, she stood up and approached them. Ella asked if it was okay for her to give the girls some dance tips and the woman nodded, but stayed close by.

Okay, girls. You were wondering how Shoshanna here managed to do so many pirouettes without getting dizzy, right? Well, this is how she did it. Ella put her arms into fourth devant and her feet into fourth position. She kept her eyes fixed on one spot in front of her and every time she turned, she kept bringing her eyes back to that one spot. Like this. Ella did a double pirouette. See? I went around twice, but I kept looking at that tree with the red leaves. And again. She did more pirouettes. I can keep this up all day without getting dizzy.

How do you manage to keep your body so straight?

I pull my tummy in.

Hey, I can do it again! said Shoshanna, twirling herself around. Ella noticed that her balance was exceptional and that her turnout was excellent. The other two tried the pirouettes again with varying degrees of success.

You girls must love ballet class, Ella said as they practised again and again.

Oh, we don’t do ballet, Natasha explained. We auditioned, but we didn’t get in.

You auditioned for a special ballet school?

No, just for the normal ballet class at our school. But we didn’t make it.

You didn’t?

"We all tried out. Gia auditioned twice, but she still