The Ballerina and the Revolutionary (12 page)

27

The moment I woke up it dawned on me Tuesday was going to be an awful day, and I was tempted to spend it in bed. It had been awkward, coming home to Chrissie. She had a haunted look in her eyes and kept walking away when I tried to speak to her. I decided it would be best to stay out of my friend’s way as much as possible, give her time to process whatever mix of emotions she was feeling.

I grabbed my book and flicked listlessly through the pages. Outside my door, I heard a soft movement, Chrissie. I pushed my body deeper into my mattress and started to read.

Hunger and nicotine cravings gnawed at me, calling me to rise from the bed and by half-eleven I knew I needed to feed them both. The corridor was empty when I opened my bedroom door. Tiptoeing downstairs I heard papers rustling and headed towards the dining room. Chrissie stood beside the table, shedding tears and pulling apart Vivienne’s diaries and letters, throwing scraps into a black bin bag.

‘Stop it!’ I ran towards Chrissie and span her around. ‘We need those.’

She shook her head. Her eyes were rimmed with crimson, and she looked as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. ‘No we don’t. They’re just bad memories. Let them go.’

I hugged her and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. ‘I’m sorry.’

Her body shuddered and I felt my shoulder grow wet with her tears. Clinging to her I cried without restraint.

‘Let’s go home,’ Chrissie said.

I shook my head, still holding her tightly. ‘You were right. I have to stay, but maybe you should, Chrissie. Go home and sort things out with Mitch while I stay here.’

‘You want rid of me?’ Her eyes shone with tears.

‘No. Of course not. It’s just ... I know it’s not easy ... to be here. You should be with your lover, not trying to take care of me. I don’t need to be taken care of, but I think ... perhaps ... right now ... you might.’

Chrissie dropped the bundle of letters and hugged me back.

Together we gathered the torn and crumpled papers, flattening each one carefully and matching fragments. Restoring the documents, this evidence of my mother’s life, felt cathartic. With every piece stuck back in place I felt more complete. I glanced up and saw Chrissie smiling apologetically. “It’s okay,” I mouthed and returned to my labour. It consumed me, this act of putting things back together, mending rather than destroying. I was unaware of the passage of time, but when I looked towards the doorway again Chrissie had gone.

At eight o’clock, when Chrissie called me to dinner, I was still surrounded by ripped sheets and balls of paper. We sat down to our last shared meal in this city and ate silently, each of us absorbed in our individual thoughts and hopes. When the food had been consumed I cleared the table. I didn’t hear Chrissie leave the room. Her footsteps and movements had taken on a ghostlike hush as if they were already somewhere beyond the limits of my perception. Only when the plates were all clean and draining next to the sink did I turn and find the kitchen empty.

I didn’t try to find her. I embraced the solitude. Lying in bed, I thought about the day’s events: my rejection of Chrissie and her deep, inexplicable sadness. The sound of creaking stairs roused me from my thoughts. Relaxing again, I smiled at the melody of the old house – ghosts or water pipes. The bedroom was dark, but flashes inside my mind kept me awake. After a while I gave up on the idea of slumber and turned on the lamp. Soft light flooded the room, illuminating a small, twisted figure at the end of my bed.

‘Nanny?’

‘Hurry child.’ Nanny’s ghost pointed towards the door.

‘What’s wrong?’ I jumped out of bed and followed the spectre. The glowing figure glided towards the attic door and waited at the foot of the steps, watching me. Her eyes fell from my face to my feet as I shook my head. My rejection made her appear crestfallen and my heart ached to make it better, apologise, but I was afraid to see my grandfather again. I did not want to climb those terrible stairs. Chrissie, the word hissed in my mind as Nanny pointed up the stairs, her eyes imploring me to action. I raced up the attic stairs, two at a time and reached the top just as my friend kicked the chair from under her.

‘No,’ I screamed.

Chrissie jerked at the end of a rope. The manic movements turned her around until she faced me, her face ashen. I ran across the creaking floorboards and held her legs while using my foot to right the fallen chair. I heard her sobs, loud and unrestrained. I cried too, soaking her pyjama bottoms. Moving up her body I loosened the noose, and Chrissie collapsed in my arms. I lowered her awkwardly to the floor. Rocking her shivering body in my arms, I looked up at the egg-shaped loop in the rope, a featureless face mocking me, still jolting with vicious laughter.

I stroked Chrissie’s hair until I felt her body relax. Without thinking I found myself humming a tune Nanny used to sing to me. I felt the old woman beside me, taking care of both of us. My love for her filled my soul and I wished she had been my mother instead of Vivienne. I might have turned out very differently under her loving guidance.

I pulled Chrissie to her feet and, supporting her weight, guided her back down the stairs. In the dark Vivienne’s bed looked even larger than normal. I led Chrissie towards it. Its turned back covers looked like a gaping mouth ready to swallow us both. As the back of Chrissie’s head fell gently onto the pillow she fixed her eyes on me.

‘Don’t leave me alone,’ she pleaded.

‘Shh, it’s okay. I’ll stay with you.’ I slipped under the covers beside her. The heat choked me, but I stayed, hand resting on my friend’s shoulder as she fell into a troubled sleep.

Memories flooded my own mind as I lay in bed, awake. I remembered the times Vivienne claimed Nanny had told her something, like the time I left home all those years before. A heavy realisation settled inside me, either Vivienne hadn’t been hallucinating, or I was just as crazy as my mother. The usual panic did not rise within me at this thought. That hallucination, if indeed that was what it had been, saved my friend’s life. I figured I could live with such visions.

28

I woke in my mother’s bed with my arms wrapped around Chrissie. I slipped out from under the covers to fetch my knife. At the attic door I stood, heart pounding, sweat pouring down my face, wondering what I might see. I pushed the door open, climbed the stairs and stepped into the empty attic. The noose still hung from the rafters, an empty space waiting to be filled. Cutting through the rope was hard work but the knife was sharp and I was strong. As the rope fell to the floor I breathed a sigh of relief, gathered up the remnants and threw them behind some boxes. One of the boxes was slightly open and a hard backed book poked out between the flaps. I leaned across and pulled out a diary, opening the box I found a dozen or more diaries inside, resting on top of a pile of fur coats. The softness of the fur as it brushed my hand made me feel strange. The last time I touched dead fur mother had been wearing it. The sensation made me sad, angry and happy all at once. I gathered the diaries in my arms and left.

I stuffed the diaries into my bottom drawer before checking on my friend. Chrissie was still sleeping soundly, her forehead wrinkled with some unknown dream. I decided to make coffee before she awoke. The aroma of the two steaming cups filled the bedroom when I returned to Chrissie’s side and I placed one on the table next to Chrissie and nursed the other cup, entranced by my friend’s sleeping face. It was impossible to believe this peaceful woman had tried to kill herself less than eight hours before. Why had she done it? Asleep she looked confident, better able to face the world than I had ever felt. It made me wonder for a moment why I had never been tempted to commit suicide, what spark had kept me going through all the pain and rejection?

Vivienne had tried many times: pills usually, but sometimes slicing her wrists. Covered in vomit or blood mother would scream for help then the ambulance would come and Vivienne would get better again. Her near-deaths were a theme throughout my childhood and while other girls were learning about their periods, I’d be cleaning Vivienne’s arterial blood off our bathroom floor.

I rubbed Chrissie’s shoulder, gently, to wake her. Her eyes were swollen and looked unfocused and distant when she opened them. I shuddered. Now the peace of her sleep had been broken, Chrissie’s turmoil was apparent.

‘Do you wanna talk ‘bout it?’ I asked.

Chrissie shook her head slowly and carefully as if each movement was carefully choreographed and could only be achieved with complete concentration.

‘What do you want to do, now?’ I asked, afraid I would be left to decide for her. I didn’t want to make that call; how could I decide whether Chrissie was a danger to herself?

She closed her eyes.

‘You can’t give up, Chrissie,’ I said. ‘People need you. Mitch needs you ... so do I.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Chrissie whispered in a voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it.

‘No need. It’s an odd house. It fucks with your head. I know that. Did you see someone or something? Or was it my fault? Is it because I pushed you away? Look, I was just angry yesterday. I still love you. You gotta get past this. Go back to London. Live even if you feel like giving up.’

‘I’m so ashamed.’ Chrissie covered her face with her hands. Deep and thick sobs pushed their way through her fingers.

I held her in my arms and kissed her cheek. Her smile looked thin, but her eyes seemed to focus on me at last. ‘You’ll be okay.’

Chrissie nodded. ‘I suppose I’m a big disappointment to you.’

I shook my head, but Chrissie frowned and carried on.

‘You came here in search of your mum and I don’t know what I thought, but I was wrong. You’re strong, Crow. Stronger than me. Will you keep looking? Can you forgive Vivienne?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you go and see her again?’

‘Yes.’

‘When?’

I sighed. ‘That’s the question, isn’t it? Days have passed and I’ve seen no one. Well except you of course ... you and ghosts. I reckon I’ve been here for what ... a week, is that right? And I’ve seen Mum twice in that time. And what about Tomas? Has he been hiding from me? Have I been hiding from Vivienne? No, no, not from her, from me I reckon. I’ve been hiding from myself. One step forward, two steps back. You know what it’s like ... or maybe you don’t. Growing up you hear all these stories: fairy tales and legends, except mine were about us, about our family, and I thought they were the truth. Yet I’m still here ... figuring I can learn all about her from these second hand stories, but I know less than I thought I did when I arrived. Mum’s life is a confused blur, full of children, ghosts, violence. It’s the house, Chrissie or at least part of it is. It’s full of memories, buried and repressed. You need to leave here. You need to go home and I need to find myself.’

‘Will you stay here alone?’ Chrissie asked, worried.

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘I, I don’t know what to do or where to go,’ Chrissie said. ‘What would you do?’

I searched my thoughts for the right answer. It was the first time I had been asked for advice and I wanted to get it right. What would I do? Return to the squat, find my family, start afresh somewhere new or stay and help? ‘Go back to Mitch. I’ll be home soon.’

Chrissie picked up her cup and took a sip, her movements slow and thoughtful. At last she nodded. ‘Okay. Will you come back?’

‘Great,’ I said, although I wasn’t sure my voice was convincing. ‘And yes ... of course I will. I can’t walk away from all the fun. Umm, can you wait here a minute? I’m gonna phone Tom.’

Tomas’s phone rang three times. ‘Hello.’ The voice was female, Catherine.

‘Hi Cathy, it’s Crow.’

The line was silent for a moment. ‘Oh hi, how are you? I’m afraid Tomas isn’t here,’

Catherine’s voice sounded saccharine. When I tried to visualise her I saw a smile forcibly held on her face. ‘Giz ...’

‘Crow.’ My grip on the telephone tightened.

‘Sorry, yeah Crow.’

‘What, Cathy. Is something wrong?’

‘It’s just ... no it doesn’t matter ...’

‘Please, what? Tell me.’

‘He isn’t jealous.’

I shuddered, unable to understand her words. ‘Why is he so angry with me?’ I asked. The phone shook in my hand, my knuckles tense and white.

‘He’s trying to protect your mum. It's what he does. He doesn’t mean to hurt everyone else around him. It's just the way it works out.’

I gulped. realising I hadn't considered how Catherine was affected by all this. Did she feel jealous too? I wondered whether I should ask her, but it felt too intrusive. Safer to stay on the subject of Vivienne. ‘Protect her? Protect her from what, from me, from the past? Cathy I don’t understand. I want to understand.’

‘Yeah. Well it is what it is. Look, forget I said anything. We’ll see you tomorrow - Wednesday, right?’ That smile again, I could hear it stretching across Catherine’s cheeks.

‘Of course. Hey is it Tom’s birthday?’

Catherine laughed. ‘Yes it is. We’re making a cake. Oh, does your friend want to come too?’

‘No, she’s heading back to London. You want me to bring anything?’

‘Don’t go to any bother,’ Catherine said. ‘Just bring a smile and leave the drama behind.’

I gulped, feeling insulted:
the drama?
The phone clicked dead and I walked back to the bedroom in a daze. Chrissie looked up. I smiled to show all was well and joined her on the bed.
Leave the drama behind
– the words kept echoing through my mind. ‘Cathy just told me to “leave the drama behind”,’ I said, not really speaking to Chrissie, but sounding the words out to see how they felt.

‘The cheek of her,’ Chrissie said. ‘I hope you swore at her.’

‘I didn’t. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.’

‘Ignore her, Crow. You’re not dramatic. You’re perfectly well balanced and charming and, and, and completely normal.’ She grinned.

I returned her smile. As we stared at each other, the tension started to slip away.

‘I’m glad you’re going to see Mitch,’ I said.

Chrissie nodded. She opened her mouth to say something then seemed to think better of it.

I raised my eyebrows and she blushed under my scrutiny. ‘My relationship with Mitch has gone to shit so I guess I’ve been trying to take care of you instead. Except, well you know how that worked out.’ Her eyes looked haunted.

‘Come down to the kitchen. Let me roll you a cigarette. It’ll all be okay, I promise.’

‘It’s okay, I kinda, I think I wanna be alone for a while.’

I stood up. My face must have reflected my concern and Chrissie waved her hand, dismissively. ‘No I’m not going to do anything stupid. It’s a relief, to be honest. Yes a relief. I’ll be okay.’

I watched as Chrissie shuffled about under the quilt. The boundless energy she had brought with her, just a few days before, seemed like a half-forgotten dream. It was the house. It had to be. The bricks were a black hole that swallowed happiness and left its occupants empty and afraid.

I wandered downstairs, wondering what to give Tomas for his birthday. I decided I’d do what I did best, paint a picture for him, but of what?