The Ballerina and the Revolutionary (20 page)

41

When I woke up I felt torn. I wanted to contact Scott and tell him how sorry I was, but I also wanted to stay with Clive and Anna and hear more about my sister and Vivienne.

‘What should I do, Clive?’

‘Have breakfast with us then find him. We can all catch up later, but anger and resentment should never be allowed to stew.’

I nodded. We had fruit for breakfast, Clive and I; Anna was still fast asleep when I left. I kissed her forehead and she made a strange snuffling sound that reminded me of a hedgehog. Clive and I embraced and kissed each other’s cheeks in the Continental fashion and I promised to hurry back, bringing Scott if I could.

At eleven o’clock I reached Vivienne’s house and, to my delight, I saw Scott at the doorway, scribbling a note.

‘What does it say?’ I asked him.

He jumped, startled and pushed the paper into his pocket. ‘Just to call me if you want to carry on with the ... lessons ...’ He said the word lessons as if it felt wrong in his mouth, but he couldn’t think of a better word to use. Of course they were not lessons, I was my own teacher in this, but I felt I knew what he was trying to say and understood his awkwardness and his fear of offending me.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Can we carry on today?’

He smiled and his face lit up. He looked beautiful, holding his heart in open hands and offering with it a complete acceptance of me; no shame and no mistrust, only respect and love. I opened the front door and found the house in chaos. Paper plates, half eaten sandwiches and discarded glasses covered the floor. A picture of Vivienne had been knocked off its hook and wobbled precariously against the wall.

‘What the fuck?’ I whispered.

Scott followed me inside. I picked my way through the debris towards the kitchen. Nothing had been washed up. Dirty glasses, serving dishes and cutlery filled every available surface. ‘Bitch!’

‘I’ll help you,’ Scott offered. ‘It’ll be done in no time then we can eat and you can travel this afternoon. I promise.’

I turned to him. My face felt cold and drained of colour and I wondered how I appeared in his eyes. I took a deep breath and swallowed my anger not wishing to direct it towards an innocent target. ‘They did this on purpose, because of the will.’

‘The will?’ he asked.

‘Vivienne left the house to Tomas, Anna and me.’

‘Who’s Anna?’

‘My sister, she’s my beautiful, wonderful big sister. You saw her at the funeral and you really must meet her properly, Scott. Come with me tonight, to Clive’s. She’s staying there, for the short-term at least.’

‘Of course. That’s wonderful, Crow, a big sister. Now, let’s get this place sorted out. Shall I do the washing up?’

‘Scott, I wanted to say ...’

‘You don’t need to say anything.’

‘But ...’

‘It’s okay. I understand and nothing is ever broken that cannot be mended.’

I wasn’t convinced he did understand, but I left him to his somewhat Zen thoughts. Cleaning the house took hours, especially with my frequent cigarette breaks, but eventually the downstairs of the house was tidy again.

‘Do you think they went upstairs?’ Scott asked.

‘I hope not. I don’t think I should check. It would be too much to stomach if they messed up my room.’ I opened the refrigerator door. ‘I’ll make us some lunch then we can start ... Mmm left overs. I wonder whether any of it’s vegan.’

Scott squeezed next to me and looked in the fridge. ‘They look okay, and those. Are you gonna throw the rest out?’

I shrugged. ‘Probably.’

Scott grabbed a tray of the garlic mushrooms I’d sampled the day before. I picked up some sliced salad vegetables and started shovelling them into my mouth before we reached the table. Scott fetched a couple of glasses of water and joined me.

‘I need a coffee.’

Scott stood up.

‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ I said, laughing. ‘I’ll get them. What do you want?’

‘Just some green tea, please.’

'Assuming we have any. Maybe Cathy left some.' I took the kettle to the sink and stared out of the window. ‘Do you like the garden?’ I asked, gazing out into the sunlight.

‘It’s great. You could grow all your vegetables out there.’

‘There’s no tree,’ I said.

‘You could plant one.’

‘Will it take long to grow?’

‘That depends on what you plant and where, but yes, it’ll take some time. Are you in a hurry?’

‘I’d like a tree.’

‘So, will you stay?’

‘I don’t know, maybe. What do you think?’ I looked at him. He seemed surprised to be asked, as though everything I did confused him and each time I said or did something new he needed to get to know me all over again.

‘I don’t know. You seem troubled here. Maybe you’d be better elsewhere.’

‘But when I’m whole again, Scott?’

He shook his head. ‘Let’s see, okay? Only you can decide. Would Anna stay here too?’

‘Ooo, do you think she might?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Does she have family elsewhere? Kids, a husband?’

‘I don’t know,’ I told him. ‘We just got drunk last night. She hardly said a word.’

‘Are you ready?’ he asked me.

I nodded and followed him into the living room. He started the ritual from the beginning: spreading out the mat and the, as yet unlit, candles and lighting his stinky smudging stick.

‘You feel okay today?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine now,’ I said, taking off my boots. ‘What is it I’m doing? Where am I going? Who will I meet there?’

‘You’re communing with the source of everything - a great wisdom, the energy from which we all originate.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Of course.’

‘It feels like I’m just tapping into my subconscious, if I’m honest.’

‘You can do that in your dreams.’

‘I do. It feels the same, although it’s easier to direct what’s happening when I do it this way rather than when I’m asleep. Like lucid dreaming, I guess.’

He frowned, but didn’t answer. I supposed it didn’t matter really, where I was going or whether I was communing with some great source of energy or simply myself. What was important was the work. I was making myself better, reshaping my internal landscape into a place where I could feel more comfortable.

I stepped onto the mat and sat cross legged, hands resting on my thighs, palms open and facing upwards. I breathed in the pungent smoke and the smell of burning sage enveloped me. He lit the candles, one by one, then sat in front of me in full lotus position and waited. I closed my eyes and started counting. When I reached three I was by my oak tree, the air chill and refreshing like the mist from a waterfall. In a perfect circle full of peace, I faced the tree and smiled to see how much it had grown. Its leafy canopy hung above me, protecting me like a patient parent, even though it was really my child, wasn’t it? I stroked the trunk and it felt warm to the touch. I could sense sap flowing steadily beneath its bark, feel its life force and its enduring strength. I wrapped my arms around it, pressing my body against its rough surface as it let its energy flow through my soft flesh and into me, filling me with power.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

I felt I should give it a gift as it had blessed me with this power. Spotting bluebells growing in the grove, I picked them and placed them among the tangle of roots at the base of the great oak then realised, in so doing, I had cut short the lives of those flowers and hung my head in shame, but it was all one, wasn’t it, the tree, the grove and the flowers? They were all me. When tending to a garden it was important to know what should live and what should die back and I suddenly saw how the same theory could apply to my life. Some things should be nurtured and others allowed to wither and die; that was what I was doing with this journey, choosing what to keep and what to let go.

I turned to walk away and saw the stag waiting for me at the mouth of the pathway. I called to him, but he didn’t come closer. So I went towards him, greeting him warmly and teasing his ears. He licked my face and I kissed his nose. ‘Back to the mountain.’

He walked beside me through a forest filled with bird song. There were no menacing shadows and I could hear nothing to disturb my wonderful sense of calm and well-being. Even climbing the mountain filled me with joy and each handhold was cushioned with moss while a benevolent sun warmed my spine.

I remembered my way, back to my soul. It shone brightly, more vibrantly than before. It was truly beautiful. I studied the gash. Part was still missing, but it looked less angry as if it had already started to heal. The cruel steel of the razor-wire tangled around my soul, looked out of place now. It distanced me from myself. Perhaps I had needed it once, to protect me from harm, but now it seemed as though it was simply cutting me off from the world. I thought of Anna and of Scott, wanting to love them – wholly, completely. My hands trembled as I reached out to touch the wire. Pain sliced through my fingers and I pulled back, sucking the tips of my bleeding digits. Holding them close to my face, I inspected my hands, but no wounds remained. I tried again and the pain felt even more intense. I screamed. I needed gloves. Wandering across the misty landscape with cloud billowing across my bare feet and calves, I passed my granddad’s old chair, my mother’s bed and a noose suspended from somewhere too far up to see. Ahead, I saw the garden shed and strode towards it, pulling open the door.

Inside there were no shadows. Everything was bathed in white light just as it was outside, as if the structure had no roof and yet I could see wooden slats above. I rummaged through spades and bags of seed, peered behind bikes and the lawnmower until I found a pair of green gardening gloves and pulled them onto my hands. They felt warm, as if Nanny’s hands had been inside them moments before. The smell of mint and lavender wafted from the fabric and I felt protected, as though Nanny had taken my hand and would help me finish what I had started. On a hook at the door was a pair of red handled secateurs. I took them with me. What would happen when I freed myself? Kneeling down in front of the vicious steel, I made the first cut. The metal sprung open and lashed at my thighs. I moved carefully around the barrier, snipping as I went. I felt pain, but the physical discomfort of invisible cuts across my legs was overshadowed by my raging emotions. Tears of anguish rolled down my cheeks and I considered rebuilding the fence so I might never feel this vulnerable again, but I was determined to be free, however high the cost. If freedom meant heartache then so be it. I refused to remain caged.

As the final joint was broken, the wire transformed into shell-pink ribbons that fluttered like autumn leaves to the floor, making way for the new buds of spring. I stood up and reached towards the sky, stretching. Tears fell like rain, but their loss made me lighter and I rose above the cloud, spreading out my arms like wings and soared. When I heard Scott’s voice say ‘ten,’ I was ready to return, excited to test my new found freedom.

‘Four, three ...’

I opened my eyes. Scott’s face filled my vision and I devoured his image, hungry for more. Like a tiger stalking its prey, I crouched on all fours and crawled towards him. His pulse quickened and trembled beneath the skin of his throat, but his eyes were full of wonder. I lay at his feet and kissed his filthy toes without fear of rejection. His muscles tightened then relaxed.

‘Crow, what happened?’ he asked, pulling me upright.

‘I freed myself,’ I said, returning to his feet and lavishing my attention on the base of his toes.

‘Stop it please,’ he said, giggling.

I laughed, but my laughter crossed the border into hysteria and when I tried to stand up I fell to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. He leaned towards me and touched my forehead. I could smell his breath as I inhaled between laughs.

‘You’re burning up. I’ll get a cold cloth.’

As my laughter subsided, I couldn’t even remember what I had found funny. He returned to my side, pressing something damp against my forehead. I had a flash of deja-vu, but couldn’t remember whether life was repeating itself or I’d had a premonition.

Cradled in his arms, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. His smell surrounded me and I ached for him, wondering whether this was madness. What had I done? Giving no thought to the consequences, I had pulled away my spiky armour. Now what would happen? I didn’t speak. I let him lull me to sleep while I wondered whether this was what it would have been like to have a father.

My legs started to relax and deaden until I could no longer feel them. The numbness spread up my body, but it didn’t frighten me. It felt right, blissful even, allowing sleep to simply overtake me. My eyelids felt heavy and I yawned then a warm darkness, like a burrow filled with feathers and moss, surrounded me.

42

When I woke again I was on top of my bed. In the soft salmon light everything resembled a prop in a classic fairy tale. I wondered how long I had slept and whether Scott was still in the house. I sat up, head throbbing and licked my lips, but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t moisten them. Unsteadily, I stood up and stumbled downstairs, knocking into walls and furniture on the way. A light emanated from the open kitchen door and exotic spices drifted towards me tickling my senses.

Scott was there, stirring a steaming pot of what I presumed was curry. He looked up as I joined him.

‘Feel better?’ he asked.

‘Thanks, yeah.’

I walked towards him and grabbed a glass from a cupboard beside the oven, filled it with water, downed it in one greedy gulp then refilled it. The cold water refreshed me and my brain started to work again. I looked at the clock - seven.

‘Clive and Anna,’ I said.

Scott looked confused for a moment then seemed to remember. ‘I’ll run over there, explain you’re running late. Can you keep an eye on the pot? It’s got about twenty minutes left, but it needs stirring.’

Left alone, I heard the house creak, but dismissed the sound as noise from the ancient and juddering water pipes. Those were not footsteps above, but wooden floorboards contracting in the cool evening air. I hovered over the pot for a while, stirring. Vegetables, beans and lentils rose to the top then became submerged again. Shades of green, brown, yellow and orange peeked through the surface as I rotated the wooden spoon. My stomach groaned.

I removed the spoon and rested it on the draining board then made myself a cigarette. I blew my smoke away from the food in the way a mother might blow smoke away from a pram, feeling strangely guilty. I walked away from the pot to open the back door and finished my cigarette under the lintel. When I returned the food felt much thicker, harder to stir. Each rotation required an almost Herculean effort and I wondered whether to take the pot off the heat. I dipped the spoon into the curry and pulled out a mouthful. After blowing on the terracotta pulses I slid the spoon into my mouth. It tasted wonderful and made my tongue dance to the music of the spices.

I turned off the heat and gathered together bowls and cutlery. When the table was set I checked the cupboard for wine. Only a few bottles remained; guests must have consumed the rest at Vivienne’s wake. I pulled the cork from a bottle of red and left it near the pot to warm then stood on a chair and pulled wine glasses from the cupboard. As I placed them on the table I heard the front door click open.

‘It’s ready,’ I called into the hallway.

The slow movements by the door did not sound like Scott. They sounded heavier. I crept to the kitchen door and looked out into the shadowy hall. They were all there: Scott, Anna and Clive. Anna was shrugging out of her jacket. When she freed herself Scott took it and hung it over the banister finial for her. I watched Anna in silence as she turned her head this way and that to look around the hallway, standing in the middle of a dozen perfect-looking mothers. She spun slowly, looking at each portrait in turn before her eyes met mine. Anna ran towards me, arms wide open, for a hug.

‘Sister,’ Anna said.

‘Sister.’ I smiled. ‘I’ll get some more dishes.’

‘Shall I set the dining table?’ Clive asked as we walked into the kitchen.

‘Okay sure. Thanks Clive,’ I answered.

‘It’s okay, Crow. I’ll do that,’ Scott said, grabbing an empty bowl and filling it with curry.

I reached for two extra wine glasses and turned towards Scott smiling. I was filled with joy and wondered whether it was love. From an early age my mother had taught me love and sex were inseparable yet here was that wonderful feeling, radiating from my stomach into every sinew of my body, and I just had to accept it, enjoy it. I didn’t have to run from it, push it away or hide and I didn’t have to strip naked to embrace it.

I took the glasses into the dining room where Clive had already spread out a table cloth, and Anna was laying out cutlery. They both looked up at me at the same time.

‘Thank you,’ Clive said.

I returned to the kitchen for the wine bottle and stepped aside to let Scott through the door, laden with bowls of curry. I remembered the strange sensuality of the first time we passed in this doorway and thought of how much had changed since that moment. The noise of conversation filled the house and I could hear no other sound.

‘Crow,’ Clive said, standing up as I entered the room. ‘Let me get that from you.’ He ushered me towards an empty chair at the head of the table. ‘Anna and I were just telling Scott about the last time we were in this room.’

‘Yes. Mum had a party and there were all these men. Of course, Clive was in his element, but I found it strangely creepy.’ Anna winked at me.

‘Vivienne did like men.’ I gulped down my wine. The others laughed as if I had made a hilarious joke and I found myself joining in with their laughter. ‘To Mum,’ I said, lifting my glass.

‘To Vivienne.’ The toast echoed around the room.

‘My Nanny used to tell me a fairy tale about Mum, called the Ballerina and the Revolutionary. Have any of you heard it?’ I asked.

They shook their heads so I relayed the tale. They watched me intently as my face burned with happiness. For the first time, I felt the thrill of being the centre of everybody’s attention.

‘The daughter of a revolutionary ...’ Clive nodded, a knowing look in his eyes.

I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘That figures,’ Scott said. A fierce pride glowed in his eyes.

I looked at Anna. ‘Do you know who your father was, is?’

Anna’s face darkened and she looked at her bowl, stirring her food and acting as though the question was never asked.

Clive spoke for her. ‘We thought you knew.’

Anna shushed him.

I licked my lips, feeling cold. The brightness of a few moments ago had vanished and a sense of dread crept across my skin before crouching in my stomach. I did know, didn’t I? Filthy, Filthy ... one step forward, run back, hide. I shuddered and bit my lip, tasting blood. I stared pleadingly at Scott who shrugged and shook his head. Anna seemed absorbed with her food, but Clive was staring straight at me. When, at last, my sister looked up her cheeks shone with tears.

‘I’m so sorry, Anna, forget I ever asked ...’

‘Anna,’ prompted Clive. ‘Anna if you don’t tell her ... the secret will always come between you.’

I shook my head. Panic rose from my stomach into my throat.
The secret.

Anna looked from Clive to me then back again. She lifted her glass and finished her wine. ‘Can I have another?’

Scott leaned across and refilled her glass. The room was silent except for the creaking of footsteps in the room above. I tried to shake the sounds from my ears. No one else seemed to have noticed them. Scott reached across to squeeze my hand. I looked at him, but his face melted like candle wax and instead I saw Grandfather’s grotesque features swinging from a noose. Pages from Vivienne’s diaries fluttered around my head like moths and I knew. Without being told I knew.

‘Granddad,’ I said.

Anna stopped drinking and nodded.

‘Excuse me. I feel sick.’ I darted out of the room.

A gentle tapping on the bathroom door tugged my head out from the toilet bowl.

‘Are you okay?’ Anna asked.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I had pretty much the same reaction when Mum told me,’ Anna said.

‘How do you feel about it now?’ I sat up with my back to the porcelain and stared at the door, visualising my sister’s face beyond. The image was fuzzy, but I could make out Anna’s silhouette crouched on the other side, close yet untouchable. I stretched my fingers towards the shape, but didn’t risk moving away from the toilet.

‘I try not to think about it,’ Anna replied. ‘They say you can’t choose your family.’

‘Do you have any other family: husband, children?’ I asked.

‘There’s no one. You’re all I have.’

I didn’t answer. I just sat there, pressing my shoulders hard against the cold bowl, separated from my sister by three inches of wood and a lifetime of secrets. At last sympathy took control of my body as the nausea subsided and I inched forwards, crawling towards the door. My head felt too much like whipped cream to risk standing up. I reached for the bolt, pulled it back and opened the door. Anna tumbled into the bathroom.

‘It will be enough,’ I told her. ‘I promise. You can live here with me. Tommy will come around eventually then we’ll all have each other.’

‘Do you want to know about your father?’ Anna asked.

I shook my head and swallowed vomit, grimacing. ‘Not now.’

She patted my hand. ‘It isn’t like that, I promise.’

My eyes prickled and I lifted her fingers to kiss them. ‘Later. I should process this first.’

She shrugged. ‘Do you feel well enough to go back down?’

‘I think so.’

Anna rolled back to a seated position and grasped my hand. With an elegant unfurling of back and legs she rose to her feet, pulling me with her. Less graceful than Anna, I stumbled, but she caught me. I felt as clumsy in my sister’s presence as I had in Vivienne’s, but I brushed the feeling aside. Who cared if I favoured Doctor Marten boots to ballet shoes? Grace wasn’t everything.

I strolled into the dining room and asked everyone whether they wanted coffee. I felt there was no need to explain my actions and nobody chose to mention my brief absence. Both Anna and Clive offered to help, but I told them I was fine and headed into the kitchen to switch on the kettle and roll a cigarette.

‘Can I have one of those?’ Anna hovered in the doorway, awaiting permission to enter. I smiled and passed her the first roll-up. ‘Thank you.’ Anna folded her lips around the cigarette. I lit it for her and started rolling a second.

‘Mmm, nothing better than fresh tobacco,’ Anna said.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and inhaled. Heat filled my body, but the drug did not give me pleasure, it just removed my cravings, temporarily. The kettle clicked off and I grabbed four mugs and put coffee granules into three of them, a green tea bag in the fourth and waited for the water to cool a little. Anna came over and peered into the cups.

‘The coffee tastes better when you wait,’ I told her.

She nodded and offered me a gentle smile. ‘Everything in its time.’

When the drinks were ready Anna and I carried them into the dining room.

‘Should we move into the lounge?’ Anna asked.

‘Just a minute ...’ I said and whispered into Scott’s ear.

Scott nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. I shrugged and tried to mask the sound of wheels scratching across the parquet hall with an enquiry about Clive’s shop. When the noise receded, we walked together, shoulders brushing against shoulders, into Vivienne’s drawing room, my living room, Anna’s lounge. Granddad’s chair had been removed. Scott appeared behind us, slightly warm and sweaty. I squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you.’

He nodded. ‘It’s in the garden. Hopefully it won’t rain. I couldn’t get it in the shed.’

‘Hopefully it does rain. Let the old bastard get wet,’ I whispered in his ear.

We settled ourselves onto the settee and remaining arm chair. The room looked larger without the tatty old chair dominating one corner. I sipped my coffee as my eyes kept wandering back to that spot, as if a ghost of the chair remained before I found myself distracted by my guests’ animated chatter. Sitting between Anna and Clive on the sofa felt like sitting at the back row of a cinema with the cool kids and I felt years of forced adulthood fall away as my world began to feel full of possibilities and potential.

‘Do you remember that time Vivienne rode a horse naked around town?’ Clive asked, fighting for breath between bouts of laughter.

‘When was that?’ I asked.

‘You must have been four or five. She was a celebrity even then ... Christ! I remember when she came back from Birmingham with you in her arms and everyone was gossiping, mainly because of the colour of your skin and she told us you were an African princess.’

‘You what?’

‘Because of the mixed race thing ...’

‘So my father wasn’t a South American revolutionary.’

‘Oh yes ... of course ... sorry.’

‘Does it matter?’ Anna asked.

I nodded. ‘I centred my life, my dreams and aspirations around being a revolutionary’s daughter. I needed to feel part of something and my dad provided the key. I’d never be a ballet dancer, but I could fight. I could right wrongs. I could make a difference.’

‘You do that. You,’ Scott said. ‘Whether you're inspired by your father or not.’

I shook my head. ‘Everything is meaningless in the end, isn’t it?’

‘Crow!’ Scott said, sharply. ‘That’s nonsense and you know it.’

I shook my head. ‘Sorry too much wine, too many stories. I should shut my mouth.’

The silence in the room grew so thick it was hard to reach through it ‘Will you open the shop tomorrow?’ I asked Clive, not caring about the answer but trying to change the subject.