The Ballerina and the Revolutionary (22 page)

Clive looked at me, his frank eyes told me to follow my heart and in his narrow mind I think that meant choosing Scott, but he didn’t understand. Love wasn’t always about sex. It was about making a difference and choosing to fight for what you believed in. I shook my head, doubting I could explain the way I felt to him even if we had one hundred years.

Anna returned with steaming cups. ‘Talking about me, were you?’ She frowned at Clive.

‘No, my dear. We were talking about Vivienne, and I suppose about Crow as well,’ Clive replied.

‘What will you do?’ I asked Anna. ‘Where do you live? Do you work?’

‘Wow, all the questions.’ Anna laughed. ‘I move around a bit. I live in Bath right now. I do charity work, mostly. At the moment I run a shelter for women who have to disappear.’

‘A shelter, a safe place! Anna, that sounds wonderful. I could do that in London – unofficially of course. It's perfect.’

Anna's eyes clouded and she frowned. ‘You could help us.’

‘I could.’

‘But you won’t.’

‘I don’t know, Anna. I need some time to find my place, I reckon.’

Anna looked at me strangely and I felt something important was not being said. My neck prickled, and I searched for an appropriate question that might shed light on the mystery, but I didn’t have enough information to find it. I looked to Clive for support, but he was reading again. There was something amiss though and it nagged at the back of my skull. I regretted burning the diaries; maybe Vivienne had written something which could have helped me to join the dots Anna had sketched out for me.

I left soon after and the same nagging feeling followed me back to the house. The streets were quiet. It had been raining steadily and the pavements shimmered in the twilight. My footsteps echoed between rows of houses. I pulled my jacket tightly around my body, glad I had brought it. Vivienne’s house was the only one in the street in complete darkness. Every window I passed revealed the flickering light of a television or the warm yellow glow of a lamp. In contrast my family home looked cold and empty. Pacified by Scott’s smudging, it waited quietly for its mistress to return. I wondered whether I might ever miss these walls and stroked the brick-work with my fingertips. There was no life in them. I could leave and not regret it.

The door groaned as I opened it and the shadows of the hallway rushed to greet me as if they wanted to convince me to stay and become one with them, but I knew to do so would be to fade a little more with each day. I was alive and this was a house of dead things. Even if Vivienne’s will had said it belonged to me, I did not belong to it.

I shrugged off the darkness and headed for the kitchen. Listening to the hiss and bubble of the kettle, I dragged on a cigarette, feeling heavy. I had lost the lightness of being I’d felt earlier. I was worried about Tomas and concerned about Anna. Maybe I was also worried about what tomorrow would bring. Would Tomas even come to the house? I had loved and looked after Tomas throughout our childhood and I came back when he said he needed me and now, after everything, he had rejected me. With a sinking feeling I realised he was a spoiled brat, incapable of considering my feelings on any matter and wondered whether it had always been that way.

45

My body was tingling again. It was impossible to get used to this nervous excitement. Unable to settle, I moved from room to room, cleaning the living room and vigorously polishing the windows until the sunlight streamed through them uninhibited. The crystals did the rest, breaking open the light into a myriad of colours. The space looked magical.

I felt like Cinderella, faced with my golden carriage but still dressed in rags. I found the perfect outfit in my mother’s wardrobe: a silk jersey t-shirt and a simple black skirt. I had to lift the bottom a little to walk safely so I discarded that skirt and chose something shorter. I swirled in front of a mirror and the hem opened out around my knees like a morning bloom.

I checked the clock for the twentieth time that morning. He would be here soon. When the doorbell chimed, I rushed towards it. Scott hovered at the doorstep, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He managed a smile. We drank tea and spoke of my plans. I wouldn’t be a stranger and he would have my address as soon as I knew it. I told him Tomas was meeting with Anna and me that evening and asked Scott to stay. He said he wasn’t sure it would be a good idea. I asked him to stay anyway, for me and he reluctantly agreed.

We stood up ready to move into the living room. My legs shook beneath me and I clutched the table. Scott noticed and frowned. I watched his slender body as he crouched down to spread out the mat and arrange the candles. He made the circle wider this time to fit us both. It looked like a gateway to another world and maybe that’s what it was. He lit the sage and smudged the room, cleansing every corner. It seemed to take forever and I felt impatient, but chewed my nails rather than disturb him.

At last he sat in the circle and I joined him. We faced each other, two sides of a magic mirror. Scott sat with his feet resting on his knees. I crossed my legs and rested my hands on my thighs. He closed his eyes, leaving me behind. Racing to catch up with him, I let my eyelids close and started to count.

My circle danced with reflected light and I wanted to dance with it. I twisted my body in time to imagined music and presented all I was to my silent tree. My body felt warm and my breath ragged. I felt wild and free. Bending over, I became a stag and rushed into the trees. I didn’t know where I was going, but my body took me there anyway. When I reached a silver tree with a carpet of Autumnal leaves beneath it, I knew I’d reached my destination. My body changed back to human form and I sat beside the tree to wait. The leaves on the ground rustled. They were piled high and as I leaned towards them I saw toes and fingers peeking out from beneath. I brushed the leaves aside any my hands revealed a face: Scott’s face, his eyes closed and darting from side to side as if in a dream. I kissed his lips and he opened his mouth so I could fill it with my eager tongue. His breath was like warm soil and I breathed it in.

My body hardened as I kissed him. Looking down at my naked self I realised I was not the shape I had inherited from my mother, but sleeker, more sinewy and most definitely male. I brushed dried leaves out of Scott’s hair and showered him with kisses. His eyes gleamed in the soft light like torches to lead me home. I traced the shape of his ears with my fingertip and watched him shiver with pleasure. He stroked my throat and my pulse quickened. Pleasure spread down my body and the skin stretched outwards at my groin trying to accommodate my growing desire.

Our tongues danced together again and I rubbed my body gently against his. My pelvis stroked his stomach and my chest drew circles across his shoulders. His hands grasped my waist and he turned me over so I was pinned between him and a bed of prickly leaves. He looked at my face and smiled. My limbs felt like liquid, only my penis remained solid, the rest of me became soft and yielding. Scott closed his eyes and covered my mouth with his own. His kisses became deeper, more urgent. With one hand he stroked my chest while the other moved tantalisingly downwards. He stroked my stomach; it tickled and I wriggled and squirmed deliciously beneath him. At last his fingers were cupped around my manhood and I felt like a puppet as he expertly tugged at strings which controlled the very essence of my soul. I thought my body would explode in pleasure as he rubbed against me. I knew I loved him, but words were irrelevant, our pleasure below language, to be felt, not discussed. Squeezing my eyes shut, I moaned as flames of desire licked my flesh until I felt so hot I wanted to tear the skin from my body.

Scott's blond hair was alive with red and orange flames; he looked like a god. The skin on our bodies blackened. I rubbed my bicep and charcoal scales peeled off revealing an angry red blister beneath. I looked around; the trees were aflame and thick, black smoke surrounded us. I coughed and Scott opened his eyes. He moved away from me and I writhed about in the pile of burning leaves overwhelmed with pain. ‘The house is on fire!’ I said.

‘The candles?’ Panic mastered Scott’s face contorting his beautiful features. ‘Count backwards, quickly!’

‘Ten ... nine ... eight ...’

I looked at my body. Fire had become my skin. I shook my head. ‘We’re already dead.’

He kept counting. I took his hand and led him through the flames.

‘Five ... four ...’

In spite of the black smoke I found the pool easily. As Scott said one I pulled him down under the dark surface. Water washed the pain away. He was inches away from me, treading water and I swam towards him.

46

The water drained away and we were in Vivienne’s house, surrounded by flames. A candle had been knocked over and the mat was alight. Coughing and choking, I grabbed Scott’s hand and we staggered out of the house and stumbled through the garden. Sirens grew louder; I could hear them over the agonised screaming of my flesh. I felt something heavy being wrapped around my shoulders, covering my head and I was forced to the ground and rolled until I lost consciousness.

In a way the fire might have been a blessing. There were no arguments as to whether the house should be sold. It was beyond repair, structurally unsound. The ghosts were gone and so was everything that might tie me to my past. I was completely unburdened.

Anna's love was a beacon guiding me to a better future. I felt no fear; only excitement and wonderful potential remained. I saw Vivienne's love in Anna's eyes and knew she was proud of what I'd become. I'd taken my chance to see and forgive my mother. Tomas was distant, unwilling to play a role in this new family, but it was his choice and in time he might want to repair the wound. If so Anna and I would welcome him with open arms.

Until then I had the family I had always dreamed of. Scott and Anna filled my heart. The only thing more important than them was our work, the fight, justice and equality.