The Ballerina and the Revolutionary (3 page)

7

After slamming my door, I placed a chair against it and sat down, hyperventilating.

I sat for ten minutes or more, sobbing silently. Still shaking, I stood up and opened my window to breathe. In a replay of years past, I started the mental ritual of packing my things, before realising they were already safe in my backpack. The thought calmed me. I could leave. Tomas would be disappointed, I wouldn’t meet my niece and I might always wonder whether Vivienne had ever loved me, but I could go. I had power now, the choice was mine, and she could not stop me. Two steps forward, one step back - it was my dance and I trusted it not to fail me.

Recognising the shift in power adulthood had brought, I dried my tears and sat on the edge of the bed. Gradually my heartbeat slowed and the painful pounding in my chest, dissipated. I considered the pros and cons of heading home. I could tidy up, close the windows and curtains once more, lock the doors, and leave. I could keep the house keys and phone with me. Tomas would ring when he arrived at the house this evening and found me gone. I could try to make him understand, reach beyond those emotional blinkers. The remaining grocery money might be enough to pay for a bus ticket home. I wondered whether I should take a walk to the bus station to see.

Bus stations - I remembered the first time I had arrived at one. I was thirteen and the place reeked of urine. I walked, head bowed, past two young men, hovering by the entrance, blowing smoke into the rain. There was a queue at the information window. I glanced through lowered lashes at the other people waiting to travel. A child tugged on her mother’s hand, hurrying her to the kiosk for sweets. An Asian family sat on one of the benches; the father spoke loudly, not in English. His family seemed mesmerised by his every word. Entranced, I remembered standing and watching them, until the man noticed me and frowned.

The bus fare was too expensive and I needed to beg for more coins. I wondered what I would do and where I would sleep once I reached London. The motorway was just a short walk from the bus station, but I dismissed the idea of hitch hiking; the thought of being so close to an unknown man for hours terrified me. Instead I headed towards the shopping centre to beg as a pervasive drizzle replaced the rain. Pigeons swooped overhead as people rushed past, never quite touching me. Chilled air moved between us, causing the hairs on my arms to stand on end. At that moment I realised I was, and would always be, completely alone.

Six years later I knew that would never change. Being alone was part of who I was. I could be alone here as easily as I could be alone in a squat in London. Without returning to Vivienne’s room to close her window, I left the house and walked aimlessly, until I reached a park then wandered over grass and between trees before sinking onto a bench, watching the empty swings.

The ringing phone startled me.

‘Hey Giz, where are you?’

I frowned.
Crow and fuck you!
But instead of articulating my thoughts I simply answered. ‘Westville Park.’

‘Oh, okay. See you in thirty minutes.’

Tomas hung up and I was left alone with my thoughts once more. I stared at my grubby combats, withdrawing deep inside myself and only looking up again when I heard my brother’s quick footsteps.

‘What’s wrong, Giz?’

I shook my head. ‘What do you think?’

He stared at me blankly.

‘Okay, first you refuse to acknowledge I shed that name years ago. What gives you the right? Then you abandon me in the place I hate most in the world. What were you thinking, Bro?’ I turned from him and stared at the ground between my knees. ‘Nothing in the house seems real. I see ...’ I rocked myself as I struggled to find the right word. ‘Ghosts.’

Tomas’s eyes flashed and his face reddened as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He sat quietly for a moment. ‘You haven’t even seen Mum yet.’ He looked up at the clouds then turned to face me. ‘Cathy’s made dinner for us ... Melissa’s excited to see you.’

I didn’t tell him I’d seen far more of our mother than any child would find comfortable. Instead, I nodded and followed him to the car park, wondering when I had become submissive.

Tomas’s house was smaller than Mother’s. It stood on a modern estate not far from Vivienne’s cottage, surrounded by communal greens and as Tomas pulled up outside, an auburn haired woman, holding a flame-haired infant, opened the front door.

I climbed out of the car and rushed to see them. ‘Cathy, she’s beautiful.’

Tomas’s wife smiled. ‘Come on, you two; the spaghetti’s getting cold.’

The front door led straight into a large sitting room, dominated by a huge television. White walls were covered in family photographs and a large oil painting of Brunel’s famous bridge. Wooden floors were polished and clear of clutter. A square, pale wood table protruded from beneath the staircase. It had been set for dinner with woven navy place mats, large wine glasses and carefully folded napkins.

Catherine carried spotless white plates full of food through the kitchen door and placed them on the table. Her Italian speciality had been adapted, at Tomas’s suggestion, for me with a Quorn mince base. The food was delicious and it felt good to be part of a functional, loving family for a few hours.

8

‘Thank you, Cathy. The food’s lovely,’ I told her.

She blushed. ‘It’s just something I threw together. It’s a bit drier than usual though. Different mince I guess.’

‘It’s great, babes,’ Tomas said, nodding. ‘Not dry at all.’

Catherine frowned and took a large sip of wine. ‘I don’t normally drink,’ she explained.

‘Oh?’ I asked.

‘Breast-feeding.’

I nodded. ‘Of course. Melissa is beautiful. She looks so big and strong.’

‘She’s already moving about,’ Catherine said, proudly. ‘We’ve had to cover all the spare sockets. She’s way ahead of the other babies.’

I smiled. ‘I can tell.’ Truthfully, I had no idea. Vivienne and I had never spoken about babies and as the youngest child, I had no experience, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

‘Do you plan to have any?’ Catherine asked.

I coughed and a mouthful of wine burned my oesophagus. I shook my head, trying to catch my breath. Catherine looked disappointed.

‘You okay, Giz, sorry Cr ...?’ Tomas asked.

I nodded. My face was burning and my eyes were damp. ‘I’m fine,’ I croaked.

‘We’ve been talking about having another. Haven’t we, Tomas darling?’

Tomas nodded. ‘The house is a bit too small, though,’ he said.

‘Why don’t you move into Vivienne’s?’ I asked.

‘Don’t even try,’ Catherine answered. ‘I’ve asked the same question a thousand times.’

‘Mum won’t be in hospital forever,’ Tomas said.

Catherine shrugged.

‘How is she?’ I asked.

Tomas’s eyes darkened. ‘You’ll see her tomorrow. She’ll be fine. She just needs a bit of peace and quiet. You know Mum.’

‘Not really,’ I whispered.

‘Did you tell ...’ Catherine frowned and looked at me for a moment, ‘ … her what happened?’ Her voice sounded sharp.

The words made me uncomfortable, but I was sure that hadn’t been Catherine’s intention.

Tomas flinched. ‘Sure.’

‘I know she had an accident,’ I said.

Catherine laughed. I looked at her and she turned away but not before I caught a hint of malice in her icy eyes.

‘I should settle Little Missie for the night.’ She stood up and lifted Melissa from her rocker beside the table. The baby was fast asleep and didn’t make a sound. I expected Tomas to tell Catherine to wait until she finished her dinner, but he continued to eat in silence. I looked from one to the other, confused, but decided not to pass comment.

‘How’s work?’ I asked Tomas, after Catherine climbed the stairs.

‘Great. Top salesman almost every month.’

I smiled. ‘Well done, Bro.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘This and that. Portraits mostly.’

‘Does it pay?’

‘I don’t need much.’

He sighed. ‘You know you’ll have to grow up at some point, Sis.’

‘This sis thing, it kinda bothers me, you know?’ I blushed and concentrated on my food.

‘Not really. What do you mean?’

‘I ... I don’t identify as female.’

‘Huh?’

‘Have you heard of gender-queer?’

He shook his head. ‘Is it okay, you know, if we don’t have some deep and confusing discussion about this shit right now? You know with Mum and ...’ He sighed.

This shit?
One step forward, two steps back. I stared at him coldly, trying to control my breathing, but he didn’t seem to notice. I wanted to rage at him, tell him how his dismissal of me and my identity made me feel, but I saw a tear glisten in the corner of his eye and forgot my words. He still needed me. I was his rock and a rock cannot change, not in his eyes. I watched as he brushed the tear away with the back of his hand and sniffed. We sat silently for the rest of the meal as I tried to figure out the least confrontational way to explain myself to him.

Five minutes later, as Tomas and I cleared our plates, Catherine returned. She took our empty plates and her half-f one into the kitchen.

‘Can I help?’ I asked.

‘Don’t worry, we have a dishwasher. Would either of you like some apple pie?’

‘I’m full, thank you,’ I said.

‘You’re skin and bones, Giz. Eat something. Grow some breasts.’ Tomas laughed.

I stared at him, hating him, imagining my eyes were daggers. ‘What the ...’

‘Tomas!’ Catherine shouted.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘What? Ummm, could you be any more rude, you ass-hole? I don’t even know where to start with how wrong that was,’ I said.

‘Hey! What did I do wrong now?’

‘You don’t talk about women’s breasts,’ Catherine said. ‘Especially not your sister’s and especially not when she’s sat right next to you. What are you thinking?’

Tomas shrugged. ‘I was just saying.’ He looked grumpy as he took another sip of wine.

I stared at them both, helplessly. Why was it so difficult to communicate with either of them? I wished for some shared language that might unite us and make them understand. In the end I sighed sadly and shook my head in resignation. ‘Well, don’t,’ I simply said.

Catherine shot me an apologetic smile. I took my wine glass and headed for a comfortable looking arm chair. Catherine put a bowl of apple pie and a jug of cream next to Tomas and walked across towards me. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.

‘No, the wine’s great, thanks. Don’t let me stop you though. Oh, I’m sorry. Is it okay if I sit here and wait until you guys finish?’

‘Of course,’ she said and returned to the kitchen.

I watched my brother’s back as he ate. Sometimes he could be so blind, so self-absorbed, especially where I was concerned.

When they finished their meal, Catherine and Tomas settled onto the sofa opposite me.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Catherine looked nervous. Fingers twitched beside her face.

‘Sure,’ I said, worried.

‘What happened to your cheek? That bruise. It looks painful.’

‘Ahhh,’ I said. Two steps forward, one step back.

‘Yeah, I noticed it too. Did some guy hit you?’

‘Not exactly. Did you see anything about the Brixton uprising on the news?’

‘Yeah. It was about evictions, right?’

‘I was there. A pig whacked me with a shield. It’s a bit sore still, but I’m healing.’

Catherine and Tomas sat in silence. Their mouths opened and closed as if they were mimicking fish faces. I found their reaction amusing and had to stifle a laugh.

‘It’s nothing, honestly.’

‘Were you arrested?’ Catherine asked.

I shrugged. ‘It was nothing.’

Tomas sighed. His face was full of disappointment. ‘I’m feeling tired. Shall we turn in for the night?’

Catherine glanced at her watch. I could see by the clock on the wall it was only nine-thirty.

‘Shall I set up some blankets for you on the couch?’ Catherine asked. ‘Or should we call a cab to take you home?’

Home? I thought of London for a moment - the friendly faces, the shared language, the smell of spirits and narcotics and the sounds of laughter and free love. My mind returned to my shadowy childhood abode. That was where she meant, wasn’t it? ‘I’m happy to stay here, if it’s no bother.’

‘Of course it isn’t.’ Catherine smiled and headed upstairs, returning a few minutes later with a duvet and pillow. ‘I’m sorry we’re such early sleepers. You know ... the baby and all? It can get tiring sometimes.’

Tomas stood up and kissed Catherine’s cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ he said.

‘Goodnight,’ I replied and waved to them.

When their feet disappeared out of sight at the top of the stairs, I unfolded the duvet, switched off the light and settled down on the couch.