The Ballerina and the Revolutionary (4 page)

9

That night I dreamed of a stag, charging through a forest, darting, with fluid movements, around every tree. I chased it and kept it in my sights, but couldn’t reach it. Suddenly, it stopped and I crashed into its warm and musky flanks. It reared up and its hind legs became its only legs, its forelegs were strong arms. It turned to face me and its muzzle changed into the face of the blue-eyed man. He kissed me before I could pull away. His lips were like knives. They tore at my skin, exposing all I was so desperate to hide.

10

(Bristol, England - 2001)

I struggled out of the bathroom, my arms full of what were once white bath towels and were now covered in blood.

My brother was shivering outside his bedroom door. His face was so pale and round that he looked like the full moon as he stared up at me from his seated position.

‘Sit with her, Tommy,’ I said, trying to give him my most reassuring smile. ‘Try to keep her calm while I get cleaned up.’

He stared at me then slowly shook his head. I sighed. The bundle was getting heavy and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep doing this. None of the other girls at school had to take care of their mothers and their big brothers. The limit of their responsibilities tended to be tidying their rooms once a week. Why me?

‘Please ...’ I begged.

As he stood up the smell of blood must have hit him full force and his white skin turned green. He ran, away from me and away from the bathroom, out of the apartment door, not waiting to close it behind him.

‘At least let Nanny know what’s happened,’ I called after him, not certain whether he heard or cared what I’d said.

I tried to rearrange the bundle so I could shut the front door. I must have tightened my hold on the sodden cotton; blood oozed onto the skin of my right forearm. I swallowed hard and told my stomach to behave. Tears rolled down my face as I made my way towards the kitchen and dropped the towels into the large aluminium sink. I turned on the tap and water rose above the fabric, strings of pink swirling through the fluid.

I washed my arms, scrubbing them clean while Vivienne’s wails became louder. Then grabbed fresh towels, dark ones this time, from the airing cupboard and returned to the bathroom.

Beside the bath, crouched Vivienne. The dressings I’d wrapped around her wrists had already reddened. I sat beside her and pressed clean towels over the dressings. She stopped crying and stared at me.

‘It’s okay, Mummy,’ I assured her. ‘Tom’s gonna get Nanny.’

As I gently rocked her body back and forth she stared at my face. Her eyes were blank and I wasn’t sure she knew who I was. I could sympathise, half the time I didn’t feel like her seven year old daughter, either. I guess I had to grow up fast.

11

(Bristol, England - 2007)

I returned to the bus station with time to spare. Shivering, I cursed leaving without a jacket or any change of clothes. I pictured my personal effects, still strewn across my bed and growled, letting my hatred for my mother surface. I allowed it to grow for a few minutes before pushing it back into the box in the pit of my stomach, which I had crafted over the years to contain it. A tear pricked my eye and I brushed it away. I was thirteen; there was no place in my life for childish tears.

I stood under the square archway and watched dark clouds puff up their bodies in sympathy with the rapid growth I must now make. Knowing I was unlikely to return to this city, I felt the sting of guilt and regret. I never got the chance to say goodbye to Tomas.

On the coach, I sat alone. Fields and houses, lakes and factories, towns and cities whizzed past. The expected feelings of lightness and release did not come.

The coach arrived at Victoria at eight o’clock. The London sky looked empty, other than sickly yellow haloes cast by street lamps. With nowhere to go, I purchased a coffee in a paper cup from a vending machine and sat on a moulded plastic seat, planning to wait until daylight before exploring the capital.

I must have fallen asleep. Angry shouting woke me and I looked around, confused. At first I couldn’t see the source of the noise then I spotted a group of men and a woman tussling at the other end of the building. I turned away and hoped they would leave me alone.

The sky looked black, beyond the confines of the shelter. No stars penetrated the gloom. I sighed and wrapped my arms tighter around my body, hoping this night would soon be over and my life could begin.

One of the rowdy men ran past me and through the exit. The woman and another man chased him, shouting. Their slurred voices made it impossible for my tired brain to translate their cries. I imagined he was a thief and they were attempting to catch him and bring him to justice. Or maybe they were running to grab him, hurt him, for something he had said or done that had caused some offence, just as Vivienne had chased me up the stairs to my bedroom door when I spoke out of turn and I would cower, behind the fragile wood barrier, until she stamped off, cursing the day I had been born.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw another two men, still standing at the spot from where the three had fled. One appeared to be nursing his arm while the other paced back and forth, clearly agitated. I hunched my back and tried to make myself as small as possible.

Eventually the two men sauntered past and out of the building. I heard the roar of a floor polishing machine. The sound became louder as the cleaner moved across the building towards my spot and the exit. Suddenly, the noise ceased.

‘Are you okay?’ a man asked.

I nodded, not making eye contact.

‘Where do you live?’ I heard footsteps as he approached.

I shook my head. My mind begged him to just leave me alone. A few more hours and I could leave this dump. I wouldn’t be his problem, not unless he made me into one.

‘How old are you?’

I looked at him. He must have been in his forties or fifties. His face was pock-marked, but his eyes and smile looked kind.

‘Do you speak English?’ he asked.

I glanced down at my brown hands and made fists in my lap.

‘Look, you can’t just stay here. Do you have anywhere to go?’ he spoke slowly and carefully.

When he received no reply he told me to, ‘Stay here,’ and walked away towards a door, half way along the wall. He was probably going into an office to discuss me with his boss, or even more likely, phone the police. As he disappeared through the door I ran out of the bus station and into the early morning gloom.

The traffic was heavy. Headlights bounced over speed bumps and uneven surfaces. Black cabs, and small cars stopped and started as they inched along busy roads. I guessed it must be nearly morning. Perhaps people were already travelling to work.

With no idea of direction, I turned right, crossed the road and took a left at the next main junction. I wanted to put some distance between me and the cleaner so I walked quickly. My skin prickled with goose bumps, but at least the air was dry. I watched as bearded men in thick coats folded blankets and stood up from their doorway shelters.

Chains rattled and shutters groaned open in front of a yellow café door. I waited for a few moments, before heading inside.

‘Good morning,’ said the assistant as he stepped behind the counter, hung an apron around his neck and tied it at the waist. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Tea, please.’

‘Milk?’ he asked.

I nodded.

‘Take a seat and I’ll bring it across. You look cold. Don’t worry, the heating’s on. It’ll soon warm up in here.’

I smiled, nodded and made my way to a grey table. I played with ketchup packets while I waited for my drink. It didn’t take long.

‘Eighty pence, please.’

I grabbed some coins from my pocket and counted out eighty pence. I passed it to him and his fingers brushed against mine. I dropped the money and recoiled from his touch. They clattered on the table and one fell onto the floor.

‘Sorry,’ he said, picking them up.

The steam rolling from the pale grey tea was welcoming. I eyed the man suspiciously as he returned to his place behind the counter. I wondered whether he had meant to touch me. Was he like the rest of them? Did he hope to charm the dark-eyed girl? Were women his own age not to his liking? I kept looking across, but he wasn’t watching me. He busied himself cleaning between the customers who arrived for take-away teas and coffees.

When I finished my drink, I left without a word.

The sky looked lighter and, if possible, the traffic seemed heavier than ever. People in business suits hurried past. The air smelled of diesel, masked every few moments by a nasal assault of heady perfume. I walked to a junction and looked at the sign posts, feeling completely lost. A blonde woman stood in a doorway, smoking. She looked young, sixteen probably, and was wrapped in a wool coat covered in streaks of black grime. I watched her for a while as she put out one cigarette and lit another; her eyes followed the people who marched past and I wondered whether she was waiting for someone.

I wanted to approach her, but felt too shy. I just stood there, watching as the morning sun rose above the tall buildings and painted her hair orange. It looked the shade of my Nanny’s before she died although Nanny’s was from a bottle, not the blush of dawn, it made me feel safe and familiar all the same. I took a step toward her, paused, nodded to myself then strode along the pavement without hesitation.

‘Hi.’ My voice was a mere squeak. It was amazing she heard me at all.

She turned to face me and smiled. ‘Hi.’

‘I wondered ...’

‘Yes ...’

‘Do you have any idea where I can find a bed for tonight?’

Her eyes washed over me, head to toe then back up again. Her smile fell as she reached out and gently touched my arm. I stepped away and she blushed.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

I shook my head and turned to walk away.

‘Wait,’ she said.

I blinked tears from my eyes and kept walking. I heard her behind me. Her breath sounded ragged, presumably from the cigarettes. ‘Please wait,’ she said. ‘I promise I won’t touch you again.’

I stopped. She walked past me and turned so we were face to face. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And I know where you can get a bed for tonight and as many nights as you need. Give me half an hour and I’ll take you there.’

I smiled. I wanted to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t make the journey from my throat to my lips, so I simply nodded and followed her back to the doorway.

12

(2013, Bristol, England - 2013)

I heard movement and opened my eyes to see my brother standing above me, smiling.

‘Good morning, Bro,’ I said, squinting.

‘Good morning, sleep well?’

‘Like the dead.’ I pushed myself to seating position and stretched my arms above me.

‘Want breakfast?’

‘What time is it?’ I asked.

‘Seven.’

‘So early.’

‘Well, I wanted to go to the hospital before work. That way I could drop you back at the house and catch up at the office this afternoon.’

‘Sure thing. Just coffee and a cigarette for me though.’

‘You’ll need to smoke it outside,’ he said.

‘I remember.’

‘I’ll bring your coffee out into the garden, shall I?’

‘You call that a garden?’

‘Patio, then. Whatever. At least it isn’t a bloody jungle.’

I nodded and shrugged. ‘Okay, I deserved that. So have you forgiven me?’

‘For what?’

‘For whatever pissed you off so much last night you had to go to bed at half-nine.’

Tomas smiled. ‘Yes, I forgive you. I sometimes forget, that’s all.’

‘That we’re so unalike?’

‘Yeah. I guess so.’

‘Well, big brother. It’s a cross we have to bear.’

I grabbed my tobacco and papers from my bag, rolled three cigarettes, stood up and made my way to the kitchen door then out into the garden.

The air was warm. I imagined it would get hot later. I coughed then lit my first cigarette. I was half way through it when Tomas emerged with a steaming mug of black coffee. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem ... ummm, Crow. Bring it back when you’re finished.’

I nodded and smiled. ‘Thank you.’

Three cigarettes and two cups of coffee later, I agreed to go with Tomas to see Vivienne.

Vivienne was staying at Oakwood. It took us thirty minutes to reach the hospital. The green gates were flanked by a dark, Harrods-green sign and an elegant Georgian stone villa. A barrier blocked the entrance. Waiting in silence for the guard to approach the car, I avoided Tomas’s eyes. A uniformed guard spoke to Tomas through the open window and raised the barrier.

Speed bump after speed bump tested the car's suspension, and I felt as though we were on the lamest fairground ride ever. We followed the driveway, searching for a parking space. In spite of the early hour, we almost reached the exit before finding one large enough to accommodate the Volvo.

The hospital, on this side, consisted of single storey red brick wards, separated from each other by grey-slab pathways. The blue sign to Vivienne’s ward was easy to spot. The noble oak trees that lined the small courtyard did little to detract from the obvious signs of security: the barred windows of reinforced glass and the heavy doors. Tomas pushed a button to announce our arrival and a loud buzzer informed us the door was unlocked. I glanced at the camera as I passed beneath it.

Behind a reinforced window sat the receptionist in her crisp pink uniform. Her soles squeaked as she shuffled her feet under her desk. She smiled, but her eyes did not reflect the changing shape of her mouth. As I looked at the woman’s joyless eyes I felt a violent shiver rush down my spine. We were buzzed through two more doorways, glazed this time, and onto the ward itself. We passed a room where four women sat, watching television. The programme was completely unfamiliar, but it looked like a cheap pulp-romance. After passing through two doors, which we unlocked by pressing a button, we entered a room with six metal beds. Unable to see Vivienne in any of them, I followed Tomas to the second bed on the right.

The bed was raised at the head end, suggesting the occupier was conscious and alert. There were no sheets, but two leather bracelets were attached, one on each side at wrist position. The straps hung open on either side of the slumbering woman. The woman’s hair looked lank and the black was shot through with streaks of white. It rested in a parody of gentle waves on her narrow shoulders. Her skin had the colourless hue of the dead, appearing like a heroin addict, lying there, nodding off. The smell of urine was overpowering and my eyes stung as ammonia saturated them. Tomas approached the sleeping figure and touched her hand. The woman’s grey eyes flickered open. There was no look of recognition in them.

‘Hi Mum,’ Tomas said, leaning close to the pale, waxy face. ‘Giselle’s come to see you.’

I watched as he beckoned me, transfixed and still unable to recognise Vivienne. With an irritated sigh Tomas stood up, grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to the bed.

‘Hi.’ My voice trembled as I waved my free hand at the unrecognisable woman. How could she have changed so completely in just six years? If this wasn’t some cruel joke, if this really was Vivienne, where were her beauty, her strength and her fire?

‘Is this Vivienne?’ I whispered to Tomas. This woman’s grey eyes looked small, watery and weak. She couldn’t be our mother. He nodded and a tear gathered in his eye. Turning to face the shadow in the white nightgown, I spoke again.

‘Vivienne? Mum ... I’ve come to see you.’ There was no response. I stared at Tomas in frustration.

‘Giselle?’ a weak, female voice rasped.

I poured Vivienne a glass of water from a plastic, lidded jug beside the bed and passed it to her. The woman’s weak hands couldn’t grasp it, so I held it to her mouth, the poisonous mouth that had so often derided me, and tipped it so Vivienne could drink. Not seeming to notice her nightgown was soaked through, the woman’s eyes tried to focus on my face.

‘Giselle, is it you?’

I nodded. ‘But it’s Crow now.’

She didn’t seem to hear. ‘Thank God. I wanted to tell you something ... what did I want to say?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’m okay.’ My voice and hands shook.

The woman closed her eyes. I heard a gentle snore vibrate her nose and mouth. I looked at Tomas and handed him the glass of water. Tears gathered in my eyes. I shook my head.

He went to grab my hand again, but I ran across the ward and called to be let out. There were no buttons on this side of the doors. Each time I had to knock and call until someone arrived with keys.

I sprinted out into the fresh air of the courtyard. Sitting beneath an oak tree, with my back pressed firmly against the trunk, I reached for my cigarette tin then remembered where I was and thrust it back into the depths of my bag.

Tomas walked across the grass towards me.

‘I had no idea. She looks so old,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘The hospital’s no good for her. They should let us take her home.’

‘The accident ...’ I said then let my words drift into silence.

He looked away at the redbrick walls of the ward.

‘What really happened?’

‘They say she’s mad.’ A perfectly spherical tear rolled down his cheek and dripped from his jaw.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead of saying something stupid, I chewed on my knuckle.

‘She isn’t crazy. Whatever the white-coats say, but they won’t let her out.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘I hoped, you know. If she got to see you ...’

‘Is she dying?’

‘Of course not.’

‘What then?’

His shoulders shuddered and I heard a few deep, strangled sobs escape before he cut them short. ‘She tried to kill herself.’

‘Again?’

He looked at me. His eyes flashed with fury. ‘This time she was found.’

Tomas frowned at me then turned and walked away, towards the car. I followed him, jogging to keep up with his long strides. We didn’t speak in the car. The CD player spurted out track after track of melodic metal tunes to fill the uncomfortable silence. I stared through the window at rows of houses gliding by. When we reached Vivienne’s house Tomas was eager to leave. He could barely look at me. I asked when I’d see him again, but he just shrugged and looked at the steering wheel. One step forward, two steps back.

‘Tomorrow?’ I asked. ‘Can you come here, to pick me up, or I could cook?’

He nodded and switched the engine back on.

‘Call me!’ I shouted as he drove away.