The Ballerina and the Revolutionary (5 page)

13

‘Crow!’

The musical tones of her voice broke my reverie. I looked towards the house and saw her standing there. Her blonde dreadlocks were swept off her face and held behind a red scarf. Her ivory blouse clung to her chest and a huge floral skirt hung from her hips.

‘Chrissie!’ I squealed, running towards her. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I got your note and thought you might need my support.’

‘I really do.’

‘Why didn’t you say goodbye?’

‘I didn’t know how.’

‘Well now you won’t have to.’ She smiled. ‘So this is it?’

‘Yes, this is it.’

‘I expected something with towers and barred windows.’

‘She didn’t need those.’ My laugh was brittle.

‘So ... are you going to open the door, or are we camping out here?’

I sighed and fed the key into the lock, opening the door to Vivienne’s house, seemed as painful as ever. The darkness was oppressive as it surged out from the hallway to embrace me.

When we stepped inside, Chrissie’s excitement seemed inappropriate, almost farcical. I watched her skip and run about the hallway, behaving as if she was in a Famous Five adventure, bounding like a frisky puppy through doors I had not yet dared to open.

‘Chrissie! For fuck’s sake, calm down.’

‘Sorry. This house is massive. Does your mum ... I mean ... Vivienne, live here alone?’

‘Guess so; most of the time.’

‘How does she afford it?’ Chrissie span round, eyeing the large hallway open-mouthed.

‘It was Nanny’s.’

I looked around me, trying to see the scene through my friend’s eyes. I remembered playing with Tomas, in this hallway, on rainy afternoons, wearing roller-skates or riding scooters, with dolls or toy cars. The memory hid from me; I could see the edges of it, but couldn’t tease it open. My brain cramped with the effort, but the hall looked just as dark and menacing as before.

Chrissie wandered into the living room. ‘Phoar, it smells a bit in here. It’s amazing though. Crow, look, she’s got loads of crystals, so many they make the light dance.’

‘Have a good look round, Chrissie.’ I sighed. ‘I’ll make us a brew.’

Without needing to be asked twice, she leapt up the staircase, taking two steps at a time. I listened to footsteps above me, again.

‘Found my room,’ Chrissie shouted down the stairs. ‘I’ve never seen such a big bed.’

I headed upstairs. Chrissie was sitting at the end of Vivienne’s divan, bouncing happily.

‘Unless this is your room, of course. Is it, Crow?’

I shook my head. ‘It’s Vivienne’s.’

‘Do you think she’d mind?’

‘Who cares?’

She rushed across to me, arms open. She stopped mid-flight and blushed. ‘Sorry. I’m just excited.’

I smiled. ‘At least one of us is. I’ve made some coffee. Wanna come down?’

‘In a minute,’ she answered.

After coffee, Chrissie searched Vivienne’s room. She didn’t tell me what she was looking for, but she amassed a pile of photos, letters and bank books she placed on the kitchen table where I sat, drinking another mug of coffee.

‘There’s plenty more. I thought you might wanna look through these first.’

‘Why?’ I asked her.

‘Find a connection, maybe. You know, something to help you understand her, and move on?’

‘Chrissie, Vivienne’s psychotic and cruel and she doesn’t love me. There is no connection.’

‘I think you’re wrong,’ Chrissie patiently replied. ‘At least about the love part, look at some of these letters.’

As Chrissie lifted the pile to pull out Vivienne’s letters, a photo drifted across the table.

I stared at the image of the blond haired man. ‘It’s him.’

‘Who?’

‘The man from my dreams.’ I grabbed the photo and turned it over, hoping to see a name.

The back of the photo was discoloured. It had been well-handled and the edges were covered in greasy brown marks, but it bore no name. I turned it over again to look at the picture. The same blue eyes stared out at me. His hair was long, blond and untidy and behind him, I saw a shop front and the name sign - Healing Ways.

‘Healing Ways,’ I murmured. ‘I saw that shop on Clifton Road.’

‘Hey, I read something about it in here too,’ Chrissie said, rummaging through the pile of papers. ‘Ah yes, looks like your ... like Vivienne was working for them. It’s owned by a man called Clive Davies; an alternative therapies place, by the looks of it. Wanna check it out?’

I stared at the photo. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I had been dreaming about this face and these eyes for years. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on. What have you got to lose, and it’ll get you out of this place for a while.’

I nodded and tucked the photograph into my pocket. ‘You’re right.’

We set off. We walked at our usual brisk pace, marching rather than sauntering. Chrissie admired the looming Georgian houses.

‘It’s lovely here,’ she said. ‘Much quieter than London.’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you seen her, yet?’

‘Who, Vivienne?’ I bit my nails.

‘Yes.’

‘Tom took me to the hospital this morning. Except, it isn’t a hospital, exactly. More a secure mental unit.’

‘Oh ... How was she?’

‘She didn’t recognise me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I didn’t recognise her either.’

‘Why?’

I paused for a moment. ‘She looked empty.’

Chrissie caught my eye. ‘I don’t understand.’

I felt Chrissie’s fingers brush against my arm then she pulled her hand back quickly.

‘I don’t, either,’ I said.

We rounded the corner onto Clifton Road. The sky was blue and the air was full of bird song. Heat reflected off the pavement. Healing Ways nestled discreetly between a hair-dresser and a whole-foods grocer in the small, local shopping precinct. A bamboo chime sounded as we opened the glass front door. From behind the beaded curtain, emerged the bald man. A huge white smile contrasted beautifully with his deeply tanned skin and today he wore a bright blue satin shirt.

‘Welcome,’ he said, beaming. His camp voice sounded musical.

‘Hi,’ Chrissie answered. ‘Are you Clive Davies?’

‘In person,’ he replied with exaggerated hand gestures. ‘I don’t think I know either of you ... beautiful ... women.’

Chrissie glanced at me and grimaced by way of an apology then picked up something from the counter. I shrugged.

‘This is Crow ... I mean Giselle Nightingale.’ Fumbling with a crystal rod, she threw a big smile at Clive. ‘And I’m Chrissie.’

‘Giselle ... Giselle Nightingale?’ He put his hand against his heart. His eyes filled with moisture. ‘Giselle, dahling!’ He climbed over the counter and rushed towards me.

I backed away, nervously.

He didn’t seem to notice my discomfort and grasped my hand. ‘What an immense pleasure it is to finally meet you. Vivienne has told me so much about you. I feel I know you already.’

I pulled my hand away, shaking my head. ‘Www what has she told you?’ I stammered.

‘Ah, so much. She’s very proud.’ He stared at my face. ‘But, I suspect you favour your father.’

Chrissie moved towards us and stood by my side. ‘You okay, Crow?’

I nodded and took a step back until I was half behind her. Clive’s smile fell for a moment before he clasped his hands together and reignited his face with a bright beam.

‘Can you tell us about Vivienne?’ I asked.

‘What do you want to know?’ With an air of dramatics he brushed a tear from his eye. ‘It’s so sad. She’s my dearest friend. How I love her. I could talk about her all day ... Giselle, sweetheart, are you okay?’

I shook my head. My head was spinning. ‘Crow,’ I croaked then shook my head again. ‘Sorry. I just need some air; I’ll be okay.’ I squeezed myself between Chrissie’s spine and a display of crystal balls and darted out of the door.

Outside, the air was still and hot. I sank to the ground and looked up at the blue sky; finding it too bright, I looked down again. The air shimmered. The heat created a haze above and around everything.

Chrissie called to me from the door and I asked her for a moment alone. I glanced around and my eyes settled on a high wall to my right. Above it, branches reached for the summer sky and I heard the soft chimes of bells. Shielding my eyes from the glaring sun, I strode, purposefully, towards the wall. Ribbons trailed listlessly from the tree branches; they drew me towards it. The smell of jasmine and sage enticed me closer and I tried to climb the wall, but couldn’t find purchase.

The ugly concrete wall blocked my vision. Frustrated, I narrowed my eyes and stared at the pitted greyness. Whether by imagination or magic my determination seemed to temporarily alter the laws of physics. The concrete blocks faded, becoming like mist at first then when the mist cleared I saw through them as though they were glass. The man from my dreams, blonde-haired and shoeless, stood in the garden beyond with his blue eyes fixed on the tree as he tied an orange ribbon to one of its branches. He wore only a pair of grey jogging bottoms, and his chest was bare and pink. He was thin but not emaciated; I could see the hardness of his muscles across his chest and arms. His mouth moved, saying words I couldn’t hear then, kneeling, he placed a pebble at the base of the tree.

The scene vanished and I was left touching the rough concrete wall. I tried again to climb it, but it was too high, too smooth and I felt weak with the heat. Unable to see an opening, I followed the wall around a corner, until I reached a dull red-brick council-house. I glared at it, willing myself to stride down the path and knock on the door. I tried to see the rooms behind the windows, but the panes reflected back golden sunshine and I could see nothing beyond. Chewing my little finger nail then scratching my neck, I stood there, staring until I realised I could not approach the house. Instead I returned to Clive’s shop to retrieve Chrissie.

Chrissie and Clive were hunched over the counter together, laughing. Typical Chrissie, everyone felt good around her; even I managed to smile in the reflected glow of Chrissie’s energy.

‘Chrissie,’ I called. ‘I think I’ve found him.’

She looked across at me and smiled. ‘Cool. Just let me say bye to Clive.’

I walked towards the counter. ‘Did you ask him about the photo?’

‘No. I’m sorry I forgot. Should I?’

‘Photo?’ Clive asked. He squinted at me and I wondered whether he needed glasses.

‘I will.’ I pulled the creased image from my pocket.

‘Do you recognise this man?’

He pulled the photo closer and laughed. ‘Of course I do. That’s Scott Albion, heart breaker and shaman.’

‘Heart breaker?’

‘Mine and your mother’s, dahling.’

‘Were they ... involved?’ The word left a bad taste in my mouth.

‘She wanted to be. Who wouldn’t? He’s gorgeous.’ Giggling, Clive blushed and looked at the photo again. ‘Chasing after him is what caused the poor dahling’s breakdown, in my opinion.’

‘Does he live near here?’

‘Oh yes. You can see his garden wall from the front of the shop. If you go around the corner ...’

‘Thank you.’ I tugged on the photograph.

Clive looked concerned, but released it with a sympathetic half-smile. I grabbed Chrissie’s arm and led her outside.

‘I’m sorry,’ Clive called behind us.

Chrissie turned and waved. ‘Thank you. Have a great day.’

Outside, the heat was relentless. Unable to find shade, we tried to fan ourselves.

‘It’s way too hot for me.’ Chrissie sighed. ‘Let’s just head for Vivienne’s house.’

‘No. I wanna knock on his door first.’

‘Scott Albion’s?’

I nodded and started walking towards the wall. I pointed at the tree. ‘On the other side of this wall.’

Outside the red-brick house it felt even hotter. With a sideways glance at my friend, I rang the doorbell. We waited as minutes dragged like hours. Disappointed, we turned to leave then the door opened and, in the shaded hallway, there stood a tall, blond, young man - Scott Albion.

Spinning round to face him fully, I collapsed.

14

(Bristol, England - 2007)

‘What the fuck happened to you?’ Michael asked as he opened the door.

‘Better not to ask.’ I looked at the reefer in his hand. ‘Roll me one of those.’

He nodded his mostly shaved head and led me inside. The room was full of sour mist. We sat on his bed as he rolled the joint for me. It was a small room, but it was his. No parents, no room mates, his sanctuary and he liked to share it with friends on Friday evenings. He saw me wrinkling my nose.

‘Better not to ask,’ he said, laughing.

Michael was a stoner, and he was also my best friend. He was the most gentle and natural guy I had ever met. Nothing seemed to phase him. His main, perhaps only, flaw was a distinct lack of personal hygiene. Thankfully today he had decided to bathe and his
The Specials
t-shirt seemed almost clean with just a hint of old yellow stains beneath his arms.

He put his fingers up to the bruise around my eye and whistled. ‘Crow ... why are you always so angry. Chill, chérie.’

‘I wasn’t fighting.’ I stood up and pulled a book from his shelf. ‘New?’

He nodded as I stroked the cover. It spoke to me. ‘What’s it about?’

‘Freedom,’ he replied. ‘Another way to live, man.’

‘It was Mum.’

‘Huh?’

‘I told her she should keep her boyfriends on a leash.’

‘She still doin’ that shit?’

‘I guess it’s her addiction, like this is yours.’

‘Bah, this ain’t no addiction. I’m just unfurling. It’s easy to get wound too tight.’

I smiled. ‘Can I borrow it?’

‘Borrow what, chérie?’

‘The book.’ I grinned. Sometimes Michael was a genius, but at others, he struggled to keep up with my most basic trains of thought.

‘Sure, after I’ve finished with it.’

I placed it back on the shelf. ‘Got any beer?’

‘Nah, man. Shit, Crow, can’t you settle? You’re stressing me out.’

‘Sorry. So who else is coming tonight?’

‘The usual: Emma, Nick, Abbie ... maybe Chris.’

They were all a few years older than me. Some had jobs and others were students while Michael was between jobs. He always seemed to have enough to get by though and he never charged us for the weed we smoked there. He was a good guy.

‘Put some music on, chérie. It might help you relax.’

I wandered over to his hi-fi. Above and around it the shelves were jam-packed with CDs of various genres. I didn’t know half of them. I fingered a few spines then pressed play on the sound system. Massive Attack burst through the speakers. Michael nodded approvingly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his choice, not mine.

‘You don’t have to put up with it, you know,’ he said.

‘It’s fine,’ I answered, thinking he was talking about the music.

‘You are a good girl.’

‘I’m not a girl,’ I answered, pouting.

‘What are you then?’

‘Dunno, but not that – what are my choices?’

‘Infinite. You can stay here while you think about it, chérie.’

‘I can’t do that, Michael. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’d be in if a thirteen-year-old was found hiding out in your flat?’

He shrugged. ‘Do you have any idea how many shits I give?’

‘Thanks, but one of us has to be sensible. If I run I’d better go far away. London, maybe.’

‘Tough there in the big smoke. Bad people ready to prey on young ... minds.’

‘Bad people at my house too.’

He nodded, frowning. ‘And she won’t listen?’

‘Nah.’

‘What about your big brother? What’s his name?’

‘Tom. He can’t see it. I guess they don’t bother him. Wrong equipment.’

Michael snorted. ‘You even told him?’

I blushed and shifted uncomfortably on the bed. ‘What good would it do?’