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-full 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.
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 wo
ndered 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.’
The Ballerina and the Revolutionary Page 3
