‘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.
13
‘Crow!’
The musical tones of her voice broke my reverie. I looked towards the house and saw her standing t
here. 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.
The Ballerina and the Revolutionary Page 4
