‘Have you looked at these?’ Chrissie asked. ‘There’s a hand on your shoulder in three of the four drawings.’
I held out my hand to take them. Looking again I saw large fingers, resting on my shoulder. The nails were closely cropped. The hand looked strong, but it was impossible to tell whether it was holding me in place or encouraging me onwards. I shook my head. The drawings were mine, but I had no recollection of what the hand represented, or even whose hand it was.
‘You don’t remember?’
‘No.’
‘I’ve found loads of stuff: Vivienne’s diaries ‘n’ letters. There’s loads about her boyfriends; a little about you and Tomas, basic stuff though, school etcetera, you know.’
‘Found anything more recent?’
‘Not yet. They don’t seem to be filed in any order. I’ll get there. She’s written loads. Can’t imagine she stopped. One thing is weird.’ Chrissie raised her eyebrows. ‘Her handwriting keeps changing, like the diaries were written by more than one person.’
I pondered this silently while staring, unfocused, out of the window.
‘Penny for ‘em,’ she said.
‘Oh nothing.’ I glanced back at the two drawings of Vivienne. More than one person, that was true enough. How many people though?
Chrissie gathered up the pictures, leaving the two of Vivienne in my hands. ‘I’ll keep looking, okay?’
‘What are you looking for?’ I asked.
‘Answers.’
I turned and looked at her blankly then placed the two portraits back on the pile. ‘What if there aren’t any?’
She shrugged. ‘Then maybe you can find peace another way.’
‘Should I help? Read the diaries and stuff.’
Chrissie sighed. ‘I dunno, Crow. It might be painful, you know? And anyway, if I’m completely honest, I love this stuff: researching people’s histories. Honestly, I’m happy to do it.’
I nodded.
‘You hungry, Crow? I’ll make lunch. Beans on toast or toast and beans?’
I laughed, sarcastically. ‘Got a problem with the larder? Then you can do the shopping today.’
She stuck her pierced tongue out at me and I giggled then I was left alone with my thoughts. Did the hand belong to Vivienne? No, it was too large and the nails too short. It frustrated me to find I had no answer.
After lunch, we visited the grocers together. Chrissie waved at Clive as we walked past Healing Ways, but we didn’t wait to check if he saw us. On the way back, we walked through the park, smoking and watching children play and young women chat.
‘Think you'll ever want that?’ Chrissie asked.
‘What kids? God no. You?’
She shrugged. ‘Almost did once.’ She brushed a tear away. ‘Mitch and I ... well we’ve never discussed it and it’s not something that will happen by accident for us, you know? S’pose being a good mum would mean settling down ... joining the rat race.’ Sighing, she stared at the children. 'No, I can’t see us managing that.’
‘Hey, maybe you’ll get published and have all the money and security you’ll ever need.’
She snorted.
Back at the house, we unpacked the lentils, pulses, vegetables and rice. Chrissie started preparing food while I ran a bath. I selected a lavender and rosemary soak and added it to the steamy jet of water. The room filled with its intense scent, making me feel drowsy. The hot water made my legs prickle. Lifting my arms, I surveyed the dark red skin.
I caught the movement of a shadow in my peripheral vision. I turned, but there was nothing there. I lifted my knee and rubbed soap onto my leg.
Something pushed against my shoulder and, before I could react, I was forced under the water. Struggling, fighting for breath, I thrashed my arms and legs under the white foam. Bubbles fled from my lips. My throat burned as did my eyes. I tried to scream, but only released more bubbles. Then, as quickly as it began, the pressure was released. I sat up, gasping for air, looking around the empty bathroom then another heavy pressure, this time on my forehead and I was choking again, on the scalding liquid. My face blistered and my eyes were on fire. Through the searing whiteness, I saw a shape bend above me; its crazed laughter echoed around the bath tub, beating like a drum against my ears.
‘Filthy, filthy.’ The words were repeated again and again. The room filled with maniacal laughter.
I was drowning and I knew it. Everything went dark then something cold grabbed me and pulled me upwards. I saw the worried face of my mother before I flopped over the edge of the bath, coughing up water. As soon as I had enough strength I pulled myself out onto the bath mat and lay there shaking and coughing until I felt able to drag a towel down from the rail and wrap myself in its warm fibres. ‘Mum?’
There was no reply. I pushed myself to my feet and peered over the rim of the bath. A shadow lurked beneath the surface of the water.
‘Mum?’ I asked again. The shadow became more defined and a teenage girl lay in the bath, not me, her skin was much paler, although her hair was black. ‘Is that you Vivienne?’
Eyes snapped open, grey and frightened.
‘What happened? Who did ...?’
The image of the teenage girl evaporated. I dropped my towel and submerged my arms into the water, but found nothing.
'Mum! Mum!' I yelled and tore at the chain to pull out the plug. My tears mingled with the draining water.
18
Chrissie looked up from the hob and caught my eye. I stood, shivering, in the kitchen doorway.
‘Crow?’ Chrissie stared at my naked body. ‘You okay?’
I wrapped my arms around my chest and hips, realising she had never seen me naked before.
‘I think somebody tried to drown Vivienne.’
‘Drown Vivienne? When? She isn’t here. She’s ...’
‘No.’ I shook my head, squeezed my forehead between the palms of my hands and closed my eyes, tightly. ‘It was a memory, a ghost or hallucination, maybe. I was drowning. I thought I was gonna die.’
‘Oh my God!’ Chrissie ran towards me.
I let her hug me, fighting the desire to recoil. Her clothes against my skin made me feel vulnerable. I regretted running to her without first strapping my ill-shapen form into its armour.
‘Come on. Let’s get you dressed. Tell me what happened.’
Supporting my weight, Chrissie led me to my room.
‘Something ... pushing my head ... under water, but I knew ... I knew it was really Vivienne and ... it's not the first time. I saw Nanny in the garden too. Chrissie, what’s happening to me? Why am I seeing these things?’
‘I don’t know. Everyone’s seen ghosts, Crow. Just some people don’t like to admit it.’
‘Or I’m a lunatic, like my mother.’ I pulled bedclothes over my flesh, wanting to remove myself from her gaze. I needed clothing.
She touched my arm and I scowled at her fingers. If she noticed my discomfort she made no sign.
‘You’re not. You’re strong. Really you are ... look.’ She smiled, sympathetically. ‘I’m here for you ... and Scott.’
‘What about Scott?’ I asked, shaking my arm free.
‘You guys have chemistry.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Chrissie! Don’t you know me at all?’
‘Falling in love won’t turn you into your mother.’
I growled at her. ‘I thought you understood, Chrissie. Shit! You really think that’s what it’s about? You think I’m afraid I might become my mother!’
‘Shhh, sweetheart. I love you.’ Chrissie clasped my hand and lifted my fingers to her mouth.
Trembling, I pulled away. My eyes glistened. ‘No,’ I whispered.
‘Close your eyes.’
‘No.’ My voice was louder this time, more assertive. ‘I don’t want this.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I don’t know. To be left alone, maybe?’
‘You’re not an island, Crow.’
‘No, I’m not an island. I’m a moun
tain.’
‘Shit.’ Chrissie’s face turned pale. She stood up from my bed and shook her head before running out of the door. ‘Dinner.’
I lay there for a few moments, thinking. Why didn’t Chrissie of all people understand? I’d told her enough times. Oh well, I thought. I guess I’ll have to try and explain myself yet again. I sighed, it was exhausting being me. So many people took who they were for granted and anyone outside of that, like me, had a constant struggle against erasure. I got dressed and stumbled down the staircase, still shaking.
Chrissie stood by the stove, the lid of the stew pot in her hand. ‘It’s okay. Nothing’s burned. Here ...’ She held out a wooden spoon for me to taste.
I nodded appreciatively and made socially acceptable noises to show her I found it delicious. She grinned and filled two bowls.
The flavours of Chrissie’s curry were intense. Spices danced on my tongue as I devoured bowlfuls of vegetable curry, pausing only to smile appreciatively. The room fell silent except for the sounds of eating. Chrissie seemed thoughtful and I was still trying to decide what words to use to explain how I felt, yet again. How sex and romance were things I had never craved. How I couldn't even accept the treachery of my body and its soft curves. How I was not and would never be a damsel in distress, waiting to be saved.
Mozart’s Sonata in C, its beauty all but destroyed by the tinny chiming, broke the silence. Shaking myself free from my reverie, I peered through the kitchen door and into the shadowy hallway. It must have been Vivienne’s doorbell. I wondered whether it would be Tomas or a door-to-door salesman. When I opened the door, I was greeted instead by Scott.
‘Is it okay? I mean are you guys busy?’
I hovered by the door, confused. ‘I thought ... Didn’t you say Monday? ... Sorry, yeah ... I mean, sure - come in.’
‘Hi Scott,’ Chrissie called from the kitchen. ‘I made curry. Want some?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve eaten ... Is it a bad time? I brought wine.’
‘It’s never a bad time for wine,’ I said. ‘I’ll find some glasses.’
I led Scott to the kitchen, and asked him to sit at the table. As he entered the room everything seemed brighter, colours more vivid and anything seemed possible. Scott confused my senses, feelings of security and excitement seemed to radiate from him and the air crackled with energy when he was close. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to look away from his face, hunting instead for three wine glasses. When I found them, they were too high to reach. I looked for a ladder and decided instead to use a chair. Without waiting to be asked, Scott arrived at my side. As he reached above me, I smelled his warm, musky scent. Seconds felt like hours until, exhaling, I moved away.
‘Your mum okay without you?’ Chrissie asked, breaking the spell.
Scott grinned. He seemed to know he was being teased. ‘She’s fine. I just like to cook for her, you know, when she gets home from work. It’s only fair. After all, living with Mum gives me freedom from financial worries.’
I nodded. ‘Gainful employment isn’t my cup of tea either. Even so I couldn’t live with Vivienne.’
‘I think I have some idea why,’ Scott replied.
I felt defensive and my eyes prickled. ‘Why? Tell me, if you know us so well.’
‘Ah, but if I do, you’ll pout and deny it. You need to see for yourself. I can help you do that ... if you want, but for tonight let’s drink a bottle of wine and smoke a large spliff – the English equivalent of the peace-pipe.’
I felt my face redden. Scott seemed so sure of himself. I wanted to wipe that smile from his face. How dare he feel so clean, so blameless? If Clive was right, this strange, confusing, arrogant man was the reason for Vivienne’s mental collapse. Weaving his spell, like a web, around everyone who met him. He shouldn’t be so careless with people’s emotions.
The desire to flee from him rose inside me. My arm shook as I tried to lift my wine glass. Claret spilled onto my hand. My skin felt sticky. The room seemed to crush against me, squeezing my head and chest. I couldn’t breathe. Dropping the glass, I ran out of the kitchen. I heard it shatter and Chrissie’s gasp.
I was lying on top of my bed when Chrissie rushed into my bedroom.
‘What just happened?’ Chrissie asked.
I stared at the ceiling in silence.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘Don’t you know? We were drinking with Scott. You smashed your glass and ran up here. Don’t you remember?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s okay.’ Chrissie voice was soft and soothing. ‘It’s just been a hard couple of days. That’s all.’
‘It’s more than that, Chrissie. I feel so fucking angry and I’m not even sure I know why. What if I do need to see for myself, like Scott said? Fuck it! I think something in this house is forcing me to see ... to remember ... but I’m scared. Parts of me don’t want to remember. I want to forget, forget all of it, flee back to London if necessary.’
She stroked my cheek. Tears ran down my face. ‘So London’s your bolt hole?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said between sobs. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying.’
She nodded. ‘Why don’t you speak to Scott? Maybe he can help.’
I shook my head and pushed my body to the edge of the mattress as far from her reach as I could. ‘I don't need his help. I'll figure it out. I just need to be alone.’
‘Don’t be silly. Come back downstairs. Have another glass of wine, sweetie?’
‘Nah.’ I sighed, knowing it would be that easy for her. Chrissie found socialising natural.
The way she spoke was the way she wrote, full of grace and humour. I stumbled behind, face hidden. Please understand, Chrissie, for once, let me hide. ‘I’ll read for a bit. Calm myself down.’
Chrissie’s lips felt soft and cool as they brushed against my forehead. I forced a smile. When she left I grabbed a book from the well-stocked shelves. I pulled out a well-worn copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and opened it at the first page.
As I reached page one hundred and sixteen, “What was important was the golden footprint, the magic footprint she had left on his life and no one could ever remove,” Chrissie reappeared.
Her face looked flushed. I wondered whether Scott and Chrissie had been kissing. I grimaced. What a ridiculous thought. Chrissie was in love with Mitch and Scott wouldn’t interest her in that way at all.
‘Has he gone?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’ She let her body drop onto the bed beside me.
‘What did he tell you?’
‘He thinks your visions are spirits, his word - not mine, trying to get you to face your fears,’ she said, blushing. ‘He says he can help you – when you’re ready.’
‘That can’t be all he said. You’ve been talking for hours.’
‘Just chatting.’
‘About Vivienne?’
‘Not really ... Maybe a little. He said something about her trying to initiate herself – I think that was the word he used. He doesn’t seem to think her breakdown had anything to do with him though.’
‘Does he know she’s in love with him?’
‘Don’t think so, Crow, but hey, do we really know that either? It was just something Clive said. I haven’t read anything in her letters or diaries about him yet.’
‘Would you look again, for me, tomorrow? Please? I need to know ... if he was ... involved.’
Chrissie frowned and shrugged.
‘Don’t ask me why,’ I begged.
‘Okay ... sure. Look, I better get to bed. If you’re okay, of course. I really need some zees ... Hey, did you phone your brother?’
I blushed and closed the book. ‘I forgot.’
She laughed softly and shook her head.
‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ I said, yawning. ‘It’s too late now. Sleep sounds good. G’night, Chrissie.’
‘Goodnight, Crow. Sleep well.’
19
Sleep c
ame swiftly. Dark, chilled water surrounded me. Above me I saw a circle of light. Below, giant snake-like reeds reached towards me. The teenage Vivienne, the one I had seen in the bath, swam ahead of me. Her long hair floated around her face like seaweed. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, and bright green bubbles escaped her lips. Scott’s face looked down at us from a circle of light at the surface. His mouth opened and shut, like a drowning fish and, although I couldn’t hear his words, he looked as though he was trying to tell me something important. Fearful, I dived deeper, into the shadowy depths, brushing past the reeds. Their knife-like edges sliced into my bare skin. Vivienne and Scott vanished, and I tried to rise but couldn't. Tugging and kicking at plants coiled around my ankles, I struggled to break free. Snakes weaved through the aquatic jungle, moving closer and closer. I sat up and gasped, dragging air into my lungs. Sweat chilled my skin as I pulled the duvet that bound my legs.
I rubbed my forehead, stretching the skin upwards with aggressive strokes. The light in the room had a grey pre-dawn softness to it. I paced to the window, clutching my tobacco tin, its rich smell refocused me. The flare of my lighter and the nicotine hit of my first inhalation reminded me of Scott, although I didn’t understand why. I considered my dream. Its meaning should have seemed clear, but I fought it. I fought against vulnerability. I didn’t want to open myself up, care about Vivienne or Scott. I feared being hurt again.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I sensed someone was watching. I turned away from the window and looked around the room. No-one was there. Turning slowly, I peered out of the window and saw an old woman looking up at me, frowning.
‘Nanny?’
I stared at the grey-haired woman, standing just outside the garden gate. The upturned face reminded me of my dead grandmother in the half-light. Afraid to break eye contact, I leaned out of the window. The figure appeared startled and scuttled away behind a neighbouring wall.
***
The door-chime woke me at ten. My head still full of the echoes of sleep, I lay in bed, listening to male and female voices chat in the hallway below. My room was warmed by the sunlight pushing its way through the curtains. Pulling myself up, I shook the stupor from my brain.
The Ballerina and the Revolutionary Page 6
