35
Even after carving the pain from my skin, I still prickled and couldn’t lie still. I knew I shouldn’t be there. I had tainted the place, tainted Scott. I was more like my mother than I’d realised. Panicking, I decided to creep out and wondered where I should go. The idea of returning to the house frightened me, but at the same time it held an aura of inevitability. I was sure Tomas wouldn’t let me stay with him and I doubted I’d feel more comfortable there anyway. The small amount of money he had given me had almost run out. Soon I would need money for food and how would I make the trip home. Would Tomas drive me back to London? Did I want to return to the squat? I wasn’t certain of anything, least of all that, so I decided to return to Vivienne’s house. I thought again about the diaries stuffed in my backpack and crammed in my bedside cabinet, plus the many more scattered around the house like skeletal leaves, a dead memory of things past. After reading about my granddad, and how that made me feel I didn’t feel ready to read further.
Vivienne killed her father or forced him to commit suicide, because he abused me and Tomas. She'd found me under the table, her table, the one where I found her note. She had wanted to be his last victim, that meant he had abused her too. He had stolen her innocence and done the same to her children. I couldn't remember it, but I knew it was true. I considered burning the records – the diaries and the birth certificates alike. What good could come from knowing more? But I was afraid, not only of never knowing peace, but also of letting Vivienne down. If I burned them all, these buried memories, would I be consumed by the same fire?
Anyway, I couldn't burn them, not without first knowing what had happened to my sister.
I gathered my things and tiptoed out of the house. If Scott heard me leave he did not challenge me. The air outside was full of mist and chill air bit at my face, a shock after the recent hot summer weather. I lit a cigarette.
The hallway was full of unsettled energy, welcoming me back. The air seemed to sniff me, trying to explore me, know my secrets and understand the change in me. I met it with a defiant stare and strode to the kitchen. Realising I hadn’t drunk coffee for over twenty-four hours, I made myself a cup and guzzled it greedily, enjoying the scratch of roughly-ground grains in my throat. I made another and sat cradling it, smoking. The house might have been frightening, but I belonged there. Its memories were mine, mine and my mother’s, and to move on I needed to face them all, even the diaries. I opened my bag and touched one of the cool covers then withdrew my hand, leaving it there, waiting. I needed sleep first.
My bare feet crushed moss in the shadow-filled forest. Movement ahead – a stag darting between the trees, I did not follow it. The stag held no secrets for me to explore, not today. Its coat looked tarnished and its eyes never met mine. I touched the bark of a tree instead. The wood felt like skin and I jumped back, shaking my hand as if it had burned me. I knew I must not touch the old, rotten flesh. I knew it was wrong, but it bent towards me, closer and closer, crowding me, jeering at me, until I turned and fled.
The ringing of the borrowed mobile-phone woke me.
‘Hullo,’
‘Hi Giz, it’s Tom. We’re just trying to sort out the funeral and the reading of the will. The will’s gonna be read today so we can know Mum’s wishes. Do you wanna come?’
He was still calling me Giz. The idea of correcting him yet again felt too exhausting to contemplate. ‘No thanks,’ I said, sinking into the pillow.
‘Are you sure? Look maybe you should be there. You’re in her house after all. You need to know what’s gonna happen.’
‘Why can’t you tell me later?’
I heard him shuffling the phone in his hands. His breath grew quiet, muffled then he was back again, whispering. ‘We may have conflicting interests, Sis. Cathy wants to sell the house.’
I nodded. The news did not surprise me. ‘I don’t see why it’ll make any difference if I’m there. I won’t leave here, not until I’m finished. But, it’s okay, Bro. It shouldn’t take long. Then I’ll be on my way home and all this will be yours.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
I hung up and got out of bed. If I planned to stay in Bristol longer I’d need to do some shopping. I checked my money and found only a couple of pounds. I would need to start earning soon. If Cathy wanted me out it was unlikely Tomas would keep paying me to stay. There were a few art supplies in my bag so I could go back to painting tourist’s portraits or I could just sell some things; after all it would be far quicker to rifle through Vivienne’s jewellery, one or two things should raise enough to tide me over and they were mine anyway, really.
Vivienne’s room looked empty as if it knew all that had happened and had given up waiting for its mistress to return. Hunting for a jewellery box, I opened wardrobes full of beautiful clothing; almost all of it was purple or black. I found my mother’s ballet shoes, sniffed them and held the soft leather against my cheek. Nanny’s story of the ballerina and the revolutionary filled my head with images of Vivienne dancing for the queens and kings she had described. How beautiful and graceful she must have looked. I start to cry. Cradling the slippers, I rocked to and fro and gulped back wails before they could escape, wails full of regret and sorrow. Mummy was gone and I could never get any closer to her. I tried the ballet shoes on and laughed. My feet were tiny inside them and I felt like a child again, wearing my mother’s footwear, expecting to be punished if discovered. Lifting my feet, I left the shoes on the floor and continued searching for jewellery. I opened the lid of a puce-coloured leather box and a prima ballerina sprang into life, pirouetting in the mirror. Swan Lake chimed as I dug through the jumble of gold and silver. No rings, they would be missed. Not that pendant either, it was her favourite. I found a watch, a Cartier that looked as though it might be made of gold. Perfect. I grabbed tissues from a frilly box and wrapped it carefully before sliding it into my backpack. Now all I needed to do was find a jeweller.
‘And you say it was your mother’s.’ The jeweller’s face glowed in the reflected beauty of the watch, kindly yet suspicious.
I nodded. ‘It was a present, but now I need money more.’
He looked me up and down. ‘It’s a nice watch, but the market is slow at the moment. I could only offer you one hundred pounds.’
I knew I could get more. His kindly face looked sly after all, but I accepted the exchange.
Food bought I made my way back to the house. Scott was waiting outside the front door.
‘Do you ever wear shoes?’ I asked him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I brought my box of tricks, to clean the house ... Remember?’
I brushed past him to unlock the door. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Come in.’
I led him into the kitchen and switched the kettle on. ‘Tea?’
‘What kinds have you got?’
‘Tetley,’ I answered. ‘Or coffee.’
‘Just hot water, please.’ He opened his box of tricks that was really a bag and brought out a large bundle of twigs tied with string that reminded me of a mauled bridal bouquet.
I brought his water and my coffee to the table and lit a cigarette. ‘What’s that?’
‘Herbs. We burn them to cleanse the house.’
‘Okay. How long will it take?’
‘An hour maybe. It’s a big place.’
I shrugged. ‘True.’
I passed my lighter to him and he set light to one end of the bundle. The smoke was pungent and it made me cough. He blew gently on the flames until they dulled into gentle embers. The smoke grew thicker. He took a sip from his mug and stood up. As he walked around the room, leaving trails of smoke in his wake, he whispered words that sounded random to me. A few of them made sense, but not many.
He left the kitchen and wafted into the hallway. I stayed behind and opened the door to the garden. The air stung my eyes and I wanted to breathe something that didn’t stink of burning sage.
The sun shone through gaps between low
white clouds. I realised I hadn’t been in the garden since Chrissie had left for London. We had tended to this garden together, tried to grow new life, sowing seeds in the earth. It seemed pointless now Vivienne was dead. I heard laughter and scanned the perimeter wall, looking for visiting ghosts or lost children and found neither. I wondered whether I was making a mistake. I had learned so much from the spirits in this house, most of it painful, all of it important. Most important of all I had learned to forgive my mother.
I stepped inside again and listened for Scott’s footsteps. I heard him above me as I entered the dining room. He must have been in my room, purging it of bad memories and toxic energy. I felt sceptical and wondered how a few whispered words and some herbs could change anything, but the dining room did seem brighter, lighter and less oppressive than before. If nothing else, perhaps the scent would clear my head.
He moved from my room and I followed the sound of his footsteps across the hallway. He was in Vivienne’s room now. I could hear him through the kitchen ceiling, treading lightly.
I returned to my coffee. It had cooled a little, but was still drinkable. I imagined the soft squeak of his soles against floorboards were my mother’s. That she was gliding about her room as graceful as ever, getting ready for a night of entertaining some infatuated gentleman. That was all she ever seemed to do, when she was not flirting with death, she was always dancing or making love. I swallowed an uncomfortable lump in my throat and realised I had envied her, both for her beauty and the ease with which she spoke to people, enchanting them. She had been a lot to live up to, my brother’s perfect woman, deeply flawed though she was. She was also impossibly magnificent.
I heard the stairs creak and realised Scott was returning. When he reached the table again he stubbed out the herbs in a pewter bowl. ‘That’s the smudging done.’
‘What now?’
‘I guess that’s up to you. The house has been purified. If you really want to journey into the dream world you can do so today.’
I stared at him.
‘You’ve decided not to?’
I shrugged. ‘I haven’t thought about it, not really. I thought after ... you know ... well I didn’t expect to see you again. Look Scott ... I’m sorry. What I did ... what I did to you ... that was wrong.’
He smiled at me and nodded. ‘I forgive you.’
I sighed and tried to communicate my gratitude through my eyes. We were silent for a moment as the ache of understanding was salved. ‘So, no more ghosts?’
‘They should quieten down for a while at least, but we’ll need to keep cleansing the place. I can teach you how.’
‘I doubt I can stay.’
‘Why?’
‘My brother and his wife want to sell the house.’
‘Will you go back to London?’
‘Probably.’
‘That’s a shame. Just when I was getting used to having you around.’
I smiled and placed the palm of my right hand over the back of his left. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded and picked up his mug. ‘We can chat about it another day.’
Excitement burned my chest. ‘I want to.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes. I want to take that journey. I don’t want to leave without answering certain ... questions.’
‘Great. I’ll set things up in the living room. Come in when you’re ready, Crow.’
I smoked another cigarette before I followed him. My heartbeat quickened. I didn’t know what I was about to do and the adrenaline rushing through my body cautioned me against stupidity. I didn’t listen.
‘What are you trying to find out in the dream world?’ he asked.
‘Why I am the way I am. I feel like a piece of me is missing. Perhaps it’s my mother.’
‘Perfect, we’ll start there. I’ll guide you. You can go as slowly or as quickly as you wish. There are no rules except those you set for yourself. I’ll get you to sit or lie here and I’ll count slowly, from one to ten. Feel yourself relax. I’ll describe a tranquil place and you should imagine yourself walking there, along a path through woodland, until you reach a clearing. You’ll enter a sacred space. You’ll know it when you’re there,’ he told me. ‘It’s a safe place to start your journey, or you can stay there a while: plant a tree, build a house or just sit and think. When you’re ready to move on, you’ll see a pathway ahead. Follow it. Keep walking until you meet your spirit guide. Greet it warmly, it is an old friend. The love you show it will make your time there more special and more useful. The guide will appear in the form of an animal. Tell your spirit guide what you seek. It’ll lead you to a gateway. Some gateways lead downwards, these can look like caves or lakes. Others lead upwards: ladders or mountains to climb. You will need to journey upwards to find your fragment. When you see it you will know, but it might be well hidden and it might take you many journeys to find it.
‘I’ll call you back when it’s time to return. I’ll count backwards from ten then you’ll wake up. If you want to come back before I start counting go to your sacred space. From there you should be able to return yourself. If not you’ll be safe and comfortable until I call you.’
‘Can a sacred space be a mountain range?’ I asked.
‘Usually it’s a woodland clearing or a cave, but I guess it could be anywhere.’
‘What’s yours?’
‘Discover your own. Then we can talk about mine,’ he answered.
‘So what do I do first?’ I chewed my knuckles wondering whether I could do this and how crazy I was for even trying.
‘You need to visit your sacred space. Make it yours. You shouldn’t start any journey until you have somewhere familiar to come back to.’
‘Did you tell Vivienne this?’
He sighed. His brow furrowed and he looked at his hands.
My heart lurched to fill the space between us. He looked sad and exhausted. I felt sorry for him and chastised myself for picking at that wound again. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ... I’m sure she found her space and was happy there.’
Scott shook his head, took a deep breath in and sat on the floor with his legs crossed in the lotus position. I knew there was no way I would be able to get my body moulded into those painful looking knots and hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.
‘If you’re ready,’ Scott said, motioning to the mat between us.
‘Not yet,’ I answered. ‘Physical needs before spiritual ones. Loo and a cig, then I’ll do it.’
He smiled and touched my cheek. The physical contact was unexpected and made me shiver.
‘I’ll wait here for you. I’ll smudge the air again.’
As I returned to the room, he asked me for the last time, ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to do this at mine?’
‘No, I lost my soul here and here’s where I’ll find it.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s not how it works.’
‘It is for me. Call it symbolic.’ I sat on the rug, crossed my legs like a school kid and rested my hands on my thighs, palms facing skyward. ‘Okay, how do I do this?’
‘Breathe deeply and count to ten. Concentrate only on your breathing and the numbers. Each number should be one breath.’
He was only a few feet away: my magic mirror, my guide.
I nodded. ‘Eyes open or closed?’
‘Closed is probably easier.’
I shut my eyes and breathed in deeply through my nostrils.
‘When you reach ten you should visualise a place in which you feel safe. It can be a real place or one from your imagination. Look around you. Hear the sound of the birds above you, feel the grass, moss, sand or rock beneath your feet, feel the breeze on your skin. You will see a path below your toes. If you follow it will you will reach your sacred spot - the place you can visit whenever you wish.’ His voice faded and he faded with it.
My shoulders and upper arms were pinned into place between the torsos of friends. Ahead, a line of police shields blocked the street. Chants of defiance filled my ears an
d I joined them, filling the air with hot breath and strong language. Grinning, I slipped my arms through those of my comrades, Chrissie and Matty. Together we pushed forward as the bodies became a wave of solidarity pouring onto the barren shore. Police turned and ran from our mass of people power. I kissed Chrissie on the mouth and exhaled loudly. ‘What the fuck? Right on!’
I turned and stretched my body, ready to sprint towards our goal. With a wide smile that threatened to tear my cheeks, I stepped into a woodland clearing. I spun around, bewildered and looked at the circle of silver birch trees that had replaced the crowd. Birds were singing, but their bodies were hidden by the leaves. Springy moss cushioned my steps. It felt cool and tickled between my toes. The air was fragrant and the sweet scent of lavender and honey calmed me. Laughing, I flapped my arms like wings and danced around the circle, brushing the bark of the trees with my fingertips. Something was missing and the scene did not feel quite right to me. I faced the centre of the clearing and imagined planting an acorn then watched as a mighty oak filled the void. Now it was perfect and I stood there, silently admiring it for a while.
I felt I was being tugged towards the circle of trees and spotted a gap between two of the birches. The trees stood so pale it reminded me of a lucky gap between two front teeth. Between them I could see a path covered in golden pine needles. I knew this was where my journey would start and followed the pathway without any reservation. The trees along this avenue were evergreens. Scots pine and spruce trees stood tall and proud on either side. Crumbly earth spotted with clumps of grass and pine needles stretched out in front of me and behind. The pattern reminded me of a giraffe’s tall neck.
I walked and walked, but my view never changed. The woodland looked labyrinthine and I began to worry I would never reach my gateway. I closed my eyes and tried to remember Scott’s instructions. I needed to find a spirit guide – that was it. My eyes scanned shadows and I saw movement between the trees. The creature showed itself and stepped towards me; its head was the same height as my own, but crowned with silver antlers: my stag. Of course! All tension flowed from my body into the earth. I had always known which animal it would be. I reached out my hand and the stag’s soft nose nuzzled against my palm. Stroking its cheek, I saw wisdom in the gentle brown eyes. I smoothed the velvety hair of its throat, then hugged and kissed its warm shoulders, telling my spirit guide I was pleased to meet him. I explained my mission and told him I needed to reach the gateway. The beautiful head nodded in acknowledgement. I smiled at the perfection around me and felt confident any journey I made here would be successful.
The Ballerina and the Revolutionary Page 14