Read Online The Ballerina and the Revolutionary by Carmilla Voiez - Free Book Online
Authors: Carmilla Voiez
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wake you?’
She gripped my hand and squeezed. ‘It’s okay. I’m here for you, sweetie.’
I grimaced. ‘What have you found?’
‘A stack of your old drawings in Vivienne’s desk. I’ve popped them on the dining table. Come and see.’
The papers were yellowed, creased and had fingerprints around their edges. Most of the pictures were portraits. Amongst the pile there were a few of Tomas; in all of them he was smiling. There were a selection of self-portraits and two of Vivienne – in one she looked beautiful, her dark hair draped around her shoulders and her mouth smiling benevolently; in the other she looked frightening, her mouth twisted, her hair wild and her eyes dark and cruel.
Rifling through them, I discarded the ones of myself and lingered over the two of my mother, remembering each face in turn and how swiftly one could change into the other. Chrissie picked up some of the discarded portraits.
‘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,
She gripped my hand and squeezed. ‘It’s okay. I’m here for you, sweetie.’
I grimaced. ‘What have you found?’
‘A stack of your old drawings in Vivienne’s desk. I’ve popped them on the dining table. Come and see.’
The papers were yellowed, creased and had fingerprints around their edges. Most of the pictures were portraits. Amongst the pile there were a few of Tomas; in all of them he was smiling. There were a selection of self-portraits and two of Vivienne – in one she looked beautiful, her dark hair draped around her shoulders and her mouth smiling benevolently; in the other she looked frightening, her mouth twisted, her hair wild and her eyes dark and cruel.
Rifling through them, I discarded the ones of myself and lingered over the two of my mother, remembering each face in turn and how swiftly one could change into the other. Chrissie picked up some of the discarded portraits.
‘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,
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