The Ballerina and the Revolutionary Read Online Free Page A

then wandered over grass and between trees before sinking onto a bench, watching the empty swings.
    The ringing phone startled me.
    ‘Hey Giz, where are you?’
    I frowned. Crow and fuck you! But instead of articulating my thoughts I simply answered. ‘Westville Park.’
    ‘Oh, okay. See you in thirty minutes.’
    Tomas hung up and I was left alone with my thoughts once more. I stared at my grubby combats, withdrawing deep inside myself and only looking up again when I heard my brother’s quick footsteps.
    ‘What’s wrong, Giz?’
    I shook my head. ‘What do you think?’
    He stared at me blankly.
    ‘Okay, first you refuse to acknowledge I shed that name years ago. What gives you the right? Then you abandon me in the place I hate most in the world. What were you thinking, Bro?’ I turned from him and stared at the ground between my knees. ‘Nothing in the house seems real. I see ...’ I rocked myself as I struggled to find the right word. ‘Ghosts.’
    Tomas’s eyes flashed and his face reddened as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He sat quietly for a moment. ‘You haven’t even seen Mum yet.’ He looked up at the clouds then turned to face me. ‘Cathy’s made dinner for us ... Melissa’s excited to see you.’
    I didn’t tell him I’d seen far more of our mother than any child would find comfortable. Instead, I nodded and followed him to the car park, wondering when I had become submissive.
    Tomas’s house was smaller than Mother’s. It stood on a modern estate not far from Vivienne’s cottage, surrounded by communal greens and as Tomas pulled up outside, an auburn haired woman, holding a flame-haired infant, opened the front door.
    I climbed out of the car and rushed to see them. ‘Cathy, she’s beautiful.’
    Tomas’s wife smiled. ‘Come on, you two; the spaghetti’s getting cold.’
    The front door led straight into a large sitting room, dominated by a huge television. White walls were covered in family photographs and a large oil painting of Brunel’s famous bridge. Wooden floors were polished and clear of clutter. A square, pale wood table protruded from beneath the staircase. It had been set for dinner with woven navy place mats, large wine glasses and carefully folded napkins.
    Catherine carried spotless white plates full of food through the kitchen door and placed them on the table. Her Italian speciality had been adapted, at Tomas’s suggestion, for me with a Quorn mince base. The food was delicious and it felt good to be part of a functional, loving family for a few hours.
     
     

 
     
     
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    ‘Thank you, Cathy. The food’s lovely,’ I told her.
    She blushed. ‘It’s just something I threw together. It’s a bit drier than usual though. Different mince I guess.’
    ‘It’s great, babes,’ Tomas said, nodding. ‘Not dry at all.’
    Catherine frowned and took a large sip of wine. ‘I don’t normally drink,’ she explained.
    ‘Oh?’ I asked.
    ‘Breast-feeding.’
    I nodded. ‘Of course. Melissa is beautiful. She looks so big and strong.’
    ‘She’s already moving about,’ Catherine said, proudly. ‘We’ve had to cover all the spare sockets. She’s way ahead of the other babies.’
    I smiled. ‘I can tell.’ Truthfully, I had no idea. Vivienne and I had never spoken about babies and as the youngest child, I had no experience, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
    ‘Do you plan to have any?’ Catherine asked.
    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