The Ballerina and the Revolutionary (publ date 1st April 2014) an excerpt

The Ballerina and the Revolutionary (publ date 1st April 2014) an excerpt

Walking towards the front door, I felt hemmed in by the walls of grass on either side of the path. The late-spring garden was heavy with flowers; roses and geraniums fought with dandelions and cow-parsley for supremacy. Grime covered the windows.
I paused outside, trying to breathe. My chest felt tight. Adrenaline surged through my nerve endings preparing me for fight or flight. My hand shook as I reached toward the keyhole. I placed my left hand against the door, steadying myself, not wanting to fall. My pulse seemed to shake the wood as if I was feeling the rapid heartbeat of the house itself. I pressed my forehead against the narrow glass panel at its centre. I had to do this. Do it for Tom.
Opening the door, I edged inside, wiping my feet on the mat then stepping onto the parquet floor beyond. It was a generous hallway; a space designed for welcoming guests, laying open the entire soul of the house. Except, all five doors joining it were closed and I felt I was intruding.
Keeping my eyes to the floor, I wandered into the kitchen to make coffee; my feet found the way from memory. Looking through the window, I saw the garden in which I played as a child. Forgetting the coffee, I unlocked the door and stepped out. Birds and grasshoppers filled the fresh air with the sound of their chirping.
Little had changed, other than the grass looking less well kept. The swing in the far corner squeaked a soft greeting, the wooden shed glared its warning and the vegetable garden was so full of life that it reminded me of an Amazonian jungle. I smiled, remembering times spent digging that earth with my Nanny, before she died. The memory was so vivid; I could see it just in front of me. Almost close enough to touch.


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