by Janet Gover
‘Do you want to go up to the house, Grand-mère, and perhaps we could have some tea? It’s been a long drive.’
Lucienne nodded. She had tired all too easily these past few months. She was desperate to sit quietly and breathe the air of this place until it didn’t feel quite so strange. But she wasn’t so tired that she didn’t look around keenly as they walked slowly to the homestead. When she’d set Simon the task of finding a home for them, she had given him strict instructions about her requirements. She had stressed a nice house and a comfortable place for Coco to live out her days. Most of what Lucienne wanted had been for her extended circus family and her friends and colleagues who made their home on the road. She’d wanted room for the circus vans and wagons to set up camp during their breaks. They needed some facilities, but not too many—circus folk were by their very nature independent and self-sufficient. They carried all they needed with them. All they really required was a place to work and train during their brief rest periods. When the circus came here, they’d need to repair and maintain their equipment, and develop and practise new routines. They needed an indoor area with suitable ground cover. They needed to open their tents. And they needed the wires: the trapeze.
‘There’s still more work to be done on the outbuildings,’ Simon pointed out. ‘And the shower block. But we will be ready when the troupe arrives.’
‘This is good.’
‘There’s plenty of shade and water for the summer. I think this is going to work really well. Not just for Le Cirque Chevalier, but for some of the other travellers as well.’
Lucienne had no doubt of that. She also needed a respite for herself and for Simon. As he walked beside her now, she noticed his limp was improving although it was still pronounced. He was young and fit and physical injuries heal far more easily than the emotional hurts that were still as raw as they had been on the terrible day when the twins had fallen. Lucienne knew that these past few months had been even harder for Simon than they had for her. She had grieved every day, but Simon had kept looking at the wires and living those fateful moments again and again and again. The blame he had laid on his own shoulders was far more crippling than his injuries.
When they reached the house, Lucienne paused and looked around her new domain. ‘What do you think? Would Michelle have liked this?’
A sad smile passed over her grandson’s face. ‘No. Michelle was like you, Grand-mère. She didn’t like staying in one place for too long.’
Lucienne nodded. ‘That is true. But I think we need this place, you and I. It will be a place of rest for us. For all of us. It will be good to have a home.’
Simon took her hand and squeezed it and she knew he understood. Grief takes so much. Perhaps this was the place to get back at least some of what had been taken.
They turned to climb the stairs leading to the front door and Simon offered his arm, as he always did. Not because she needed it, but out of courtesy. Although there were times, and today was one of them, when they both drew a little extra strength from the contact.
The inside of the house was beautifully decorated, almost as if the previous owners had known the colours Lucienne liked best. Some of her belongings had been sent on ahead and were already in place, emanating familiarity and comfort. Other pieces of furniture were less familiar; new purchases installed ready for her arrival. Perhaps with time the house would even feel like home. Lucienne walked through to the bright airy room she had chosen as her boudoir. A wonderful antique desk sat near a window, from where she would look out over the property, the stables and the lot where her troupe would set up their camp. The dark red brocade armchair that she loved was near the desk and Lucienne dropped into it with relief.
‘You must be tired from the trip. You sit for a few minutes. I’ll get us a nice cup of tea.’ Simon disappeared through the door. In a short while, she’d stake her claim to the kitchen, but for now, she just wanted to rest.
She let her gaze wander around the room and land on the framed photograph sitting on her desk. The photograph was old and the colours were washed out, not that they had been very strong even when new. But Lucienne didn’t really need the photograph. She had the memories. Memories of a girl dancing on the backs of six white horses as they moved in perfect unison around the circus ring. And memories of a dark-haired man with piercing eyes under a top hat watching her, and smiling.
‘So, Jean-Luc, we have our home. After all those years on the road. Our first “proper” home and our last home.’
Lucienne closed her eyes and let the memories take her, wondering how she would feel living under a roof that was fixed in one place, or if she would have trouble sleeping without the comforting sounds of the road passing beneath her bed.
No-one should be scared to walk through the gates of a school. Schools should be safe places where children can learn and grow, have fun and be guided towards their best possible future. No-one should be afraid to go to school.
Least of all a teacher.
Meg paused with her hand a hair’s breadth from the door handle and told herself she would be fine. This was Australia, not America, and school violence was rare. These were country kids, not disaffected inner-city teens. She was safe in Nyringa. As far as she was aware, no-one knew who she was or what had happened that day. She had become as adept at avoiding talking about her past as she was at hiding the scar on her arm. Before she could have any more second thoughts, she opened the door and stepped through onto the narrow veranda of her cottage. There was still a fence between her and the school ground, and from here she could see the first arrivals pouring through the main school gate. A couple of kids saw her and one raised an arm to wave. Those kids would never know the courage it took for her to wave back and walk down the path to the small gate leading from her garden to the school grounds.
It will get better, she told herself. Each time I walk through this gate, it will be easier. I will get better.
And in the meantime, she had a class to teach. Several classes. She would have a dozen students spread over four official classes. She would be teaching subjects from history and English to maths and science. She had a plan to get internet and computers installed at the school, to give access to remote teaching for some classes. She was going to be busy. Busy was good. Busy helped keep the demons at bay.
‘Good morning, Miss Walker.’ Her new colleague beamed widely as she walked past surrounded by her charges.
‘Good morning, Mrs Young.’ Meg had her teacher face in place now. No-one would ever know that she was shaking inside. She made her way to her classroom and set her things down on her desk, carefully stacking the books by size and lining up her selection of pens beside them. The class roster was already there, and she opened it, trying to memorise the names.
‘Kate Dwyer, Jenny Harden, Billy …’ She had almost made it to the end of the list when the first students came in. She fixed a welcoming smile on her face, took a deep breath and straightened her back as the kids made their way to their seats.
She immediately recognised Jenny from the cake delivery. She saw the slightly worried look on her face and decided the cake didn’t need to be mentioned. The two girls with Jenny looked enough like her to be sisters, or at least close relatives. As more kids filed into the room, Meg couldn’t help but notice there were a lot sporting the same brown curls as Jenny. Anna had told her that much of the town was one big family. She was beginning to understand that her associate had meant it literally.
Most of the seats were full now. Unlike the kids at her previous school, her charges didn’t have their noses buried in their phones. The girls weren’t wearing makeup or designer clothes. Quite a few of both the boys and girls looked like they had just stepped off a tractor or out of a stable block, with their faded jeans and cotton shirts. Perhaps they had. All of them were watching her, faces curious and expectant. She flexed her fingers behind her back to make sure her hands weren’t visibly shaking and stepped forward.
‘Hello, everyone. Wel
come. I’m Miss Walker and I’ll be your teacher this term.’
There was a loud crash behind her and Meg jumped, her heart pounding as she spun to face the threat, one arm instinctively lifting to protect her face.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ the boy who’d just slammed the door said before throwing himself into a chair. ‘We had a cow caught in the fence and it took a while to get her out.’
Meg’s heart was pounding so hard she was sure everyone in the room could hear it. She lowered her arm and closed her fist, aware of the sweat breaking out on her forehead and the way her hands were trembling as she tried to control the surge of adrenaline shooting through her. She turned back to her desk, taking several seconds to walk to her place. Her hands were still shaky as she opened the attendance record book, but no-one would see that.
‘And you are?’ she asked, pleased that her voice didn’t give her away.
‘Paul Grady.’
‘All right, Paul Grady, next time you come to class, even if you are late, please close the door, rather than bang it.’
‘Yes, miss.’ The boy looked suitably abashed as some of the girls giggled.
‘How is your cow?’
There were a few louder snorts of laughter from the class.
‘She’s all right.’
‘Excellent, so now perhaps you can turn your attention to your studies. But first, as I’m new to you and the school, does anyone have anything they want to ask me before we get started?’
‘Miss Walker.’ The voice wasn’t accompanied by a raised hand, but Meg would worry about that sort of small detail later. ‘Did you know there’s a circus just moved to town?’
‘No. Remember, I’ve just moved to the town too.’
‘My mum says they’ve bought the old Connelly place,’ another voice offered.
‘Dad sold it to them.’ This time it was Jenny Harden speaking. ‘He says they’re putting up special buildings for when the circus gets here.’
‘Aren’t they here yet?’
‘Not yet.’ Jenny was clearly enjoying her role as the most knowledgeable person in the room on this particular topic.
‘Maybe they’ll do a show. We’ve never had a circus here.’
‘Can we go and see the circus, Miss Walker? Like a school outing? Can we?’
They sounded like excited ten-year-olds, and Meg smiled. ‘You might want to let the troupe actually get here before you start booking tickets.’ She was rewarded with a couple of giggles from the younger kids in the room. ‘In the meantime, I think some actual schoolwork might be a good idea, don’t you?’
Without further argument, books were opened on desks. Meg began her class, the familiar words coming easily to her lips. She moved around the room, setting exercises and helping some of the kids with their assignments. She soon became lost in her work, feeling some of the old joy returning as if she had stepped back in time, into an easier, more innocent era. Were all small country towns like this? She might just be able to do it. Work with these kids and live life without looking over her shoulder all the time. Maybe this time she wouldn’t run away.
CHAPTER
4
The audience was silent. He could feel them holding their collective breath. It was as if they knew something was coming. He knew it too. He could feel it. There was something in the movement of the trapeze. The bar beneath him was as solid as always, but it wasn’t right. He opened his fists and let his body fall until he was hanging from his knees, arms outstretched. He knew that when he reached the top of his swing, she would be there. Waiting for him to catch her. Trusting him to catch her.
She swung into his view and then it happened: a wire snapped. One side of the trapeze dropped. Instinctively, he grabbed with one hand to save himself, while the other still reached for Michelle. One of her hands found his, but the rhythmic movement of the trapeze was gone and it twisted and jumped like a bucking horse, swinging their bodies to the side, wide of the safety net below them. Michelle’s brown eyes, so like his own, were wide with fear as she looked at him, begging him to save her, even as her fingers started to slip through his.
Just two more seconds and they would swing back over the net and he could let her go …
She was gone.
He heard the crowd scream as his other hand lost its grip and he too fell …
Simon opened his eyes. His heart was pounding and the pain in his leg was as unbearable as it had been that day. He wiped the sweat from his face and forced himself out of bed. The agony in the leg faded with the dream, but that wasn’t his only hurt. It was time he started running again. He’d been so busy with the move that he hadn’t been running for almost a week and when he didn’t run, the dream came back with ever greater force.
A few minutes later he was sitting on the front steps in his running gear, tightening the laces on his shoes. The first rays of sunlight had peeped over the horizon. He stood up and did some simple stretches, taking deep breaths of air that was still crisp and cool. Around him, he could hear the sounds of the world coming to life. The laugh of a kookaburra and the rustle of the wind in the trees. In the far distance, barely audible, he heard the sound of a car passing. He’d always liked this time of day. As a lad growing up on the road, every few mornings he would wake up in a different town. He’d sneak out of the caravan he shared with his grandmother and sister and make his way through the familiar group of vans and trucks, past the big top and out into a strange world full of things he’d never seen before, and endless opportunities for discovery. There were fascinating glimpses at lives so very different from his and a million questions to ask. Why did this town have a monument to an insect? And how had this one survived the floods that had left watermarks on the buildings? Who had decided that this path should be lined with statues of cricketing heroes? Each town offered an eager kid something to learn about the world and about himself. What would he learn waking up and going for a run in the same place every morning? With no new sights to distract him, how would he escape the nightmare haunting his every step?
Simon walked down the track to the road, breaking into a slow jog. His stride was uneven as he favoured his left leg. By the time he reached the gate, he’d warmed up enough and when he turned onto the bitumen of the main road, he broke into a run. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying to even out his stride and run without limping as his mind turned inward. His whole life had been spent keeping his body fit, training it for feats beyond the ordinary. He would convince his legs to obey his mind. He couldn’t accept the physical limit his injury imposed any more than he could tell his heart to stop beating, or his soul to stop grieving. Physical pain was nothing more than a challenge, and far easier to deal with than the nightmares.
Simon didn’t wear headphones when he ran. He’d always liked to listen to the sounds of a new town waking up, or the sounds of the bush as it stirred. He’d fallen into a steady rhythm, his feet pounding the roadway, when the first car drove past. It pulled over just in front of him. The driver got out.
‘Is everything okay, mate?’
Simon stopped, his hands on his sides as he breathed deeply. ‘Sure. Just going for a run. Exercise, you know.’
‘Ah. Right-o. We don’t go looking for exercise here. There’s more than enough of it just working the farm.’
‘I guess so.’ Simon wanted to keep running, but he didn’t want to be rude to someone who was probably one of his new neighbours. Staying on good terms was important when you weren’t planning to move on in a couple of days.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Just as long as you’re okay.’ The driver got into his car and, with a wave, sped away.
Simon started running again. This time, whenever a car approached, he gave a half-wave, just to let them know he didn’t need them to stop and offer help.
The pain in his left leg hit a whole new level just as he reached the first houses on the edge of town. Normally this was his signal to turn back. The doctors had told him not to overdo it. Exercise was
good; too much strain was bad. If he turned back now, the leg would hurt most of the day, but it would be bearable. Going on would be pushing his body, and his injury, beyond reasonable expectations.
He kept going. The pain in his leg sometimes helped distract him from the pain in his soul. Not always, but even a brief respite was welcome.
The school appeared just ahead of him. There was a sports oval with grass that might be softer going than the road. He’d have to check if it was all right to run there, of course, but for now, there didn’t seem to be anyone else about. He turned towards the fence and the closed gate, planning to vault it. Two strides from the gate, he suddenly dropped to a walk, opened the gate and stepped through, closing it carefully behind him. He didn’t really need the ache in his leg to tell him he couldn’t simply vault a gate any more. At least not yet. He took a couple of deep breaths and started running again, quickly falling into his uneven rhythm.
Then he saw her: a figure emerging from the deep shadows under the trees that lined the far side of the oval. Simon was an athlete and he recognised another when he saw one. She moved swiftly and easily. Whoever she was, she probably ran here every day. He could ask her what permission he needed to use the oval. Like him, she wasn’t wearing headphones, and he wondered what she liked about the sounds of early morning too. He increased his pace and angled towards her. He needed to catch her quickly, because his leg wasn’t going to take too much more.
The grass underfoot was dry, but muffled the sound of their footsteps. Simon was about to call out to her when she must have heard something and glanced over her shoulder.
She gave a little half-scream and spun to face him, her breath heaving in her chest. ‘Get away from me!’ She was moving rapidly backwards, her hands held up as if to ward off an attacker.
‘Sorry.’ He dropped to a walk. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Her eyes were wide, and Simon would swear she was shaking. She reminded him of a terrified young horse, looking for a chance to flee from danger. He stopped moving to give the woman time to collect herself. The only sound now was the harsh rasp of her breathing. It was as if something other than physical exertion was ripping her breath from her throat. When finally she spoke, he struggled to understand her.
