by Janet Gover
‘I’ve pulled it all apart,’ Simon said with a smile. ‘I only hope I can get it together again.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ Meg paused and looked down at the engine, gears and drive mechanism. ‘How are you as a mechanic?’
‘Terrible, I’m afraid. This is more my thing.’ Simon pulled a dust sheet off an object that was set to one side. The horse was newly painted red and white and gold, its eyes gleaming brown in the sunlight pouring through the open doorway. The pole in front of the saddle was still bare, though sanded and ready for the brush. The carved wood of the saddle was also clean, waiting to regain its former glory. ‘I’ve been working on this one. He’s not finished yet, but what do you think?’
‘It’s got real hair,’ Meg said in wonder as she looked at the mane that hung over the gracefully arched neck.
‘Yes. The early horses did have real horse hair. There wasn’t much left so I’ve replaced it. I should have left it until last, but I wanted to see how it would look.’
‘You went around cutting horses’ hair?’
‘No! It’s actually from some human wigs. It’s the best type of synthetic hair. I pulled them apart to make these.’
‘You’ve been buying blonde wigs?’
Simon laughed. It was a rich pleasant sound. ‘No. I found a couple in our storage truck. This is a circus, remember. All sorts of fun stuff hidden away.’
Meg crouched next to the horse to study it more closely. ‘It’s beautiful. You’re very talented.’
‘No, not really. I had some help from the designers in the troupe. And there were lots of examples online I could follow.’
‘But it still takes talent.’
‘When it comes to this sort of thing, my sister was the talented one …’ His voice trailed off and he turned away.
Meg recognised the tone of his voice. The pain there. She knew it because she had heard it in her own voice so many times.
‘What happened?’
‘There was an accident. She was killed.’
Was that the accident that injured his leg? she wondered. If so, it must be fairly recent. Certainly the pain in his voice had not been diminished by time. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
Simon kept his back to her for a little longer. She saw his shoulders heave as he took a deep breath. She knew that too. The strength it took to pretend the world was normal, that it had not been turned upside down by grief and pain and anger. She stayed quiet, giving him the time he needed to bring his emotions under control.
‘Anyway, I’m glad you think it turned out well.’ Simon was smiling again as he turned back to talk to her. It was a desperately sad and tired smile. ‘I was thinking of doing the tiger next.’
‘Shere Khan? The lame one?’
‘Of course, is there any other tiger?’
‘Well, there’s Pooh’s friend Tigger.’
Simon seemed to consider that for a moment. ‘Yes, but wait till you see this guy, he’s definitely Shere Khan.’ He led the way to a well-lit corner of the shed where another carousel animal was standing on a ground sheet, several paint tins nearby. The creature’s mouth was open in a vicious snarl.
‘He is a bit terrifying. But then, I’ve always thought carousel horses are kind of scary with their wild eyes and open mouths.’ Meg stroked the long line of the animal’s back. Simon had already been at work with sandpaper and the bare wood was showing in places. ‘I love that these are all made of wood.’
‘New ones are fibreglass, of course.’ Simon started sorting his brushes and paints. ‘But to me they don’t have the same appeal.’
‘I agree.’
‘Here.’ He held out a paint brush. ‘Do you want to have a go?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m honoured that you would trust me, but that’s not my forte. However, I could take a bit of a look at that.’ She pointed to the engine and drive mechanism.
‘You’re a mechanic?’ She liked that Simon seemed more impressed than surprised.
‘Yeah. My dad was a car nut—old cars. And sometimes he had to fabricate parts for them. As a kid, I spent a lot of time in his shed with him. Helping, or at least he said I was. I’m not sure how much help he really needed from a pre-teen girl.’
‘Well, I’m sure you know far more about it than I do. Not mechanically inclined at all. Go for it.’
While Simon painted, Meg began to disassemble and clean gears and engine parts. The shed took on the smell of fresh paint and grease. As they worked, they talked. They talked about books and films. About places and people. Politics even got a mention. Not once did Meg talk about her life as a teacher, nor Simon his as a trapeze artist. It was as if by some kind of unspoken communication, they understood there were places the other did not care to go. They stopped twice for tea and pastries from the picnic basket. And at times they didn’t talk, they just worked together in companionable silence.
At last, they stopped. The sun had sunk low over the horizon and the shed no longer glowed with the light they needed for their work.
‘Shere Khan is starting to look pretty fierce,’ Meg said as she surveyed Simon’s work.
‘Thank you. I would say the engine looks better—but I really don’t know what a good engine looks like. Or a bad one, for that matter.’
Meg laughed. As she did, it occurred to her that she had laughed more these past few weeks than in the months before. Coming to Nyringa was beginning to seem like a wise choice. She cleared away and then helped Simon pack up his painting things. As she held out a hand to take the brushes to clean, she saw his eyes flick to her arm. She’d pushed back the sleeves of her shirt as she worked, to keep it clear of the grease and oil. The white scar running from her elbow almost to her wrist was visible. Embarrassed, she reached for the sleeve to pull it down and cover the ugliness.
‘You don’t have to do that around me,’ Simon said softly.
Her hand paused. She looked into his face, dreading the pity she would see there. When his eyes met hers, she saw no pity, just understanding. But she still rolled her sleeve down.
‘I should go now,’ she said.
‘Thanks for all your help today. I really enjoyed working together.’
‘So did I.’
‘There’s a lot more to be done, any time you want to drop by and get covered in grease.’
She laughed again. ‘I might just do that.’
She noticed Simon was limping as he walked her to the car. Perhaps working all day in the shed hadn’t been good for his injury. She slid behind the wheel and headed home.
When she got there, Meg poured herself a glass of wine. She didn’t drink often; her therapist had warned her of the dangers of fighting fear and depression with the contents of a bottle. But today she felt she could have a glass of wine with a light heart. As she sipped the crisp liquid, Meg opened her computer and went to a search engine. She typed in ‘circus trapeze accident’ but paused before hitting enter. She didn’t feel comfortable with the idea … it felt a bit like spying.
She deleted the words. Instead she typed ‘teacher assaulted’ and the name of her old school. This time she did hit return. The too-familiar pages were listed on the screen in front of her, including that one photograph of a terrified young woman staring up from an ambulance stretcher. Her face was partially covered by an oxygen mask, but Meg recognised her own wide eyes, just as she recognised the blood-stained blouse she had been wearing that day. How she hated that this image was out there for everyone to see. The worst day of her life was public property and it always would be. She would never really escape it.
Was there a similar image of Simon? Or perhaps of the sister he had lost?
She slammed her laptop shut. How could she search for Simon’s past, when she hated that her own was so public? She couldn’t. When he wanted her to know, he’d tell her, just as she would tell him her story when she was ready.
If she ever was.
CHAPTER
19
Jenn
y sat on the fallen tree, playing stupid games on her phone and trying not to look at the time. She had run out of lives on Candy Crush when she heard the sound of the motorbike engine on the road leading to the creek. She shoved her phone in her pocket and ran her fingers through her hair. The motorbike pulled up under a river gum and Finn hopped off. He removed his helmet. Jenny darted towards him, stopping herself just before she threw her arms around his neck, because that would have been too much.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi.’ He seemed just as uncertain as she was. This was the first time she’d seen him since they had exchanged their first kiss in this very spot.
‘Hi.’ Now she felt silly. Couldn’t she say anything else?
‘I wanted to come yesterday, just in case you were here, but my dad had me rehearsing all afternoon.’
‘That’s all right.’ They hadn’t actually made arrangements to meet yesterday. Or today for that matter. She’d just been here, hoping. And somehow he’d guessed that she would.
‘Dad went out this afternoon. I was going to do some work on the new act. I’ve had some ideas. Do you want to come and help me?’
Did she? She could think of nothing she wanted more except, perhaps, to find a way out of being stuck in this town. And, now she thought about it, maybe the two things were really one. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Let’s go then.’
He’d brought a spare helmet strapped to the back of the bike. She didn’t need any help to put it on this time, but he stood close as if wanting to help anyway. Then he hopped on the bike and she swung on behind him. Without hesitation, she put her arms around his waist and moved as close to him as she could. He started the engine and they roared out of town. Jenny was torn between wanting her friends to see her like this, and being afraid someone would tell her parents. They’d forbid her to do this wonderful thing and that would break her heart.
It was so good to be here, on the back of Finn’s bike, her arms tight around his body, her face pressed close to his shoulder. They couldn’t talk, but she could feel and almost taste the warmth of him. The wind and the road flashing past gave her a sense of freedom she’d never had before. She could look down at the tattoo on Finn’s forearm and understand exactly what it meant.
The white gate appeared way too soon for Jenny’s liking. She didn’t want to slow down and turn towards the buildings. There were adventures out there she wanted to have, and she wanted to have them with someone who understood.
Finn circled the main circus lot and parked on the far side of one of the corrugated iron sheds. They dismounted and he stuck his head through the open shed door.
‘Coast is clear. Come on.’
Once inside and away from prying eyes, Finn relaxed. Jenny suddenly realised that he was even more eager to avoid his father finding out what he was doing than she was to avoid her parents. Having seen just a taste of Ron’s temper, she understood why. Finn wheeled the bike into the middle of a thick practice mat spread on the floor of the shed and left. When he returned, he was carrying a large metal frame.
‘Dino helped me design and make this. I figured if I was going to be standing on the stationary bike, it needed to be braced.’ He fixed the frame in place, then stepped back to survey his work. ‘See?’
The frame surrounded the bike, bracing it at both the front and back. A thick piece of metal formed a kind of table top over the rear end of the bike. Finn laid a hand on the machine and vaulted lightly onto the frame. ‘I guess it’s cheating a bit. The frame creates a flat and solid platform, so in the end, I won’t be actually on the bike seat. I hope the audience doesn’t notice.’
Jenny looked carefully at the contraption. ‘You know, you could paint the outer braces silver and the flat top black, same as the bike tank. That wouldn’t exactly hide it, but it would make it less obvious.’
‘Hey. Great idea.’ He beamed down at her and Jenny felt a glow of pride. ‘Can you pass me up some of my stuff? It’s that pile over there.’
‘What do you want first?’
‘That metal cylinder. The big one.’
She picked it up and then, mimicking what she’d seen in movies and on TV, she walked in a circle around the bike, holding the cylinder up to the non-existent audience to inspect.
‘Hey, you’re a natural.’
Blushing with pleasure at his praise, she handed him the cylinder with a flourish. This was followed by three brightly coloured skateboards, which Finn stacked on top of each other. Jenny’s mouth dropped open as he tested them. They seemed so unstable. She held her breath as Finn climbed to the top and spread his arms out, then she cheered softly and applauded.
They continued this for a while, the tower getting higher and more unstable until he went too far. The tower started to rock and suddenly Finn was falling. As he landed, his body curved and he rolled.
‘Finn!’ Terrified, Jenny darted forward and dropped to her knees beside him, her heart thumping with fear. He was lying on his back and his eyes were shut.
‘Oh, Finn. Finn? Are you all right?’ She leaned over him and tentatively touched his face. His brilliant green eyes opened. His hand slid around her shoulders and he pulled her gently forward and kissed her.
‘Oh.’ She pulled back. ‘I thought you were hurt.’
‘No. I’m fine.’
He sat up and for a long time they looked at each other without speaking. Jenny could feel her heart thumping even faster as they swayed into another kiss.
She pulled away at last. Lost for the right word, she slapped his shoulder.
‘Ow!’ He was still smiling at her as he rubbed his arm.
‘I really thought you were hurt.’ She was amazed at how much that thought had frightened her. She ran her fingertips over his tattoo.
‘No. I’m too clever to get hurt.’ Finn watched her fingers stroking his arm. ‘You like that tattoo, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I do.’
‘Do you want one?’
Jenny held her breath, then slowly shook her head. ‘My parents would kill me. And God forbid Aunt Alice should see it. Besides, doesn’t it hurt?’
‘A bit,’ Finn admitted. He ran his fingers down Jenny’s forearm, just as she had done to him. She shivered. ‘But I’ve got an idea. Come with me.’
She didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her fingers around his and let him pull her to her feet. She loved the strength in his grasp. Still holding hands, they left the shed and ran across to one of the caravans parked near the amenities block. Finn knocked on the door.
‘Amber? Are you there?’
The woman who came to the door was about the same age as Jenny’s mother, but she could not have been more different. Where Barbara Harden was short and slowly becoming fat, this woman was tall and slender. Jenny’s mother’s hair was already turning grey. This woman’s hair was a rich dark red. Not for her the plain sensible clothes that Mrs Harden wore. She was wearing shorts that revealed long shapely legs and a tank top—with no bra! Jenny instantly developed a massive crush on her. Then she saw the blue butterfly tattooed on the woman’s wrist and she knew that this was who she wanted to be.
‘Hi, Finn. Who’s your friend?’ The woman’s voice sounded almost musical.
‘This is Jenny. Jenny, this is Amber. She’s one of the aerialists.’
‘Aerialist?’
Amber nodded. ‘Yep. I do a silk rope act. This year though, I’m doing some new bits with metal hoops. But, enough of that, what can I do for the two of you?’
‘Jenny wants a tattoo.’
‘No, I don’t. I mean, I do. I just can’t.’ Jenny was almost quivering with excitement at the thought of sharing something special with Finn, but at the same time embarrassed, because she was afraid of defying her parents in such a visible way.
Amber looked from one face to the other. ‘I see. Well, I think I have just the thing. Come in.’
Jenny peered around with interest as she climbed the metal stairs into Amber’s caravan. It was totally self-containe
d and so compact. It had a small kitchen and a door leading to what she assumed was a bathroom. There were books on shelves and dishes draining on the sink. A pile of glittery fabric lay on the sofa, where it appeared Amber had been working on a costume.
‘Yes, it’s like any other home,’ Amber said, reading Jenny’s mind. ‘Just a bit smaller.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t worry about anything. It’s fine. Incomers often react that way. Now, let’s talk about this tattoo.’
‘I really like Finn’s,’ Jenny said. Finn held his arm out so Amber could see. ‘But if I get one, I’d get into all sorts of trouble at home.’
‘I was thinking a temporary one,’ Finn told Amber. ‘I could draw it. But I need henna and stuff.’
‘Which I have,’ Amber said, ‘and you want to borrow.’
‘Well, borrow the pens anyway. She’ll need to keep the henna.’ Finn grinned.
After a moment’s hesitation, Amber nodded. ‘That seems okay. Jenny, have you decided what you want?’
‘Um. No.’
‘Well, you’ve got a few minutes to think about it while I get the stuff out.’
Finn borrowed a notebook and pencil and started sketching some designs. His hands moved quickly and surely across the page, and a few simple lines evolved into intricate designs. There was an elegant dragon, and a butterfly and a flower that looked almost real. They were beautiful, but not what she wanted.
‘Finn, your tattoo is a word … Saoirse?’
‘Yes. Freedom.’ Finn put his arm on the table and Jenny ran her finger down that dark central line and traced the short strokes that crossed it. She thought she would never tire of touching him like that.
‘I want something like this. But—’ she paused, unwilling to admit her cowardice, ‘—it needs to be smaller. And somewhere it can be hidden so my parents don’t see it.’
‘It will wash away, you know,’ Amber said.
‘I know, but I want to avoid the drama of explaining it to them.’
