by Ellie Marney
He turns to me. ‘Don’t worry about this. Find Eugenia and get out of here. I’ll grab Luke and explain you had to go.’
His words wake me up–oh shit, I’m going to miss the trapeze finale. But I can’t stay. Is Daddy awake? Is it the doctors? What if something’s gone wrong and I’m not there? A cascade of potential emergencies drops into my head, unbidden and dizzying. Spotlights are still whirling onstage. My legs start shaking.
Renee thrusts her phone mic towards my face. ‘Fleur, is there any update on your father’s condition?’
I get a sudden desperate urge to slap her. The feeling is so powerful, I actually take a step forward.
Before I can act on my baser instincts, a sleek, suited figure steps between me and Colm and the journalist. ‘Hi! It’s Renee, is that right? Lovely to meet you! So you’re getting a backstage view of the carnival tonight?’
This new person glad-hands Renee and she beams at him. I have no idea who he is. All I can see is his rear view. He’s dark-haired, broad across the shoulders, and his voice has the faintest burr. Whoever he is, Renee seems to like him. She looks dazzled.
Then he turns, and my mouth falls open.
‘Marco?’
Three
I am not hallucinating. Marco Deloren is actually standing right in front of me.
He’s tall, now, with his mother’s sense of style: his charcoal suit is impeccably tailored, and his white dress shirt is open at the collar. He looks like he just stepped out of GQ magazine. He looks fucking fantastic.
And almost nothing like the Marco I remember.
‘Fleur!’ His whole face lights up when he sees me. ‘My god, look at you! It’s so good to see you.’ He steps in, and I feel soft lips on my cheek, catch the scent of some spicy aftershave. While his face is close, his voice drops to a whisper. ‘Get out of here. I’ll deal with the reporter and see you back at the hospital.’
I’m so stunned, I just stand there gawping.
On my right, Colm is making a frowny, confused face. The frown clears when Marco turns and grabs his hand to shake.
‘Hi, I’m Marco Deloren, Eugenia’s son.’ He pumps Colm’s hand enthusiastically. It’s not my imagination, he really does have a slight accent. ‘You’re Colm, yes?’
‘Eugenia’s son?’ Colm’s eyebrows go high. ‘Holy shit. Yeah, Colm Mackay, it’s cool to meet you.’
‘Excellent, excellent,’ Marco says. ‘But we’re forgetting Renee, my goodness. Renee, how would you like a bit of a backstage tour? Just a quick one, because we’re in the middle of a performance…’
He elaborates on the delights of backstage. He’s wearing black leather brogues, with a pointed toe. The last time I saw him, his voice hadn’t fully broken. I feel like I have whiplash. When he smiles, I can see why Renee was dazzled. He’s blinding.
And now everyone is smiling. It’s like we’re having our own little party here in the wing, as trumpets bellow to announce the next act on stage.
Marco turns his head and realises I’m still standing here. ‘Fleur, don’t let us hold you up.’ His gaze sharpens. ‘Don’t you have somewhere to be?’
I suddenly remember the phone clutched in my hand. I do have somewhere to be. I blink, nod, swivel away. I need to process this. And I need to get to Dad. Right now.
I walk on unsteady legs to my backpack, scoop it up and keep moving to the flap of the Spiegeltent where Eugenia stands waiting.
Her gaze flicks to Marco, then back to me. ‘Come on, dear, let’s get you to the hospital.’
I want to ask her what the actual hell is going on, but I think of my father and everything else recedes into the distance. My priority is at the hospital, where anything could be happening.
We go to Eugenia’s ancient sedan, unlock it and get in. Eugenia revs the engine maybe a little too hard as we make for the tall lights of the CBD beyond the carnival’s parking lot gate.
I stare out the windscreen for a moment, then I stare at Eugenia. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She grinds the gears, looking straight ahead. ‘Because I didn’t know if he would come.’
‘Terry’s awake.’ Zep Deal’s smile is as big as the sky.
My father is still grey-faced. The grooves around his mouth and eyes are like dark crevasses, and his skin is weirdly slack, like he’s lost weight overnight. But his eyes are open and he looks more real.
‘Pumpkin…’ His voice is a whispered croak.
I don’t know whether to hold his hand or hug him tight. What if I bump his tubes and machines? But my head tips down before I’ve even registered what I’m doing. I lay my face on my father’s chest, and something inside me, something I thought was irreparably broken, slams back into action. My heart has re-started. The beats are sluggish, painful, but they’re there.
‘It’s all right, baby.’ He pats my shoulder gently. ‘It’s all right. Don’t cry.’
Oh my god, this is the wrong way around. He’s the one in hospital–I should be comforting him. I pull back, dashing at my eyes. ‘Daddy, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I wanted to be here.’
‘It’s okay, sweetheart.’ All his expressions are soft, like his volume has been turned down. But he’s awake. And he’s alive. ‘I dreamed you got hurt. That you got caught up in the fall–’
‘The only one who got hurt was you, Daddy.’ I sit on the bed and smooth his hair back, try to get a handle on my emotions. ‘We’ve been taking care of the carnival. Me and Mitch and Eugenia–we’ve sort of formed an emergency management committee.’
‘You’ve still got things running?’ Dad seems relieved to hear that.
‘Everything’s going fine.’ I cut my eyes across the bed to Eugenia, on Daddy’s other side. Our eyes hold for a moment.
Eugenia’s gaze drags back to my father. ‘She’s doing a great job, Terry. She was born for it.’
‘She sure was,’ he says, and he pats my hand, his eyes closing.
‘Don’t tire him out.’ Dad’s doctor, Indira March, is there to give us the lowdown on how he’s going, and check Dad’s vitals. She seems happy that he’s awake. ‘No gallivanting, okay? No sitting up yet, no walking, no hard laughing, no smoking, and no excess talking.’ She grins, makes an adjustment to the machine at his bedside. ‘I’m kidding. Sort of. Not about the smoking, though. And make sure his visitors keep things low key.’
I nod, taking it all in. I have my father back. That’s the one thing I’m focused on.
‘All things considered, his prognosis is good.’ Dr March gathers her papers and sticks her pen in her breast pocket before patting my father’s arm. ‘Rest up, Mr Klatsch. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.’
As she smiles and exits, I notice Zep shifting from foot to foot near the door.
‘Zep, thank you.’ I twist on the bed to look at him properly.
Eugenia walks over to press his hand. ‘Zep, you can head back to the show if you like, but you’re welcome to stay.’
He colours. ‘Thanks, but I think Mitch will probably want an extra set of hands. Glad I could help, though.’
He gives a thumbs up and heads out, passing another figure in the doorway. Something in my chest flip-flops awkwardly when I see a dark tousled head, the charcoal suit and white shirt.
‘Hi, I made it. That reporter was a pest.’ Marco enters, slipping off his jacket and scuffing at his hair. ‘It’s raining outside, by the way. My god, Terry, what’ve you done to yourself now?’ He walks to my side of my father’s bed, smiling broadly.
Despite his obvious tiredness, my father breaks into a genuine grin. ‘Jesus–Marco? What the hell are you doing here, kid? S’great to see you.’
‘Good to see you, too,’ Marco says. ‘Might’ve been more of a fun reunion if you weren’t in a hospital bed.’
‘Yeah, well, gotta keep things interesting, right?’ Dad’s face
is wan. ‘Did you get roped into this emergency management committee for the carnival, too?’
Did he? I flick a glance Eugenia’s way, but her eyes are only on her son. I’m very aware of the spice of Marco’s cologne right next to me, the crispness of his shirt and how tall he is, with me sitting on the bed. I slip off to stand on my own two feet, but given I’m about a head shorter than Marco now, that doesn’t really help matters.
Marco diverts smoothly. ‘Mum sent up the bat signal, so here I am. How’re you feeling?’
Dad shrugs lying down, winces. I remember what the doctor said about visitors keeping things low key. ‘Daddy, you should rest, you shouldn’t be talking–’
‘I’ve been asleep for two days,’ he protests weakly.
‘Which is why you should rest. You’re not used to being awake yet. Just take it easy.’
‘Yes.’ Marco dives in. ‘And Fleur and I have some emergency management things to chat about. So you just…’ He waves a hand at Dad’s bed, taking in the pillows and machines. ‘Carry on with the resting, we’ll talk in the hall.’
He steps back and walks out, totally confident I’ll follow. Damn him.
‘You go,’ Eugenia says. ‘I’ll sit with Terry.’
I bite my lip at her, make a tight smile at Daddy. ‘Be right back.’
I catch the door before it fully closes and slip out into the corridor. Marco is slouching, hands in his trouser pockets, which is a posture I’m more familiar with. But the rest of the package–the suit, the shoes, his sharp, clean-shaven jaw–is all jarringly new. A nurse walks along the corridor and Marco waits for her to pass. I cross my arms in the pause.
Once she’s gone, Marco’s eyes turn back to mine. ‘So.’
‘Well.’ I don’t uncross my arms.
‘Before you flip your lid, Petal, I’d like to remind you that none of this was my call.’
His use of my old nickname–Fleur, which is French for ‘flower’, therefore Petal–makes this whole thing even more bizarre. My back stiffens. ‘Genie talked about getting some outside help. I guess you were the person she got in touch with?’
He takes his hands out of his pockets and spreads his fingers. ‘I know the show. I’ve had experience. And this is my thing, now.’
‘Rescuing circus troupes is your thing?’
‘Event management,’ he corrects. ‘I’ve been working with Cadell Management for a year and a half. I’m Brian Cadell’s PA.’
My chin lifts. Shit. That’s a big deal. But it makes sense; he’s eighteen months older than me, which makes him twenty years old. Of course he’s got a job, a life. I remind myself we’re not kids anymore.
‘Cadell Management. Wow. Okay, now I understand the monkey suit.’ I lift my chin at his outfit.
‘Monkey suit? Really?’ He glances down at himself with a pained expression. ‘I paid two grand for this suit. If it makes me look like a monkey, I want a refund.’ Then his gaze travels over me, top to toe. ‘Thought you’d still be in your trapeze costume.’
Something in the snap of his eyes makes my insides coil. ‘I got changed in Genie’s car. So, you saw the bat signal and came to help. That’s nice of you, but I don’t think we need any help.’
He squints at me. ‘Mum told me you’ve been going from dawn ‘til midnight.’
‘I’m holding my own.’
‘I’m sure you are.’ His tone is diplomatic. ‘But I could make things easier for you.’
‘Who said I want things easy?’ The words slip out automatically, even as a traitorous part of my brain squawks, Easy! Yes! Easy would be good!
‘You don’t have to do everything the hard way, Petal.’ Marco’s voice softens as he puts his hands on his hips. ‘It’s good to see you, Fleur. I mean it.’
If it’s so good to see me, why didn’t you come visit me sometime in the last five years? I nearly blurt it out, but I don’t. He means well. ‘Thanks.’
His gaze hardens. ‘And I don’t mean to piss in your territory, but I’m staying to help.’
Now he’s just ticking me off. ‘What about your job?’
‘I’m on secondment for two weeks.’
‘How convenient. Are you staying with Eugenia?’
His cheeks bloom with two spots of pink. It’s the first time tonight I’ve seen him lose any of that cool image he’s projecting. ‘No. That wouldn’t work out. I’ve hired a van.’ He cocks his head. ‘You can’t get rid of me, Petal. The ‘committee’ has decreed we work together.’
He makes the air quotes with his fingers, and I draw a long breath. I’m going to kill Mitch and Eugenia. In slow, deeply painful ways.
To take my mind off my rage, I make a conversational swerve. ‘Where’d you get the accent?’
‘Edinburgh.’ He scuffs the linoleum floor. ‘I was there with Dad, until we got sick of each other. I moved back on my own about two years ago.’
Two years… It’s like a knife plunged straight into my heart. The pain in my voice is impossible to disguise. ‘You’ve been in the city for two years, and you didn’t even call me?’
His back stiffens. ‘I left, Fleur.’
‘Right. Most people run away to the circus–and you ran from it.’ I throw up my hands. ‘You didn’t think maybe you could’ve come back?’
His face darkens. ‘No. That…wasn’t possible. And no, I didn’t call. I didn’t think you’d want to see me.’ His cheeks colour further. ‘I thought you’d be angry with me.’
And I can’t help it. This boy used to be my closest friend. When he left, at one of the worst times in my life, I was gutted. Just because he’s back now, offering help and looking pretty, doesn’t make up for all the time I spent coping on my own.
I draw myself up and make my voice as scathing as I can manage. ‘Well, you got that part right.’
Then I spin on my heel and go back to my father.
The floor of the hospital room is very hard, and a bit cold. I was glad for the sleeping bag.
Apart from that, I was woken up three times, when nurses came in to check on Dad’s vitals and adjust the monitors. It seems bizarre: while he was unconscious, he was left largely undisturbed. Now he’s conscious and trying to rest, and he’s constantly interrupted by the nursing staff. How is anyone supposed to get better if they’re only sleeping in two-hour intervals? Hospitals are the weirdest.
Dr March arrives at seven the next morning with a group of trainee doctors, and I have to get myself up and presentable in a hurry.
‘He’ll be on total bed rest for at least a week,’ she explains, as I’m still shoving hair out of my eyes. ‘And I mean total. We need to give him the best chance to recover from the surgeries, and his medication will interfere with his motor skills, so no walking around. Is your father usually an active man, Miss Klatsch?’
‘Uh, you could say that.’ I’ve never seen Daddy sit still for longer than twenty minutes at a stretch. Lying in bed for a week will drive him nuts.
‘Then I suggest you find him something to occupy his time while he’s awake in hospital. Even after he’s ambulatory, he’ll be with us for a while. I don’t anticipate he’ll be checking out for at least a fortnight.’
A fortnight of keeping Daddy entertained, and sleeping on hospital floors? I die a little inside.
Dr March adjusts her glasses. ‘He’ll be a while recuperating. Provided there’s no infection, and everything goes well, he’ll still need at least a month at home to rest. Will you be assisting him?’
‘Yes, I’ll be doing everything I can.’ I smooth my crumpled clothes. I’m not sure how that will work, exactly. But I’ll make it work.
After the doctors leave, I visit the bathroom to tidy myself up. When I get back into the room, I find Dad picking at the items on his breakfast tray. His face becomes more expressive when he sees me. ‘You okay, Pumpkin?’
‘All go
od.’ I lean in to kiss his cheek before hiking myself back up onto the edge of the bed. I glance at his tray. ‘Cereal and dry toast not doing it for you?’
‘Eh, I’m just not really up to eating much.’
‘Hospital food–blech. You want me to get Judy to set you up with some dukey boxes? I know she wouldn’t mind.’
He sinks back into his pillows. ‘I want what I normally have for breakfast.’
‘A short black and a cigarette?’ I roll my eyes. ‘Yeah, the doc would love that. How about you eat the yoghurt, and I’ll see what I can do about arranging some real food to hold your interest.’
Once I’ve wrestled some yoghurt into him and he’s settled, he dozes off again, which seems fair considering he was woken so often last night. By eight-thirty, I find myself back in the corridor making phone calls. I’m starting to think I should just set up a desk out here.
‘Hi, Jones, I wanted to get the report on that journalist who…Oh, she did? Yes, I wasn’t able to… Oh, great. So we just need to make sure there’s no… Really? So who handled it?’ I feel my lips and shoulders tighten. ‘Right. So Marco was able to deal with it. And do you think we should… Well, not really. No, I don’t… Okay. Fine. Just for the record though, I’d like you to clear these things through me.’ I make a face at the wall. ‘Yes, I know it’s confusing, but I’m still the main point person…All right, keep me updated. Thanks, Jones. Talk again soon.’
I disconnect and dial another number.
‘Hey, Mitch, how’re you going? Yeah, he’s awake.’ I can’t keep the smile out of my voice. ‘I mean, he’s asleep right now, but he’ll be drowsy for a while because of the recovery and his medication…Yes, of course. You know he’d love to see you. Come anytime. Now, Mitch, I need to ask about the props for the new acrobatic act… Oh, great, yes… And what about the…’ I make the face again. ‘No, he’s not. Yes, I know Marco’s familiar with the show, and I’m sure he would be… Because I’m pretty sure I can handle it myself. Well, I didn’t ask Eugenia to call him…’
