Living On Air

by Susan Mac Nicol

  Clenching my teeth, I made the first slicing cut across the flesh above my knee. It was a small cut, but welcome. The second one cut deeper and I hissed with satisfaction.

  I stripped down naked and stood at my window, gazing out over the silver moonlit fields. We moved on in a couple of days’ time to set up camp in Scarborough for a week. I was looking forward to getting to the coastal town.

  I loved places by the sea. Sandy beaches, beautiful scenery, and friendly people. Any free time I had I spent walking across the beaches, digging my deformed toes into the sand and making holes looking for crabs, harkening back to things I’d done when I was a child.

  This time I’d have Rhys with me, and there was warmth at knowing we might walk along the beach together.

  Newcastle had been a good break for us all; by remaining here longer and not having to pack up the Top and travel, we’d all felt a little less nomadic. But it was time to move on.

  I stroked myself as I thought of Rhys and marvelled at my rising cock. After so long being in sexual famine, and feeling nothing, my body seemed to have decided it rather liked what Rhys did to it.

  Since our last sexual encounter, nothing had happened. Well, apart from a few heated kisses and grabby hands looking for skin.

  It wasn’t for lack of trying on Rhys’s part. He pushed the boundaries when he could, but was warm and giving, and forever watchful of my sensibilities. I felt like I were some prudish Victorian maid being wooed. As stupid as that sounded, I was comfortable with it.

  And yet I wanted more, but didn’t know how to go about it. It had been so long since I’d been intimate with anyone. It was tough to be with Rhys, to see his smile, his sexy body, his mussed hair and bright green eyes without wanting to see everything that lay beneath his clothes, breathe in his scent, smell the musk of his groin, and taste his come.

  The sensual side of me was stirring. I was impatient to let it loose. But something held me back, and it pissed the hell out of me. I looked down at my cuts, seeing the blood had stopped running. I cleaned them up, applied the salve, and put a light bandage around it. Then I pulled my pants back on and went to make a cup of coffee.

  The small clock hung above the sink said one am.

  Drained by both feelings of despair from the nightmare, and emotions I thought I’d never feel again, I crept back into bed, pulled the covers over me, and hoped for sleep to take me.

  ****

  “Cary, I need to speak to you. Please slow down.”

  I turned from walking my way to the Big Top for a spot of practice and smiled at Julien as he hurried toward me.

  “Good morning. You look flustered, what’s up?”

  He waved his hands in true French flair. “I swear, today was sent to test me. I woke up and found a grey hair, I ate something last night that disagreed with me and have had no sleep, and now Greta has injured herself.”

  Panic flared. “What happened?”

  He flapped his hand again. “Nothing too serious. She slipped on the stairs coming out of her caravan and has sprained her ankle. It isn’t too bad, but I have had to manhandle her back into her trailer and make her sit down with her foot elevated. I have applied ice salve so as long as she keeps the pressure off for a while, she will be fine.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, right, like that will happen. She’ll be out and about as soon as she thinks she’s had enough of being idle.”

  Julien pouted. “I know of that, yes. The woman is as stubborn as a goat. And to top it off, no one can find Marco. Lucy saw him leave his trailer with a bunch of flowers early this morning and disappear into the woods. He has done this before here at Town Moor, but he has not come back yet.”

  “Well, it’s only nine am, maybe he’s meeting a woman for a quick one in the woods,” I quipped. “He used to live here with his family, didn’t he, so perhaps he has a secret lady love. Give the man time, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  Newcastle had always seemed to hold a special place in his heart, one mixed with both poignant remembrance and sadness, but he’d told no one much about his time here. I supposed I wasn’t the only one with secrets.

  Julien looked worried. “I have had this feeling all week that something bad would happen so…” His words trailed off. “Perhaps Greta’s fall was the precursor of my anxiety. I hope so.”

  He turned to go, then swung around to face me again. “I forget my true reason for stopping you. The circus class you were due to teach with the youngsters was cancelled today. Something to do with a diarrhoea outbreak at the school.” He grimaced. “I cannot say I am unhappy that they will not be coming. All we need here is another outbreak like we had a few years ago.”

  We both cringed at that memory of half the circus folk being laid up with some stomach virus and having to call the plumber to unblock well-filled toilets.

  “Greta was due to go to the city to collect the grocery order and I cannot take her place, I have a bank appointment.” His face scrunched up with displeasure. “They are reviewing the circus accounts, so I have to attend the meeting. Could you perhaps go for me and pick up the goods?”

  I nodded. “No problem.”

  He smiled. “Thank you.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a tattered piece of paper. “Here are the details. Take the Honda. That should fit the shopping in. The keys are in the car.”

  “Err, have you seen Rhys anyway around? I thought perhaps he might like to come with me into the city.” My face flamed.

  Julien’s eyes creased in a smile. “He headed out at sunrise this morning to take more pictures down at the docks and is not back yet.”

  “Oh.” I felt a little put out he hadn’t asked me to go with him. “Fine. I’ll go pick up the stuff then. Tell Greta I’ll pop in and say hi when I get back.”

  The journey to the store was uneventful enough and an hour and a half later I was back in camp, unloading the groceries. Afterward, I walked across the field to Greta’s trailer. I knocked on the door.

  “Greta, it’s Cary.”

  No answer. I wondered if she’d already given way to temptation and gone walking about. When I peered into her window to check, I realised why I’d had no answer. She lay curled up in her comfy chair, a blanket across her knees, eyes closed, and from the look of her open mouth, snoring.

  I grinned as I watched her sleep, affection coursing through me. She deserved this rest, this peace. She gave so much of herself to everyone at Trazellas; perhaps this ankle sprain was nature’s way of telling her to slow down and take time out.

  I wandered over to Rhys’s caravan, trying to look casual, as if I was making my way to the tent. I couldn’t see any movement inside, and his door wasn’t open, so I gathered perhaps he hadn’t returned yet. The irrational irritation I’d had earlier upon realising he had gone without inviting me returned, and with it, my rising frustration with my own emotions. God, I am getting invested in this man. I need to take my mind off him. What the hell is happening to Mr Ice Cold?

  I had a few hours before the next performance and had scored a lucky break in my circus class being cancelled. I decided to go for a walk. I fetched a warm jacket and a bottle of water from my trailer, tucked an energy bar into the pocket of my sweatpants, and set off. I detoured around Marco’s trailer to see if he’d come back but again there was no reply from inside.

  There were lovely walks around Town Moor, including the one Marco was fond of, Cow Hill, on the top of the moor, so I set off. Perhaps I’d discover what Marco did up there if I bumped into him.

  The air was crisp, clear, and cold, and I met no one as I headed into the woodland. Perhaps it was too early, or perhaps the weather was a little too off-putting. I was thankful to be by myself. It gave me time to think.

  The path was smooth with use and I didn’t stray away because often, my long-suffering dancer’s feet suffered on uneven surfaces. I pulled my jacket closer around my shoulders and lost myself in birdsong and rustling trees. I’d always been a fan of forests, and lakes, preferri
ng them to the seaside. It had been a bone of contention during summer holidays when I’d been at school, and the family had taken a vote where to go. I’d been outvoted from my wish for a log cabin, a lake, and a myriad of trees and wildlife, by one of sun, sand, and sea. My mother and Cherry had been sun worshippers of note.

  I smiled at the memory, then stopped in my tracks. Christ almighty. I’d had an intimate memory of my family that felt good instead of the usual guilt and horror that followed.

  Halle-fucking-lujah. Perhaps Rhys’s presence was becoming a balm for my soul.

  Dusk crept in and with it, the changes in sounds around me. Underfoot, leaves crunched and crackled and overhead, the birdcalls increased as if summoning straying children to bed. The dimming sun reflected through the trees, casting columns of soft light across the woodland floor as I took pleasure in the changing landscape around me.

  Ahead was a shadow that didn’t look natural. Curious, I crossed over to it, wondering why someone would hang what looked like a scarecrow high in the trees. It was at least six feet above the ground and it seemed a strange place to put something like that. I brushed aside foliage and branches to see inside the hidden copse of clear ground.

  The world stopped as my heart leapt in my chest before it sank to my knees.

  Please, let me wake up. I want to wake up.

  Goose-bumps peppered my flesh like tiny bullet holes. My throat closed and my feet refused to move forward as I gazed at the body swinging above. Marco’s eyes were half open, the thin rope around his neck cutting into his skin, leaving pale welts. His head leaned obscenely to one side.

  My first instinct was to run forward and cradle the legs of the man hanging in the trees in my arms. Push him up toward the fading sky, hoping life might return and what I was seeing was not true.

  The second instinct, more overwhelming, was the urge to scream, and shout to the skies as my soul filled once again with despair and wrenching disbelief.

  The second won out. A terrible, gut-wrenching howl tore from the depths of my soul, and brought me to my knees as my legs crumbled. For a moment, there was perfect silence, then my breath came back in fits and starts, deep, hacking gulps of air. I scrabbled into the safety of a bush, trying to rid myself of the images burned into my brain. I drew my knees up to my chest and closed my eyes as the branches and leaves of the bush dug into my flesh.

  It’s not real. It’s not real. I’ll wake up soon.

  The sound of the creaking branch to which Marco had tethered himself and the chirps and skittering of insects and forest wildlife lent truth to my lie.

  Marco was dead and there was nothing anyone could do for him now.

  Desperate to prove I was in yet another nightmare, my trembling fingers reached into my jeans pocket and removed the Swiss army knife I always carried. I flicked open the blade, at first intending to cut him down. The glint of the waning light on the steel mesmerised me, and the world around me faded once again into nothing.

  I stood up and wrenched my jeans down to my knees. Sinking back down onto the hard, cold ground, I didn’t feel the twigs, stones and dirt that stuck to my bare legs. The blade made a lewd incision across my thigh and I hissed at the sting as the blood welled in scarlet drops. To make sure, I drew another line across freezing, scarred, and dappled skin, deeper this time. Instead of the usual solace I found in cutting, the panic intensified.

  The pain was all too real. I wasn’t dreaming.

  Oh fuck, Marco, why did you do this? What possessed you?

  Moaning, I clasped my arms around my knees, rocking back and forth, my hands stained with slick blood.

  “Jesus, Cary, what the hell?” An agonised voice shocked me back to reality.

  “Dear God, what are you doing to yourself? Oh fuck.” There was the sound of gagging, then retching and I stared up with dazed eyes as a white-faced Rhys crouched down beside me.

  “Fuck off,” I screamed. Harsh, deep sobs clawed their way out of my throat, leaving it raw and aching. “He’s dead. He’s fucking dead. Why would he do this to himself?”

  I pushed Rhys away and struggled to stand up, but the pants around my ankles made me stumble. Rhys reached out and clasped my shoulder, wiping his mouth with his other hand.

  “Cary, calm down. You’re a mess. Take a deep breath.” He squatted, then drew my sweatpants up my trembling legs. “I’ve got nothing to clean out those cuts, so this will have to do.” He brushed my cheek. “We need to go back to the campsite and tell Greta about this. We need to call the police.”

  “Police?” I laughed in between gasping breaths. “We look after our own here, and no one wants the police around.”

  “Cary, that isn’t an option. We need nine-nine-nine. But I’ll speak to Greta first as a courtesy.” He glanced at Marco, his eyes stormy. “There’s nothing we can do for him now. He’s been dead a while.”

  “How come you’re so fucking calm? And how do you know that?

  Rhys’s jaw tightened. “It isn’t my first time seeing something like that.”

  “We need to cut him down,” I insisted. “He can’t stay up there like that.”

  Rhys gave an impatient huff. “We can’t, Cary. The police wouldn’t want us interfering with their scene. If there was a hope, you know I’d be the first one there, taking him down. But he’s dead.”

  I shook my head, knowing he was right but not wanting to accept it.

  He pushed me. “Come on, get moving. We need to get back and tell the others.”

  He manoeuvred me ahead of him, all the while holding on to my elbow. I stumbled over grass and stones, my head spinning. My thigh stung, drops of blood staining my trousers.

  We were out into the clearing and Rhys was steering me toward the ring of caravans not far away.

  “Let’s go tell Grace first,” Rhys muttered as he strode past me. “I don’t want to leave him there any longer than we need to. The man deserves his dignity.”

  I limped behind him and stopped when we got to Greta’s home. Rhys knocked on her door, then opened it without being granted access.

  There was an angry exclamation from inside, then silence. When I walked into the living area, Greta sat on her padded bench under the window, swollen ankle resting on a cushion. Her face was white.

  “What has happened?” she demanded. “Rhys, something is wrong. Tell me.” Her eyes travelled down my body, and her eyes narrowed. I’d forgotten I had blood staining my pants.

  “Cary, you are hurt.” She made to get off the couch, but Rhys sat down beside her and stopped her.

  “Cary is fine. Sort of.” His eyes flicked to me then back to Greta’s anxious face. “That’s something I’ll deal with later. We have a bigger problem on our hands. Marco…he’s—” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed, taking Greta’s hands in his. “We found Marco. In the woods. He’s dead. Hanged himself. We need to call the police.”

  My legs wouldn’t hold me up anymore and I slumped down onto the other bench. “I found him,” I told her. “While I was out walking.”

  Greta rose up, forestalling Rhys’s efforts to keep her seated, and hobbled over. Her face was etched with grief, her eyes wet with tears. “I cannot believe this. We have lost an important member of our family.”

  She sat down next to me. “My poor Cary, I am so sorry you had to see him like that. Él no hubiera querido que estuvieras al que lo encontrara, lo siento mucho.” Her hand squeezed my shoulder. “And now we have to bring him home.”

  Rhys spoke up. “We need to call the police, Greta.”

  She stiffened, her hand tightening on my shoulder. Then it relaxed. “Sí, you are right. This is too serious to handle ourselves. I shall call them myself.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I shall deal with it, with Julien. Could you go fetch him for me, Rhys? He was at the ticket office last I knew.”

  Rhys stood up and nodded. “Sure. I’ll go find him.”

  He left, and Greta looked at me, eyes searching. “You are okay?” She gestured toward my grubby,
bloody trousers. “Did you fall yourself?”

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t fall. Can we please not talk about me right now?”

  She nodded. “But we will speak, Cary. Make no doubt of that.” She fell silent, staring out of the window with a faraway look, while I leaned back and closed my eyes, willing myself not to see Marco’s body.

  Rhys arrived back ten minutes later with Julien, and were both instructed to wait until the police arrived. I needed a drink, so I insisted on going back to my trailer. Rhys insisted on accompanying me before he joined Julien.

  “Do you need any help?” Rhys asked as we walked back to our respective dwellings. “You need to talk or anything?”

  “No.” I didn’t mean it to come out so sharp. “I’m fine.”

  “Of course you are.” Resignation tinged his voice like the coloured edge of a rose petal. “Well, no doubt I’ll see you later when the police get here.” He looked at me. “And we will talk about what I saw back there. What you’ve been hiding for so long. A lot of things make sense now.”

  “I’ll talk if I want to,” I bit out through gritted teeth. “I don’t owe you anything, or want anything from you.”

  Rhys smiled. “You say that.” He shook his head. “I’m not so sure.”

  I scowled. “How did you know where I was? Did you come looking for me or was it an accidental meeting?”

  He shrugged. “Julien saw you walking into the woods. I followed the trail of angst and there you were.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say at that. It still didn’t explain how he’d found me.

  Rhys sighed. “I thought you’d take the path, because you have ballet dancer’s feet.” He smiled. “Walking on the smooth rather than the rough.”

  Fuck, this man knows me. I don’t deserve him or anything he wants to offer. “I need to get cleaned up. If the police get here and need to talk, you know where I am.” I opened the door, stepped inside without a backward glance, and closed the door. Then I slumped down against the door and buried my face in my hands. I can’t do this anymore. Why the fuck do I even try to carry on?