by Janet Gover
‘Sure. Happy to help. And, on that subject, if you’re looking for breakfast, I can recommend the bakery two doors down.’
‘Let me guess: also your cousin?’
‘No, my sister. She’s a great cook.’
Jack was right. The delicious smells wafting from the bakery drew Simon inside the moment he left the hardware store. He told himself he was just exploring his new home, and the box of lamingtons he had under his arm as he left was just his way of making friends. It wasn’t until he turned towards the road home that he realised he couldn’t exactly run with a box of cake. It would be a slow journey home.
He hadn’t made it very far when he heard an engine and a ute pulled up next to him. He’d seen the vehicle and its driver on most of his morning runs, and they’d developed a habit of sharing a half-wave.
The man wound down the window. ‘Not running this time?’
Simon held up the cake box.
‘Karen’s lamingtons? We don’t want to break them. Hop in and I’ll give you a lift if you like.’
‘Thanks.’ It wasn’t just because of the lamingtons. His leg was really bad this morning.
By the time his neighbour had dropped him at the gates, and he’d walked the half-mile track to the homestead, Simon was limping worse than he had for a while. He tried to hide it, but Lucienne saw right through him.
‘You’re doing too much too soon,’ she told him as she shooed him into the kitchen and made him sit down.
‘I’m fine.’ Neither of them really believed it.
‘You will be.’ Lucienne put the box on the table. ‘What is this?’
‘Nothing, I just thought you’d like some cake.’
‘You think I’m too old and frail to cook a cake if I want one?’
He chuckled. ‘No. But these are lamingtons. You’ve never baked lamingtons, at least not that I can remember.’
Lucienne frowned, opened the box and gently poked one of the flat square cakes with one finger. ‘No, I have not. I prefer mille-feuille.’
‘Well, perhaps you should teach the baker how to make them.’
‘Pah.’ Lucienne closed the box.
‘Grand-mère, this is our home now. We should meet people and make friends. Otherwise we … you will be alone when the circus is not here.’ Just like him, Lucienne had her own struggle with this move they had made. Just like him, she needed time to adjust.
He didn’t wait for her to answer, heading for the shower to remove the sweat and dust from his run. As he stripped off his track pants, he ran his hand down his aching leg, tracing the scar that ran from just above the knee to the top of his thigh. It was still new, and although the scar might fade a bit with time, his leg would never be whole again. How could it be? In his mind he could still see his blood soaking into the floor of the big top, and the bone protruding from his skin. He remembered the agony.
But that agony had been nothing to what he’d felt when he saw Michelle lying broken beside him, the light in her eyes starting to fade forever.
The doctors had stitched his leg back together, but no doctor could ever fix his broken heart and soul.
A framed photo sat on the chest of drawers next to his bed. Two young circus performers who were going to set the world on fire. Two talented performers with a dazzling future ahead of them.
One of those eager young people was dead, and the other … Well, he had no future, and that was a kind of death too, wasn’t it?
Simon got into the shower, knowing the hottest water in the world would never wash away his guilt and pain.
Lucienne walked very slowly down the stairs of her new home, gripping the rail firmly with one hand. She wasn’t afraid of falling, but she needed the feel of the solid wood to physically link her to this strange place, and to this world that was no longer the one that she had known and loved all her life. This was a world full of grief and pain and regret. She had felt like this since the accident, yet knowing why she had become disconnected from the world did not make it any easier to deal with. For the first time, she was feeling old and frail and so very tired, and she hated feeling like that.
She made her way across the yard to the stables. The door was open and as she approached she heard a welcoming nicker from inside. She stepped through the doorway and smelled the aroma that some people might find a bit too earthy, but to Lucienne was finer than the most expensive eau de parfum.
‘Hello, mon p’tit colibri.’
She dug in her pocket and pulled out two small black objects. She held them out. The mare’s ears flickered as she scented the liquorice, which she gently lipped from Lucienne’s hand.
‘Do you miss her still?’ Lucienne asked as she rubbed the mare’s face and straightened her forelock. ‘Do you feel the pain every day as I do? As Simon does?’
The mare nudged her gently, searching for another treat.
‘Ah, you know me too well, my hummingbird.’ Lucienne held out two more pieces of liquorice. ‘But that is all, you understand. Now that we are no longer young, we must be careful what we eat.’
The mare took the offering and blinked her deep brown eyes.
‘We must be careful what we eat and where we go and what we do. Pah! It is terrible, this growing old, n’est-ce pas?’
Just a few months ago, she had been ageing, yes, but not old. Grief does that to a person, it takes away their strength and joy. And every day, it seemed to take more away from her.
‘Did I ever tell you, Coco, about the time I performed for royalty? It was at Le Cirque de Paris. Ah, what a performance it was. We all knew that Le Cirque was going to close soon. We didn’t know how soon. This night was special. It was a secret, of course, but there were princes and princesses from all of Europe’s great royal families in the audience that night … And one who fell in love with a young performer …
‘There is a particular smell about a big top, Coco. It’s like nothing else on earth, and that night … ah, but it was wonderful. I was not just an acrobat or liberty rider. L’écuyère, they called me. In English they would say the horse dancer. I danced. My horses danced. I wore the most beautiful costumes of satin with sequins and feathers and I sparkled like diamonds as I danced on my horses. Your ancestors, my hummingbird, for you carry their blood. They sparkled too, my dancing horses. Their harnesses were coated with glittering stones, and silk ribbons were woven in their manes and tails.
‘They loved us. The crowd cheered and chanted my name.’
Lucienne lifted and spread her arms into a curve that was still graceful. In her mind, she heard the music and the cheers and saw the face of a young man, standing and applauding, the light of passion in his eyes.
‘He was so handsome. His head was born to wear a crown, but his heart was born to fly. He would have given me anything. A palace. A crown … Yet a gilded cage is still a cage, my lovely one. I too was born to fly. So, I did not become a queen.’
‘If you had, would I be a prince?’
So lost had Lucienne been in her memories, she hadn’t noticed Simon slip into the stables.
‘Mais oui. And a fine and handsome prince you would have been.’
‘But you were already a queen, Grand-mère. Queen of the big top and loved by everyone who saw you. There has never been anyone to touch you in that.’
A wave of sadness washed over Lucienne and she felt her shoulders sag as her body reminded her that she was no longer the person she had been.
‘Until your sister. Michelle, my beautiful granddaughter. Such beauty and such skill. She could have been …’
Simon stepped close to her and placed his arms around her. She leaned against his chest. For a few moments, she gave in to the grief and the pain and the sadness. She leaned on his strength, knowing as she did that he needed all his strength for himself. He wouldn’t care. He would give her anything, but it was her job to care for him. Had been, since his mother had decided the circus life was not for her and settled down with her boring husband, leaving her teenage son and daught
er travelling with their grandmother and her circus family.
If only she had that time again, Lucienne would say no and demand the twins live with their mother. Not because she didn’t love them both dearly. And not because they were unfit for the circus life—they were born to be circus performers. She would go back and say no and lose all those years of happiness with them to save Michelle from such a tragic death.
‘Come on, Lucienne, let’s get you inside and make you a cup of tea.’
‘Tea? Pah!’ Lucienne pulled herself upright. ‘I will have wine.’ Simon smiled. ‘All right. We can share some wine. But, Lucienne, you can’t spend all your days down here in the stables. You need to get out and meet some of the townsfolk. Otherwise you will be alone.’
‘The troupe will arrive soon. My family. I will never be alone.’
‘And when they move on, as they must?’
‘Then I will have you.’
‘Always.’
He held out his arm and she took it as they walked to the house. But in her head, she heard the words that would never be spoken. Simon could not spend his whole life here, looking after an old woman. When he was healed—his body and his heart—he too would need to move on. What then for Lucienne, the horse dancer who could no longer dance?
CHAPTER
7
Meg jogged down the steps and swung her arms around, warming up for her morning run. She did a few basic stretches and then made her way towards the main school building. The oval was on the other side and that was where she was heading. She’d missed the last couple of days, and that didn’t feel good. Running was important to her. It helped keep the nightmares away.
She ran her hand gently down her right forearm, feeling the puckered skin under the sleeve. One of these days, she’d feel comfortable running in a vest. But not today. Everything here in Nyringa was still far too new to expose herself like that.
She turned the corner of the classrooms and slid to a halt. He was there again. That man. Simon. She stepped back so he wouldn’t see her, and tried to convince her heart to stop thumping so loudly. Their encounter a few days ago had unnerved her. His approach had, for one heart-stopping moment, seemed as if he was chasing her. The sound of his feet pounding behind her and gradually drawing closer had brought memories that terrified her. It had taken all her strength not to scream. She knew now that there had been no reason for her fear. He hadn’t been threatening in any way, except … his eyes were brown, a dark brown that was almost black. She’d seen eyes that colour before, twisted and burning with hatred and menace. It was hard to stop seeing such anger, even in another man’s eyes.
By the next morning, she had convinced herself she was fine. She could share the oval with him for a short time while they were both focused on their exercise. The space was big enough for both of them. She could simply nod at him and move on, pacing herself to keep a safe distance between them. But when she’d walked down to the oval and seen him again, her resolve had crumbled. He was halfway around the field, running with a long stride, but favouring one leg slightly. His arms were pumping and his chest heaving as he breathed heavily. The running clothes showed her how fit he was. She had backed quietly away before he’d seen her, making the excuse that she really didn’t have time for a run before class. There were other things she should have been doing.
She used that same excuse when she saw him the next day. And the day after that. Now she was struggling to convince herself it was anything other than fear that kept her away. The sound of running footsteps behind her still haunted her dreams, waking her in the darkness with a pounding heart and shaking hands. The wound in her arm had long since healed, but in the depths of her nightmares she felt the searing pain again and again and again. She had tried telling herself it was over and she was safe. It would never happen again. But that didn’t help as she lay awake staring into the darkness, reliving every moment of that day in her head.
She watched Simon run on the oval, wondering if there was a way to make this work. Perhaps if she stayed some distance behind him, so she could see him? But they ran at different speeds, and it would be impossible to keep a good distance between them. Then what could she do? Tell him he had to run in front of her? How would she explain that? Running aside, she was still so very afraid of being alone with a man. She might have managed had there been other people about. This was a public place, but at this hour, there was seldom anyone else to be seen. If it happened again, who would hear her screams?
Meg’s nerves were always that little bit worse when she wasn’t running, so the noise from her classroom as she approached later in the morning made her hands shake, just a little. She closed them into fists and took a deep breath before opening the classroom door. Her students were already there, in the middle of a vigorous discussion.
‘Have they arrived yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Billy’s mother says they have.’
‘Aunt Alice says there’s only the two of them at the place. And she knows everything.’
All faces turned to Meg as she walked to her place behind her desk.
‘When can we go and see them, Miss Walker?’
‘I’m going to run away and join the circus. I’ll be an acrobat. See.’ The boy placed his hands on the floor and kicked up into a handstand. He walked across the room on his hands.
‘Slow down, everyone. Billy, back on your feet please.’ Meg waved them into their seats. A degree of calm descended upon the classroom, for which she was very grateful. ‘Now, one at a time. Jenny?’
‘The circus, Miss Walker. Billy’s mum says they’ve arrived.’
‘Does she? And how does she know this? Billy?’
Billy, feet on the floor, flushed. ‘Dunno, Miss Walker. She just said.’
‘My dad says he saw one of them in the hardware store. Buying stuff.’ This from another cousin at the seniors’ table.
‘Well, buying stuff is the sort of thing you do in a hardware store.’ Meg’s reply brought a snort of laughter from the class. ‘Enough of this. You all know that grades eight and nine have a test this morning. The older classes, no test but you have an essay to write in the same time.’
A groan filled the room.
‘Careful. Too much of that and you’ll all have to do both.’
Meg distributed test papers and essay topics. The room quickly fell silent, except for the sounds of paper rustling and the occasional murmur as a student talked themselves through something difficult. How different this was from her last school. She returned to her desk, running through her lesson plans for the next week. There were few sounds from outside; the occasional car on the street, or singing from the junior class. It was quiet enough that she would sometimes hear a dog barking several streets away. There were no planes passing overhead, no crowds in the streets. Nothing that posed a threat to the school or to her students or to her. Everything here seemed to run at a slower pace than the city. At a safer pace than the city.
She didn’t feel the physical pain any more. The doctors had done a wonderful job. The scar that ran from her elbow to her wrist was less horrible than she’d expected. And it would fade with time, they had promised her. She had been lucky that the knife was sharp. Lucky? That was not the word she would have used to describe the events of that day. She shivered. Much of the attack was still a blur for her. The shock and the pain and the drugs that day and in the hospital afterwards had taken away most of the memories, and for that she was almost grateful. Therapy had helped her deal with the aftermath, but the sound of her own running footsteps along the street—and those of the man chasing her—would never leave her. Nor would his eyes. Dark brown eyes, almost black. That’s why she ran. To get away from those eyes.
She would run tomorrow morning. She had to, whether Simon was there or not.
‘Let’s go out to the old Connelly place. See if there’s any circus stuff there.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Billy.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘We can’t just g
o out there and say, “Hi. Can we see your circus stuff?” Besides, I have to go to the shop with Aunt Alice this afternoon.’
It was Saturday morning, and Billy and Jenny were hanging out near the small park in the centre of town. Jenny was leaning against the metal rail of the old roundabout while Billy slowly spun it.
‘Aw. Come on. If we go now, we can be back in time.’
Jenny shook her head. ‘My bike has flat tyres, and it’s too far to walk there and back.’
‘My mum’s in Glen Innes with Mrs Evans. Her car’s at home. We could take that. She always leaves a spare set of keys in the drawer near the door.’ Like all country kids, Billy and Jenny could both drive, even though they were still a couple of years away from getting a licence.
‘Are you sure your mum’s not gonna come back?’
‘She and Mrs Evans always stop at the RSL for a drink before they drive home. They’ll be ages. And my dad is taking a load out to Emu Flats. He won’t be home until dark.’
It was too tempting.
‘Okay. Let’s do it. I’ll call Kate. She should come too.’
Billy’s face fell. ‘She’d better hurry up.’
Jenny knew all too well the reason for his surly expression: Billy had a thing for her. Had done since they were in the little kids’ school together. But she didn’t feel the same way. He was, after all, her second or third semi-cousin twice removed. Something like that. And … well … ew. But he was her friend and she didn’t want to change that, so she always made sure Kate, or someone else, was with them any time she thought Billy might want to try something.
Besides, Billy wasn’t boyfriend material. She wanted a boyfriend who was exciting and handsome and not from Nyringa. She wanted a boyfriend who would take her away from here and show her the whole world. Because much as she loved her parents—and Aunt Alice—there was no way she was going to end up a lonely old widow who had spent her whole life in a one-horse town.
Kate met them at Billy’s house where, as promised, his mother’s car was waiting. Billy drove, with Jenny in the passenger seat. A short time later, Billy pulled the car off the road and parked about a hundred metres from the gravel track that led to the Connelly place.