CHAPTER 22
Jake said it wasn't his fault they got lost; the sign was wrong. How could a sign be wrong, Lucinda argued? Anyone could tell it said Uxbridge, not Oxford. Anyone who could read, that was.
Lulubelle wasn't listening to the argument. She was watching a boy weaving his way along the pavement. If he hadn't been so young - a year or two younger than herself, judging by his size, though perhaps he was small for his age - she would have sworn he was drunk. She leaned forward to study his crab-like progress and as he came nearer she saw he was reading a book. He came so close, as they pulled up at the crossroads, that Lulubelle was tempted to call out of the window and ask him what the title was; she had never seen anyone so engrossed in reading anything. His legs were moving as if by clockwork and he hardly looked up to see where he was going, but let passers-by buffet him from one side of the pavement to the other.
He reached the edge of the road just as the traffic lights changed from red to amber and Jake, incensed by Lucinda's remarks, tried to beat the oncoming traffic by lunging the truck into an unsignalled U-turn. The boy and the truck moved in unison. Lulubelle let out a piercing scream, echoed by the squeal of the air-brakes as Jake reacted sharply to the warning, catching a glimpse of the boy just before he disappeared from their view, high up in the cab.
Lulubelle flung open the door and hurled herself to the ground, with Jake and Lucinda seconds behind her. The boy, mildly surprised, stood in the road, inches away from the vehicle towering above him. Jake, his fear turning to rage, seized him by the shoulder and shouted incoherent obscenities. The boy didn't flinch.
'The lights weren't green yet,’ he said. Cars hooted behind them. 'You're holding up the traffic,’ the boy told Jake. 'Hadn't you better get going?’
Detaching himself from Jake's grasp, he continued on his way, pausing briefly at the island while the lights changed, then strolling across the other half of the road. The first in the line of cars turning right from the lefthand junction hooted and braked, but his attention was already claimed again by his book. Lulubelle had the impression he hadn't really seen any of them.
'Cool as a cucumber!’ Lucinda marvelled. 'Someone up there must be looking out for that one.’
Lulubelle hadn't managed to catch the title of the book, but she had seen the boy's name on his schoolbag: a strange name to match a strange boy - Eldred ]ones.
Despite the detour, they were not the last to arrive. As always, Lulubelle's first action was to go and look round the site and see where everyone was.
'Don't get in people's way,’ Lucinda warned. She was getting a lift into town with Sam and Molly. Her first action on arriving anywhere new was to get off the site and out of the way before anyone started arranging rehearsals or asking her to lend a hand at shifting something. 'Can you get me a packet of those things?’ said Lulubelle, in a stage whisper.
'I told you, we don't get paid till tomorrow,’ said Lucinda. 'I'm only going to town for a look around. Ask Belinda to lend you some; she's just started too.’
Of course, Lucinda would know that, thought Lulubelle, as everyone in the circus knew everything. 'There's no privacy,’ she said bitterly, but Lucinda was already linking arms with Molly and walking towards the car.
Belinda's family hadn't arrived yet. Finula's van was packed solid with male cousins and uncles. Running out of other options, Lulubelle tried Arto's trailer. Arto the Incredible and his wife Marisa were newcomers to Mannfield's but Arto's reputation had preceded him: he was wellknown on the European circuit, both East and West, had made numerous television appearances and was signed up with one of the most ruthless agents in the business. It was rumoured that the strongman was the highest-paid performer ever to join this circus, and he was already proving a sound investment: the crowds had increased significantly and he was working his way up to top billing, having already overtaken the trapezists, to Lucinda's scarcely concealed chagrin.
Lulubelle had never spoken to him, awed by his fame and daunted by his vastness. Marisa, his wife, she had talked to a few times. Marisa was shy and her English was unsteady, but she always had a smile for the children; she and Arto had none of their own. She presided over one of the hamburger stands in the fairground and twice when Lulubelle had gone there, hungry after her act, and asked Marisa for credit till Lucinda got their pay, Marisa had given her a hot dog free of charge, with plenty of onions. When Lulubelle went back with the money later on, Marisa had waved it away.
Their trailer was the latest and most sophisticated model of mobile home, its solidity testifying both to the bulk of its owner and to his wealth. Lulubelle tapped on the open door cautiously.
'Yes, come, who it is?’ Marisa's voice.
'Hello, Marisa. It's Lulubelle.’
'Come, child, come, come,’ said Marisa encouragingly. 'Arto not here,’ she added, seeing Lulubelle peering anxiously round the door. Laughter lurked behind her eyes. Her husband was too big to hide, even in a trailer the size of this one.
Lulubelle came in and tried to suppress a gasp as she looked round. This home was the last word in luxury. I will live in a place like this when I'm famous, she vowed, if Mum doesn't get us fired first. Gold tassels hung from red plush upholstery on fitted two-seater settees - or maybe to someone the size of Arto the settees were chairs. A crystal chandelier was set in a recess in the ceiling. And the kitchen was a real kitchen, not a little foldaway cooker and sink like theirs.
'Wow,’ said Lulubelle reverently.
Marisa laughed. She opened a full-sized fridge and took out a bottle of Pepsi. 'You like drink?’
'Oh, thank you,’ said Lulubelle. She accepted the drink as though it were champagne, then remembered her reason for coming here. Marisa watched all the pleasure drain out of her face. It was a pretty face, she considered, but too thin and pinched: old before her time. A child shouldn't look so anxious.
'You... trouble?’ she asked hesitantly. 'You sit and tell Marisa, okay?’
'I can't sit,’ said Lulubelle. 'That's the trouble. I'm afraid ... I need something for my ... you know ... I just started, you know ... I've got one of those pads on but it's three hours now and time's up, isn't it? I mean, I have to change, and I don't have any new ones, and Mum - Lucinda - she hasn't got any money.’
Marisa's expression, which was deeply perplexed throughout this explanation, cleared. 'You need money?’ she said, reaching for her bag.
'No,’ said Lulubelle. 'I mean, thanks and everything. But Lucinda's gone into town already and I can't get there to buy anything.’
'You want go to town?’ Marisa asked.
'No,’ said Lulubelle. 'I mean, not unless you're going anyway, but in any case I don't know what to ask for in the shop. I'm sorry,’ she said, noticing Marisa's incomprehension. 'I'll leave it, okay? Thanks for the Pepsi.’
'No,’ said Marisa firmly. She pushed Lulubelle into a sitting position on the beautiful couch, and Lulubelle sprang up again.
'No!’ she said, agitated. 'Blood!’
'Ah!’ said Marisa. 'But you so young! You want ... what is word?’
'Yes,’ said Lulubelle.
'Wait now,’ said Marisa. She opened an inner door and went through into the separate bedroom. Lulubelle caught a glimpse of a gold satin bedspread and a thick gold-coloured carpet. This is the way to live, she thought.
Marisa re-emerged with an object that looked like a large white cigar. 'This I use,’ she said. 'You understand?’
Lulubelle looked blank. Marisa unpeeled the wrapper and mimed using the tampon. The horror on Lulubelle's face stopped her.
'You no use this,’ she said. 'You too young. I understand. Wait always again.’
This time she went into the en-suite bathroom. Lulubelle thought she saw gold taps, and the carpet was thick as the mane on Simba the lion.
'Here, now,’ said Marisa triumphandy. She presented a pack of cotton wool.
'Thanks,’ said Lulubelle, embarrassed and relieved equally. She opened the pack and began to tear off
a length.
'No, take all,’ Marisa said. 'You need change again later.’
'How much later?’ Lulubelle asked. 'One hour, two hours?’
'This - one hour only,’ Marisa advised. She stroked Lulubelle's head, which Lulubelle didn't normally like but found she didn't mind on this occasion. 'Poor child,’ Marisa said. 'So young. First time - yes? First day today?’
'Yes,’ said Lulubelle.
'Where your mother?’
'Gone into town,’ Lulubelle said. She thought she'd explained that already. Misunderstanding Marisa's wondering shake of the head, she tried to explain further. 'She likes to see the shops, even if she hasn't the money to buy anything.’
'She not knows you begin you periods?’ said Marisa.
'Oh yes, she knows,’ said Lulubelle. Feeling she was being disloyal, she added hastily, 'She'll buy me some things tomorrow, a whole packet as soon as we get paid; she said she would.’
Marisa pressed four one-pound coins into Lulubelle's hand, catching it firmly as she tried to draw it away. 'You take,’ she said, 'for yourself. From Marisa. Secret. We tell nobody; nobody angry. Okay?’
'Won't Arto be angry, if you give money away to people?’ asked Lulubelle.
'Arto no angry,’ said Marisa confidently. 'No never. No angry man.’
Lulubelle was impressed. 'I thought all men got angry.’
Marisa looked sad. 'Poor child,’ she said again.
A bell was being sounded from the Big Top, a signal that all the equipment was installed and rehearsals would soon begin. Lulubelle moved towards the door.
'First change,’ Marisa invited. 'In bathroom.’
'Oh no,’ said Lulubelle, scandalized at the idea. Supposing she dripped blood on that beautiful carpet? 'I'll go home now.’ She put out her hand to shake Marisa's. 'Thanks for everything.’
Marisa enveloped her warmly in a hug. 'Come again,’ she said. 'All the time, yes?’
Lulubelle smiled at her, and found the smile was still on her face when she reached their own caravan, walking with her normal easy stride. She no longer felt uncomfortable or ashamed. She clutched Marisa's gift as though it were something valuable, something more than a whole new roll of clean white cotton wool that had come from the most beautiful caravan in the world.
Genius Page 22