by Lollie Barr
‘Do you think he can understand me when I speak to him?’ I asked Mr Barnstable.
‘Some patients report they heard everything despite being unconscious, but we really don’t know. But it’s really good to talk to your dad and, just as importantly, it will make you feel better to be speaking to him,’ he said, illegibly scribbling on the chart at the end of the bed before leaving.
I gently smoothed down Dad’s eyebrows as they were sticking up at weird angles. I suddenly felt really upset and my lip started trembling. Like there was a cry stuck just behind my eyes, waiting to come out. I’m almost a teenager and I still cry, but it’s beyond devastating when your dad is in hospital, your circus is going broke and you’re missing your best friend.
I walked to the end of the bed and put my hand on my dad’s good leg and let it rest there, feeling the heat of his body radiating up my arm. I missed him so much.
‘Da–’ I began, but I started to cry before I could even choke out the ‘d’. I clutched his leg and then in fits and starts through my tears, I told him about Chesterley, the police car, Ginger Styles, Lefty Blue Eye, his brothers wanting us to leave our family and friends and live on the other side of the country, the bankers wanting to take our motorbikes, not being able to even visit my bikes or my best friend Benny, and that if we didn’t get more people to Stoked then we wouldn’t have a circus left by the time he woke up.
‘I’m frightened, Dad. Please get better so you can sort everything out.’
Jem came into the room then and caught me crying. ‘Oh, poor little Stunty,’ she said, cuddling me from behind as I buried my face against my Dad’s leg, my tears and snot making his blanket wet. ‘It’s going to be okay.’
‘Is it, Jem? Is it really? I don’t want Dad to come out of the coma to find there’s no Stoked Stunt Circus any more,’ I said as I turned to face her, all red-faced and snotty-nosed. ‘We’ve got to do something. We’re the ones who have the circus in our blood, not Ginger Styles! We’ve got to find a way to save Stoked.’
Since Dad’s accident Biker Pete had taken over the headlining. His act was okay but it wasn’t a patch on my dad’s. Whilst Biker Pete was an excellent rider, he wasn’t a showman like Dad. Showmen are the people who make audiences want to come and see your show in the first place. We needed a big name.
‘I know, Stunt, I know. I just wish I knew what to do,’ said Jem, her green eyes looking watery.
She looked really pretty at that moment, probably because she wasn’t being bossy towards me for once. Her face was shaped like a heart. Not like a heart in your body, more like a love heart, with a pointy chin and cheekbones like apples. No wonder Caleb liked her. Then it came to me in a flash of inspiration, my mouth opening wide as a fragment of a plan formulated in my head.
‘Are you okay, Stunt?’ asked Jem. ‘You look kind of weird.’
I had one idea and then lots of thoughts started jumping on the bandwagon and then suddenly it was a freight train. ‘I’ve got it, Jem! I know how to save Stoked! Caleb Calloway! If he were our headline act, kids from everywhere would come to see him,’ I said. ‘He’s back in the country next week.’
‘What makes you think he’d come to Stoked though?’ she said sceptically. ‘He’s a big star. He performs all over the world now.’
‘I think he just might,’ I said suddenly feeling optimistic for the first time in ages.
Then something strange happened. My dad’s good leg moved as if he was trying to kick me.
‘Dad!’ I said, racing up to the other end of the bed and staring right into his eyes. ‘Are you there? Can you hear me? Dad?’
Dad didn’t answer but the twitch of his leg was a sign that somewhere, beneath consciousness, my dad was listening to every word we were saying. The thing I most wanted in the world was to make him proud of me. I wasn’t going to let Stoked Stunt Circus disappear. I was going to save it. And nobody was going to stop me.
12
You’re my hero
To: Caleb Calloway
From: Stunt Boy
Dear Caleb Calloway,
This is Stunt Boy. My sister Jem and I met you last year with our dad. We are the Stoked family from Stoked Stunt Circus. Do you remember us? I was eleven at the time and now I’m twelve. My sister is nearly seventeen (in six weeks). You talked to her for a long time. You said that my dad Evan Stoked was your hero when you were growing up because he was the most ace motorbike stunt man ever and it was after watching him you got into motorbike acrobatics. I told you that you were my hero because you can do a Suicide Can and you get to tour the world doing fantastic stunts.
You signed my helmet.
Now something really bad has happened. I don’t mean my autograph rubbing off the helmet, although that was pretty bad when it happened. It rubbed off because the marker pen you used wasn’t permanent (I’m not saying this is your fault! It wasn’t as you borrowed the pen from the canteen lady! She wouldn’t have known either).
The bad news is my dad had an accident and he’s in a coma in hospital. I think someone sabotaged his bike but nobody believes me. Now our circus is going broke! They are going to take our motorbikes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! as well as shut down our circus and sell everything we own.
We need to have a fantastic headline act to get lots of people to come to Stoked, so I wondered whether you would help out by being our headline act. We don’t have much money but I will make sure you get free food and a very comfortable bed with a fluffy doona. Please say yes.
Your friend,
Stunt Boy (William John Stoked)
I added all the exclamation marks because Caleb, being a motorbike aficionado, would know the awfulness of someone taking away your motorbikes. It would be the worst thing on earth, apart from your dad being in a coma or your dog being shot.
13
Someone was trying to steal our circus
I was in the office checking my email for the hundredth time since I’d sent Caleb the message six days ago when a sweaty bicycle courier dressed in tight yellow bicycle shorts rushed in.
‘Are you authorised to sign on behalf of Stoked Stunt Circus?’ he said pulling a fat envelope from his cycle bag. He didn’t even say hello, which I thought was a bit rude.
Blindfold stood up and took two paces in front of me, the hackles on his back rising. He’d been very protective since our misadventure at Chesterley’s circus.
‘Sure, I’m the owner’s son,’ I said.
He handed over a big yellow envelope, which was addressed to Ginger Styles, Stoked Stunt Circus and I signed the form. William John Stoked (Stunt Boy). Usually I sign it the other way around but it was official Stoked business.
After he left, I turned over the envelope and there was a stamp that read Banker’s Bank. It felt as if I had a little piece of the puzzle in my hands as I’d overheard Ginger talking to Lefty about money. I had to know what was in that envelope.
‘Come on, Blindfold, let’s go,’ I said, stuffing the envelope up my T-shirt and tucking it into the waistband of my jeans.
When I got back to our caravan, Jem was making a snack. ‘Just in time for food, Stunt Boy – as usual,’ she said as she cut the tomato to join the rest of the salad on the tuna sandwich. ‘Your timing is only impeccable when it comes to food. Everything else, forget it.’
I ignored the bossy insult. ‘Jem, a bike courier with an envelope from the bank just turned up,’ I said, pulling the yellow envelope from my pants and putting it on the table. ‘It’s addressed to Ginger, but we’ve got to see what’s inside.’
‘We can’t do that!’ said Jem, who has always been a stickler for rules and regulations. She placed a sandwich in front of me. ‘It wouldn’t be right to open it. Eat your lunch and then take the envelope back to the office.’
The envelope sat on the table like a present under the tree, just begging to be opened at five-thirty on
Christmas morning, but you have to wait for everybody else to get up. Have you noticed how time slows down when you’re waiting?
‘Aw, come on, Jem. The envelope is for a representative of Stoked. While Dad is in hospital, surely we’re the representatives, not Ginger Styles?’ I said, feeling my temper flaring. ‘She doesn’t ever have to know! I’ve seen how people open envelopes in movies. You put the envelope in the steam from a boiling kettle and it dissolves the glue. Then we can seal it up again.’
‘I don’t know, Stunt. It feels like we don’t trust Ginger,’ said Jem.
‘Well, I don’t. Right now, the only people I trust are you and Blindfold, even though Blindfold’s not really a person,’ I added.
Jem didn’t say no, so I went into the kitchenette, boiled the kettle and gently placed the envelope over the steam. It took ages but eventually the lip of the envelope came loose and I used a knife to gently prise it open. I took the opened envelope back to the table and slid out the contents before taking a few quick bites of the sandwich. I was starving.
‘Coo-ee! Jem, Stunt!’ called out the singsong voice of Ginger Styles.
I quickly grabbed the pile of papers and the envelope and sat on them. Jem and I didn’t dare breathe, hoping that Ginger Styles would just turn around and go away, but she wasn’t one to wait for an invitation and she came barrelling on in.
‘Hey, kids! Hey, Blindfold!’ she said as Blindfold ran up to her for a pat. Dogs are very trusting of people. Blindfold is friends with everyone and couldn’t understand that I didn’t trust Ginger Styles one bit.
‘I just ran into a courier on my way in and he said he had dropped off an envelope for me, which you signed for, Stunt Boy. I just checked and it wasn’t in the office.’
I felt every drop of blood in my body rise to my face like my head was going to explode and there would be blood everywhere. If I’d tried to make a run for it, I would have fallen over because there wasn’t any blood left in my legs. I suddenly felt dizzy and sick.
‘You okay, Stunt Boy?’ said Ginger Styles. ‘You don’t look well.’
‘I think I got food poisoning from my tuna sandwich,’ I said, holding my stomach and pointing at the half-eaten remains. I looked desperately at Jem, whose face was nearly as red as mine; her ears were making devil horns out of her hair again. ‘My tummy really hurts.’
‘Oh, poor baby. I don’t think it’s the sandwich, though – it takes a bit longer for food poisoning to kick in. Did you have the vegetable curry in the mess last night? Maybe it’s upset your tummy. Why don’t you have a lie-down? Do you think you’ll be okay to perform tonight? It’s okay if you don’t.’
‘Yeah, I’ll be okay,’ I lied, because I wasn’t sick at all. It’s the worst feeling in the world when you get caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing. ‘I want to, I mean, it’s my first time back on the bike in nearly two weeks.’
‘So have you got my envelope?’ asked Ginger, her left eyebrow shot up her forehead and stayed there. Her red hair was pulled back so tight it looked like she had been scalped.
‘I was so busy trying to remember that I had to give it to you that I’ve left it in the big top when I was trying to find you,’ I said, trying to confound her with useless logic.
‘Stunt!’ said Ginger Styles, her arms crossed over her body. ‘They are important documents! That is why they were couriered.’
‘Don’t worry, Ginger. They can’t be far away,’ said Jem with an overly big smile – I could see all the way to her back teeth. ‘I’ll go and find them and bring them straight to the office.’
Ginger Styles looked at us very suspiciously. ‘Okay, Jem, I want that envelope toot sweet, okay? And, Stunt Boy, if you need to go to the doctor, let me know.’
‘Oh my god, that was so close,’ said Jem as Ginger left. ‘Quick! Put them back in the envelope.’
I pulled the crumpled documents out from under my butt, scanning them as I tried to flatten them out so they’d look pristine again. The first read Notice of Possession order, which advised that the bank would be taking over our entire circus by the end of the month unless we could pay the loan back.
Disappointment settled over me and my heart sank to the bottom of my toes. It dropped right out of my body when I read the second set of documents. Someone was trying to buy our circus and guess who that someone was? None other than Ginger Styles.
14
He’s a dog that does stunts
Word spread around the circus like a vomiting virus around a classroom that I had food poisoning. All afternoon Stoked cast and crew dropped by to ask if I was okay. Mellie Bellie and Zoe performed a two-handed Reiki session on my stomach whilst doing some strange chanting; Hayley brought me peppermint tea, while Sue dropped in with a disgusting herbal medicine that made me gag.
But I couldn’t tell them I had lied to cover up the fact that I was sneaking a peek at some very important documents from the bank. I didn’t want to show our hand and reveal that we knew exactly what Ginger Styles was up to. We didn’t know who else might be in on it.
Things hit a low point when Leonie turned up with her medicine bag. It was all I needed to be spiked in the guts like Fat Fred when he was sword swallowing. Any time anyone had an injury or was sick, Leonie was ready to stick them with her acupuncture needles. So there I was, lying in my caravan with twelve needles sticking into me, in my stomach, below my knees, in my wrists and one needle right in the centre of my forehead – and I wasn’t even sick!
If that wasn’t bad enough, Ginger Styles also decided that if I had a stomach bug I shouldn’t visit my dad in case I passed it on. So I felt triple awful. The more everyone fussed over me, the sicker I felt, until I really did have a bad tummy ache and had to go to bed for two hours with a hot water bottle.
When I emerged from the caravan it was nearly showtime and I went backstage feeling like a total fraud as the staff gathered for the briefing to discuss tonight’s show before we did our warm-up exercises.
‘How’s our sick little guy?’ asked Muscly Mike, ruffling my hair.
‘Better thanks,’ I said, making my voice sick and croaky. I’d told everyone that I had food poisoning, so I don’t know why I was faking a sore throat.
‘You’re a brave little trouper,’ said Fat Fred, his chin getting all dimpled. ‘A legend.’
‘Thanks, Fat Fred, but I wouldn’t go that far, I just had a little tummy ache.’
‘Your dad would be so proud,’ said Biker Pete, making me feel even worse again. My dad would be furious at how many lies I’d been telling lately.
I didn’t eat anything for dinner in the mess otherwise people might have sussed out that I wasn’t really sick. Once the show was underway everyone was busy, so I could relax a little. The motorbike performance was right in the middle of the show, just after the insects on stilts and the spiders from Mars (which was the aerial team dressed as spiders doing a flying trapeze act).
I sat on top of the jump, which is normally my favourite place in the whole world because I can watch the audience from there. Usually all I could see was row after row of heads, but since Dad had been in hospital and Barry Chesterley had made his kids go free offer, there was now just row after row of empty orange seats. I hadn’t heard back from Caleb either. Anyway, why would he care about my family’s circus?
Pikelet stood in the middle of the ring, microphone in hand. His thunderous voice bounced up to me: ‘He’s a boy with a sore tummy, but he won’t let a little bit of food poisoning slow him down! No, sir! He’s a boy with the heart of a lion! He’s a boy who knows no fear! He’s a boy who does stunts! You know who I’m talking about. Give it up for the one, the only, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys,’ continued Pikelet in what could have been the longest introduction ever. I just wanted him to get on with it because I was getting a guilt ache again. ‘. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stunt Boy! Make some noise!’
But it’s hard to make a whole lot of noise when less than a quarter of the seats are full, so it sounded more like a few hands clapping and a few ‘Woo-hoos!’ from the cast.
I did a big swooping wave and flipped down the visor, the spotlight trained upon me, hot and bright. I felt the adrenaline pumping through my entire body, wiping every thought out of my mind apart from the jump routine I was about to undertake.
I revved the throttle feeling the engine roar beneath me as I crouched forward on the bike, squeezing the seat with my legs. Then I went roaring down the metallic ramp. As I went flying over the lip, I punched the throttle, propelling the bike forward to perform a Rodeo Air. I shifted my entire body, which in turn allowed my legs to go flying up behind me. And then I clicked my heels together before sitting on the bike again and landing safely on the other side.
Beneath the roar of the engine I could hear the audience cheering as I performed a rapid sequence of Surfer (that’s standing on the bike seat like you’re surfing a wave), Tsunami (doing a headstand in front of the handlebars when airborne), Surfer, Tsunami.
I finished off by flying down the ramp and doing a wheelie. Then I waited in the middle of the ring under a bright yellow spotlight as the crowd cheered.
‘He’s a dog that needs no introduction, but he’s going to get one anyway!’ boomed Pikelet, laughing at his own joke, even though he used that line at every show. ‘Boys, girls, ladies and gents, he’s a dog that does stunts. I want to hear your loudest and biggest cheer for Blindfold the Wonder Dog.’
Blindfold came running out from the side of the circus ring, wearing a supercool pair of leather goggles like he was a fighter pilot in the First World War. But he wasn’t wearing the goggles to look cool. He had to wear them for the same reason I had to wear a visor in my crash helmet – to keep all the dust and stuff out of his eyes. Blindfold did a little spin in a circle, like he was chasing his tail in the centre of the ring.