I don’t want us to die here, tonight, like this.
She arcs across the arena, faster and faster, the grenade dangling precariously in her mouth. What was it that sergeant guy said? It will obliterate anything within five metres.
Like a light going on in my head, I realize suddenly what her plan is.
Silvio’s over five metres from the door. If Greta and I can somehow get near enough to the exit before he sees her, maybe, just maybe, this could work.
Inch by inch, I begin edging across, really, really slowly, in the unlikely hope that Silvio won’t notice me moving.
I take a deep breath.
“She’s not up there any more,” I tell him, trying to sound confident. “This whole time you’ve been worrying about your stupid monkey, she’s gone.”
His head snaps over to the open hatch. He laughs, but he’s not certain.
“She can’t go anywhere. She’s trapped, you fool.”
“She can and she did. I’ve just watched her head straight out of that door. There’s more than one hatch in the roof of this circus ring, you know.”
He looks to where I’m pointing. It’s as far away from the exit as I can get.
Greta catches on quickly. As quick as lightning, she jumps from the podium and runs across to stand next to me, holding on to Bojo the whole time.
“She’s escaped, Silvio. You’ll never find her now.”
“Then she’s sacrificed you!”
He fires the gun again, but this time, he doesn’t miss. I feel an agony I never knew was possible in my leg. Everything swims. He’s shot me.
HOSHIKO
As soon as he fires the gun, I know he’s going to kill them. Ben’s on the ground, holding his leg. He isn’t dead though. His head’s moving.
It’s now or never.
I loop past the spot where Amina’s body hung, just yesterday. I can feel her with me. It’s like she’s still here, alive, willing me on.
I bring one arm in and take the grenade out of my mouth.
Greta’s not going to have the strength to move Ben on her own; I need to make sure I can reach them. Still swinging, I pull the pin out.
I swing towards the middle of the ring, towards Silvio. The instant I’m central, I drop the grenade. It lands with a clang at his feet.
He looks down at it, sizzling, then looks up and sees me for the first time. Our eyes meet. I see the realization hit him and I smile triumphantly before curling my legs up and somersaulting down, landing right next to Greta and Ben.
“Quick!”
We grab hold of Ben and pull him as hard and fast as we can, towards the exit.
We’ve nearly made it to the doorway when the blast hits us, shaking the whole building. My ears are deafened and we’re all thrown forward about ten feet.
We’re OK though, we’re OK. I pull myself up, reach down and help Greta stand. She is clutching on to Bojo tightly, as he chatters in terror. Ben’s just about conscious and he stumbles forward.
I look behind me.
The whole arena is a ball of fire, blazing at its hardest where Silvio stood, seconds ago. I can’t make anything out through the inferno, but he can’t have survived this; he must have been blown to pieces.
Greta and I drag ourselves to the door, Ben propped between us. It’s locked, but Greta’s got the keys, stuffed down the front of her leotard. The water from the overhead sprinklers doesn’t stand a chance in this inferno, not against the ferocity of the flames and the smell of toxic burning metal.
I look at Greta. She’s gasping for breath.
“Drop to the floor,” I tell her, somewhere in my mind remembering that the smoke won’t be as intense there. She drops down.
Ben’s propped up against me as I fiddle with the keys, the heat of the fire getting ever more intense. My wounded feet respond to the heat, as if they’re being burnt anew. I must keep focusing.
I fiddle with key after key, my hands shaking clumsily. Finally, finally, it’s the right one. I unlock the door, breathing in the sweet night air. We’re out.
The three of us. Alive. Not dead. Not yet.
BEN
We make our way into the night, sucking down huge lungfuls of air. Woozy with the pain from my leg, I hang uselessly between the two girls like a dead weight.
I look down. Big mistake; there’s a great bloody mess where my thigh usually is. I think I’m going to throw up again.
What now? I look around. Every building, every metre of space around us: flashing lights. We’re completely surrounded by the police.
In the centre of them, directly opposite me, stands my mother.
Our eyes meet.
She must be beyond furious with me: I’m not supposed to challenge her, not supposed to embarrass her. I’m supposed to be a puppet, we all are.
I’m not though, not any more. My strings have been cut. I can think for myself now, feel with my heart and my head, just like I promised Priya I would.
Mother turns to the police officer next to her and says something to him.
“Benedict,” he calls through a megaphone. “Step forward now and we’ll get you to hospital, son.”
Every officer has a gun aimed at Hoshi and Greta. They’re going to shoot them: shoot them and save me.
Not if I can help it. I move in front of them, a human shield, protecting them.
I can feel myself swaying. Everything’s gone misty; I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.
“Dregs, walk towards me with your hands up!”
Slowly, Hoshiko moves from behind me and raises her hands and Greta follows suit. Hoshi looks at me, she mouths something.
“I love you.”
My heart leaps.
“I love you too.”
I step forward. I’m wobbling against her.
The police have totally surrounded us, their cars forming a barrier. One of them calls out.
“Give it up, Ben, don’t do anything stupid.”
Yeah right, like there’s even that option.
“Give it up!” the same guy calls again.
Something about his voice clicks with me the second time: I recognize it. I look over. It’s difficult to focus but, somehow, I manage. The police officer on the far right lowers his torch for an instant, shining it on his own face, instead of mine. He’s removed his helmet. It’s Jack.
“This way,” I say as quietly as I can to Hoshiko and Greta. It’s hard to get the words out. “Follow my lead.”
We move as one, edging forward and to the right so that we reach Jack’s car.
“I’ve got this one, Ma’am,” he calls. “Benedict, Hoshiko, Greta. Get in the car.” He looks at me, gives an almost imperceptible wink.
“Do what he says,” I tell Hoshiko.
We lower ourselves awkwardly into the car while Jack gets into the driver’s seat. He turns around for a second, grins at me, then puts his sirens on and we speed away, leaving the circus burning behind us.
HOSHIKO
It turns out the policeman driving us away is the same one who helped Ben before.
As soon as we’re out of the Cirque, he switches off his sirens and lights, and takes one of the side roads, away from the main highway.
“Lucky, I got there in time,” he says. “You aren’t easy people to second guess.”
“Where are we going?” Greta asks. She’s still holding Bojo, stroking him gently as he calms down in her lap. Silvio was right: she’d never have hurt him.
“There’s a van, waiting for us at the top of the hill. We arranged it before, just in case we got you out of there alive.” He laughs. “Didn’t think we would though. Not for one second, if I’m honest.”
“What about you? What are you going to do?” I ask him. His eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror.
“I blew my cover the second I left that circus with you. You aren’t the only ones running for your lives now; they’ll be after all of us in about five seconds.”
Another person who’s sacrificed
himself for us.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
“Hey, I couldn’t stand being in the police anyway; only did it so I could help the cause.” His jovial tone doesn’t seem to fit the gravity of the situation. “I’d rather die like this than live like that.”
“Where are we going?” Greta asks, again.
“Well now, there’s a question. First, we switch vehicles. Secondly, I think we might need some first aid; we’ve got people lined up who can help. Then, your guess is as good as mine. Out of the country quickly, I suppose, if we can make it in time. They’ll be closing all the borders soon. Ben made a little speech earlier that’s already changed things. They’re rioting down in the city, Pures and Dregs together.”
His eyes meet mine again.
“This isn’t the end, Hoshiko, not by a long shot. It’s the beginning.”
Ben is slumped against me, unconscious now.
“It’s OK,” Jack must see the fear on my face. “He’ll be fine. It’s superficial. He wouldn’t have made it out at all if it wasn’t.”
“What about the others? That blast? Did it get anyone else?”
I feel sick; dreading the answer to my question.
“No. They were all locked in their dorms once the show was cancelled. The impact won’t have reached over there. Luckily the arena was empty; the whole place was a ball of flames.”
I think of Silvio, the grenade at his feet; I picture him being blown to pieces. Maybe a better person than me would feel guilty, but I don’t. Whatever happens now, at least he can’t hurt me, or Greta, or any of the other Dregs, ever again.
We wind along the roads and make it to the top of the hill. There, just as Jack said there would be, is a van, hidden in a little thicket. He comes around, opens the door, and lifts Ben out. Greta and I follow. I’m limping, but I can make it.
I look down the hill. A stream of flashing blue lights stretches in both directions, as far as the eye can see. The Powerhouse monument is still beaming its smile down on the city but, underneath its gaze, the arena burns. The place I’ve spent most of my life. It looks somehow beautiful, flaming in the night.
“Hoshiko?” Jack’s voice breaks my daze.
Ben is already slumped on a pile of blankets in the back of the van. Greta gets in next and sits up close to me. I take her hand, and gently ease my other arm around Ben, cradling his head against me.
As we drive away, I watch the Cirque burn. It grows smaller and smaller, becoming just a speck on the horizon until, finally, I can see it no more.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Firstly, I would like to thank my two lovely sons, Will and Adam – you two will always be my very best creations.
Producing a book is a team effort and there are so many other people I would like to thank…
My mum and dad, who have always believed in me and supported me, practically and emotionally, right from when I was a little girl and Mum carried a story I wrote around in her handbag. Mum has read every draft of this book and has been such an invaluable proofreader.
My sisters, Katie and Gemma, my biggest cheerleaders and the providers of the greatest free childcare in the world.
Thérèse Coen, who was the first person in the industry to believe in Show Stopper and believe in me, and who championed me so wonderfully from the very beginning. Your enthusiastic response to my submission and all your efforts afterwards were the start of this book’s journey and I cannot begin to tell you how much that means.
Everyone from the fantastic Madeleine Milburn agency, especially Maddy, Alice Sutherland-Hawes and Hayley Steed for representing me so well and for all of your hard work and commitment. It’s good to know I am in such safe hands.
All the wonderful people at Scholastic for taking a chance on me and for helping me through this journey.
Thanks especially to Olivia Horrox and Roisin O’Shea for such brilliant publicity and marketing.
Emma Jobling and Peter Matthews for their patience and attention to detail. (And sorry to both for my dodgy semicolon use!)
Andrew Biscomb and his team for the wonderful artwork they have produced. I loved the sparkly purple awesomeness of the proof copy and was completely blown away by the intricate, original and beautiful final cover design.
And, of course, I owe so much to Lauren Fortune, my brilliant editor. You have shown such faith in me and such passion for my work, and have been such a source of inspiration and support. This book would not be here today without you.
The extremely talented Siân Schwar, the best writing friend a girl could ever wish for. I loved sharing the early stages of our journey together and I know that your time is coming soon – maybe once the baby/ies grow up a bit! You have been such an important part of all this and I don’t think I could have done it without you.
My trusted friends and family who read the book early on, and gave me so much support and encouragement when all of this just seemed an unlikely dream. Joanna Large, Kat Parmley, Fiona Vickers, Nicola Heelam (my cheerleader in the north!), Auntie Janette, Laura Dockerill, Gill Barker, Sarah Martin, Lin Hurlock, Mary Callender, Olly Murley… I hope I haven’t forgotten anyone and I’m so sorry if I have.
My brilliant English teacher, Mrs Morley, who lit the fire and fanned the flames.
The girls of 2CG at Brentwood School, for being a very talented and inspiring bunch of writers themselves, and because I promised them I’d give them a mention!
The reader for buying this book – I hope you like it.
And last, but not least, thank you to Mark – I could not have done any of this without your support. Thank you for putting up with a messy house and a slightly deranged wife for all these years and for giving me the time and space to write – not easy with a young family to entertain and care for. Thank you for reading Show Stopper time and time again for me and for giving me so much constructive and helpful advice that, by rights, you should be credited as a co-author. Thanks above all, for being the best friend and husband I could ever have, and the best daddy in the world to our boys. I love you.
Hayley Barker has a BA (hons) degree from Birmingham University and has taught secondary school English for eighteen years. She is a huge YA fiction fan and says being published is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her. Hayley was inspired to write Show Stopper by her fears about the growing wave of crime and animosity against minority groups in England. She lives in Essex with her husband and two young sons.
Follow Hayley on Twitter: @HayleyABarker
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First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2017
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