“You’re really good,” she commented, and it made me smile. At home my art was always something I had to sneak and hide. I never really got to show it to people, so I appreciated her compliment more than she might have guessed.
“Thanks.”
The hours passed slowly, and when we finally arrived in Cherbourg, I was so ready to set foot on solid ground. It wasn’t to be, though, as we had another hour and a half drive to Caen, where the circus would be stopping to do a week of shows. It was just after two in the morning, so my first impressions of France were shrouded in darkness. When we reached the site where we’d be spending the next week, it was starting to get bright. I was amazed when the men began immediately setting up the Spiegeltent. Where did they get their energy come from? Perhaps they’d slept for most of the ferry journey.
I spread my sleeping bag out on the bed and crawled into it, deciding I’d get a couple hours of sleep in. Lola was already there, snoring away. Sharing a tiny room with this girl was definitely going to be an experience.
When I woke up, it was mid-morning, and two men were helping Violet connect the camper van to the water and electricity mains on the site. I recognised Pedro, who winked at me (I think because I hadn’t put on a bra yet), and one of the other stuntmen. Lola had told me on the ferry that his name was Luan. I thought she might have a thing for him because she gushed a little about what a nice guy he was. He was tall, with tightly cut dark hair and brown eyes.
Apparently, the circus didn’t do any shows on Mondays or Tuesdays, because those were usually travelling days where they moved from one site to the next. That gave me a day to find my bearings.
Violet surprised me when she smiled and told me there was coffee inside if I wanted some. I poured myself a cup and took a walk. The newest host to the circus looked like some sort of camping site that was surrounded by trees and greenery on either side. I thought that we must have been situated just outside of town and wondered if we were within walking distance. I would need to buy food and some toiletries soon.
Sitting on the grass, I pulled out my phone to find that Mum had tried to call me a grand total of twenty-five times and left eleven voicemails. The very idea made my stomach twist, so I decided to put off listening to them for a while. Instead, I spent a few minutes reading up on Caen. Everything had happened so quickly that I’d hardly had time to research where I was actually going. The frenzied decision to come here made me feel dizzy with glee. I was breaking free from the monotony my life had been, and it felt glorious.
It turned out that Caen was in Normandy and was the largest city in the region. The pictures that came up showed some beautiful architecture, and I got excited just thinking about going exploring. Perhaps I’d meet a handsome Frenchman, he’d tell me I was beautiful, and we’d enjoy a whirlwind romance. Of course, it would all end in heartbreak when I had to move on to the next city. The idea was surprisingly appealing. I wanted to get my heart broken. I wanted to live through every high and low, because otherwise I wouldn’t be living.
I rummaged in the back pocket of my jeans and pulled out my list to add one more item. Grabbing the sketching pencil that was perennially tucked behind my ear, I scribbled down number eleven.
Get my heart broken.
Coincidentally, Jack was walking by, lugging a crate of water bottles, just as I finished writing. He glanced at me, then at the paper in my hand. I quickly folded it up and shoved it back in my pocket, sheepish. Jack McCabe was certainly the heart-breaking type. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I had a chance of getting close enough to him in order to have my heart broken. Oh, well. If worst came to worst, there was always Pedro.
Jack frowned and continued on his way. He was always frowning at me.
Marina called me over to her camper then and offered me a croissant for breakfast. I took it gladly.
“Tell me, Lille,” she said as I sat in the kitchen of her overly frilly motorhome. I swear to God, she had doilies on everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had them hanging over her toilet seat, to be perfectly honest. “Are you any good with numbers?”
“Numbers?” I asked.
“Okay, so I may have had an ulterior motive for asking you to join us.”
The phrase “ulterior motive” sounded positively thrilling to me, so I smiled and nodded for her to continue.
“You see, I heard your boss thanking you for helping her out with her accounts while I was in the restaurant last week. And I desperately need someone to help me with mine. King usually does it, but he’s been hitting the bottle more and more lately, so I can’t rely on him. Do you think you could have a look at the circus’ finances? Clean up the numbers for me?”
Okay, maybe not so thrilling, then. I had no idea who King was, and I didn’t ask. “Oh right. Well, I study business at college. I hate it, really, but accounting is probably the part I hate the least. I’m reluctantly good at it. So yeah, I’d be happy to look over your accounts for you if that’s what you’d like.”
Marina smiled widely. “I’d definitely like that.”
And that was how I spent the rest of my day, holed up in Marina’s camper, working on spreadsheets. It was a twisted sort of joke. I’d run away with the circus in order to escape all this, and here I was doing exactly what I was trying to get away from. Still, the familiarity of the task soothed me while I tried to get used to the fact that I definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
It turned out that the Circus Spektakulär was actually raking in a decent profit; however, the records of those profits were an out-and-out mess. I still had a lot of tidying up to do, but I told Marina I’d continue working on it tomorrow morning. For now, I needed something to eat and some sleep.
It was starting to get dark when I found Violet and Lola back at our camper. They were sitting on folding chairs outside, eating noodles and drinking wine while listening to the soundtrack from Les Miserables.
Before I could feel awkward about asking for food, Lola told me to help myself to the last of the noodles in the pot. There wasn’t a third folding chair, so I sat on the grass and hungrily shovelled down the noodles in my bowl. They were drowned in some sort of soy sauce that tasted delicious, probably because I was starving.
“I heard Jack and Marina arguing today in the gazebo,” Violet said, breaking the companionable silence we’d been sharing. She was looking at me, and I didn’t know why.
“Oh, juicy gossip. Do you think they’re having a sordid sugar momma/boy toy love affair?” Lola asked with intrigue, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Violet narrowed her eyes at Lola. “Don’t be disgusting.”
“What? Those two spend an inordinate amount of time together.”
“That’s because she’s, like, his substitute mother figure or something,” Violet said before giving me a pointed look. “And no, they were actually arguing about you, Lille.”
I almost choked on a noodle. “Me?”
“Yep. Jack was giving Marina hell for inviting you to join us. He said we didn’t need the dead weight. Marina defended you. She said you were hardly dead weight since you were fixing her accounts for her.”
I hated to admit it, but hearing that upset me a little. “He called me dead weight?”
“Jesus, Violet, have a little tact, would you?” said Lola, elbowing her roughly in the side.
“It’s okay — I’d rather know the truth. And I’m not surprised. He’s been mean to me since we first met.”
“Don’t take offence,” Lola told me in a soothing voice. “We’ve got a lot of abrasive characters around here, as you can probably tell.” She tilted her head to Violet, who was looking the other way and didn’t see her. “Besides, Jack McCabe’s always had a reputation for being slightly…eccentric.”
That piqued my curiosity. “How so?”
“I’ve just heard that he’s a bit of a kinky bastard. You know, into all that bondage shit.”
“Those are lies,” said Violet. “Jack’s a good guy. People just like to
make stuff up to entertain themselves.” She took a sip of her wine.
“And then there’s what happened to Vera. Nobody knows who did it. It could very well have been Jack,” Lola went on, her voice hushed.
Violet seemed to shudder. “Let’s not talk about that. And being into bondage doesn’t make you a rapist, Lola. For Christ’s sake.”
My heart hammered at that, and now I needed to know more. “Who’s Vera?”
Lola looked to Violet. “She should know, Vi.”
“Fine, tell her.” Violet waved her away and concentrated on her wine glass.
Lola sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, so, up until about two years ago, we used to do some late-night adult-only shows. Vera was a burlesque dancer. People loved her. She was amazing at what she did. Then one day she just disappeared. She didn’t take any of her stuff with her, so we knew something bad had happened. The police got involved, and then two weeks later they found her body buried in the woods. She’d been raped and beaten to death. Needless to say, Marina put a stop to the adult-only shows after that.”
I gasped, and my stomach dropped like someone had just dumped a tonne of bricks there. “That’s horrific.”
Lola grimaced. “Pretty much. They never caught who did it. Most people think it was someone from the town we’d been in. Or a passing traveller. But you know, it could always have been one of us.”
“Don’t say that!” Violet complained. “I won’t sleep a wink tonight now.”
Lola only gave her a big toothy smile in response, causing Violet to scowl. My mind was racing, heart beating fast, my skin goose-pimpling. I didn’t like Lola’s insinuation that Jack might be a murderer. Not because I had any sort of affection for him, aside from thinking he was hot, but because I’d been alone with him the other night on a dark, empty street. If he was capable of doing something like that, then I’d been in a terrible amount of danger and hadn’t even realised it. I mean, I craved an adventure, the unknown, but I’d rather the adventure be full of fun and excitement than fear and terror.
It didn’t take us long to polish off the rest of the wine, and then we hit the sack. Tomorrow was my first day as a proper circus worker. I didn’t like the word “carnie,” so I refused to call myself one. I made sure I’d brought my face painting kit with me and then settled into bed. I was tired, so I thought I’d sleep right away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about Vera and what had happened to her.
The following morning, I awoke to the sound of voices arguing loudly. Violet was complaining that Lola had used up all the hot water for her shower. I winced at her high-pitched screeching. Obviously, showering in the camper wasn’t going to happen right now, and I needed to wash. So I gathered my things and made my way to the communal showers on site. Even though I wasn’t overjoyed by the idea, I felt a sense of satisfaction to know my mother would be horrified by me using anything that had the word “communal” in front of it.
Take that, Mother, I mused, giving her an imaginary middle finger.
Yes, I was a dork.
The weather was warm, so it wasn’t such a hardship to shower in what was essentially the outdoors. There were individual wooden cubicles, one side designated for men and the other for women. I slipped off my shorts and T-shirt quickly, then stepped under the spray, yelping when it hit me because it was freezing cold. Thankfully, though, it heated up after a moment.
I took my time making sure I was squeaky clean, because if I was going to have to shower outdoors for the next week, I wanted this one to last. I was nothing if not economical. When I was done, I reached out and grabbed my towel, wrapping it tightly around my body. It was then that I realised just how many things I’d neglected to bring with me. I’d only brought one towel and no flip-flops. I dried my feet as best I could and then slipped on my Converse.
I was coming out of the showers at an opportune moment, and when I say “opportune,” I mean the worst possible moment, because I tripped and fell over somebody’s feet. My towel slipped off a little, and I had to fumble to secure it back in place before I ended up flashing the entire campsite. And conveniently, Jack’s camper van was parked only a couple of yards away from the showers. He was standing outside, smoking and rubbing a hand across his stubbled jaw, casually watching the whole encounter.
“What the hell,” I grumbled, and looked down to see who I’d tripped over. A dishevelled-looking man sat passed out against the wall, an almost empty bottle of whiskey clutched in his dirty hand. He was also snoring loudly. I thought I heard a low, quiet chuckle coming from somewhere close by, and I knew it had to be Jack. I was still looking at the sleeping man, wondering who on earth he was. His clothes were in dire need of cleaning, and his long hair was so thick with dirt and grease that I couldn’t tell what colour it was. He also had a beard that covered most of his face.
All of a sudden, he shifted, and his eyes began to blink open. I was startled to be met with eyes so icy blue they almost made him beautiful, despite everything else. And God, did those eyes tell a story. They possessed so many layers I felt like I could have spent a lifetime painting the horrors and wonders in each one and still never get to the bottom.
“The fuck are you looking at?” he asked, accent posh London, those icy blues shooting daggers. I noted his accent was completely at odds with his appearance as I swallowed and stepped away, because there was something about this man that was positively chilling. As I did, my back hit something hard and unyielding. I didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Jack, because I could smell him. It surprised me that I remembered what he smelled like: smoke, kerosene, and clove oil.
The man on the ground began to get up, but he was wobbly on his feet and fell over again. His whiskey bottle dropped to the ground, the glass shattering.
“Fuck’s sake!” he grunted, and looked at me angrily again, like it was my fault he was so drunk he couldn’t stand on his own two feet. I felt the weight of a warm hand land on my shoulder just before Jack murmured in my ear, “This is King. He’s Marina’s brother. He’s also a raging alcoholic. You should try to avoid him if possible.”
“What did you say about me, you bastard!?”
“Call me a bastard again, and I’ll throw you in those showers. We all know you could do with a wash,” said Jack, his voice firm and unwavering. It shut King right up. He mumbled a few choice words that didn’t bear repeating and then stumbled away.
I still hadn’t turned around, and Jack was still standing behind me, hand on my shoulder. “Where does he sleep?” I asked quietly.
“Outside, mostly. Marina only lets him stay in her camper when we’re on the road.”
“Oh,” I said, and tightened the towel around me again. When I turned, Jack’s gaze wandered from my wet temples, along the side of my cheek, and down my neck before finally settling in the region of my chest. I felt touched. Hot and flushed. I looked up at him from under my lashes, and he met my eyes then. There was something intense about the way he looked at me, but again, it could have all been my active and fatally hopeful imagination.
“Got a nice little look at you earlier,” he said, and I seriously thought I might die of mortification. My skin prickled with awareness.
“What?” I replied, my voice so, so quiet.
He didn’t say anything for a second, just hummed low in his throat, and it was the sexiest sound I’d heard, possibly ever. Then he took my hand in his. I’d taken the bandage off, but I still had a red burn mark down the centre of my palm. Holding it up, he seemed fascinated as he ran a finger down it gently. It only stung a tiny bit, and the combination of him touching me and the sting caused a strange tingling between my legs. Yep, my vagina was definitely on Team McCabe, even if my brain was waving around big red BEWARE signs like a maniac.
His mouth moved, and there was something intrigued in his expression, like he’d just figured out he’d aroused me, and it both interested and surprised him. He moved closer, eating up my space…and just stared at me.
And m
an, could he stare. I felt like he was telling me a silent story, and it was captivating.
“Could I get by you, please? I need to go get dressed,” I said, breaking the quiet. It could have been minutes or hours that I was standing there, but I’d never know. Time moved in strange patterns when I was around this man.
He said nothing, just dropped my hand and stepped out of the way. I hurried off at an unnecessarily speedy pace and practically raced back to the camper. When I reached it, I slammed the door shut behind me and breathed out a long sigh. It took me a second to realise I wasn’t alone. Violet and Lola sat in the living area, Violet painting her toenails violet and Lola eating a packet of potato chips.
“You okay, Lille?” Lola asked as she munched, one eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, just uh….”
“Oh, no, what happened?”
“Jack McCabe.”
“Shit,” she said, glancing away before looking to me again with mischief. “Did you like it?”
“Well, not much happened for me to like, but, God, I can’t tell whether he’s indifferent towards me or hates my guts, you know.”
Violet let out a little laugh, still concentrating on her toenails.
“Oh, in that case, he probably just wants to fuck you,” Lola teased.
Now I was getting manic. “How reassuring. Last night you insinuated he might be a murder rapist, and now you tell me this! Can you see how wrong that is?”
“Is it pretty wrong,” Violet put in, agreeing with me.
“Hey, I just say it how I see it,” Lola said, raising her hands in surrender.
I pursed my lips and went into our room to get dressed. I’d just finished pulling on my jeans and a top when my phone started ringing. And, as though I’d been blessed with a sixth sense, I knew it was Mum. I still wasn’t ready to talk to her, but I figured I should get the agony over and done with.