Page 12 of The Show Woman

11

Ringmistress

For Lena, the days that follow are swift and heady. Carmen and Rosie work on a double act, with Carmen and her elaborate ribbons, now sewn on twice as tightly by Lena, always a dab hand with a needle, providing both an entrance and a foil to Rosie’s horse tricks. Lena engages the services of Tam again, who turns out to be a hard worker as long as he does not get paid until the end of the day, and he helps expand the width of the canvas entrance for Tommy Pony and cuts another one in the back, so that Carmen can enter at the last minute, surprising the audience.

Violet tweaks her act too, after haranguing Harry into securing the platform and the bar, bringing in some workies to affix the bar to the top of the tent just to make sure, and Tam is hired to push the bar to her when needed. With the wider tent she introduces some of her flashier moves, including one with her legs pushed out like a perfect triangle as she swings by one hand, the other nonchalantly resting on her hip.

One day, as she is watching Violet from the floor of the tent, marvelling at the ease with which she can swing from side to side, Carmen materialises beside Lena. She is holding a small black case.

‘I have something to show you,’ she says, bending down to open it, revealing something in three separate pieces that glints silver in the gloom. She hastily screws it together, and Lena sees it is a flute.

‘You play? Carmen, why didn’t you say?’

‘I am shy. I did not know if you would want me.’

Lena studies her open, honest face. ‘Play something for us.’

Up in the rafters Violet swings lazily from one arm, watching.

Carmen lifts the flute to her lips and plays, at first haltingly, her eyes on Lena’s, and then, with more confidence. It is a haunting, elegant melody, one that just catches the fringes of Lena’s memory. Carmen’s long, bony fingers trill the keys in the silence.

When she finishes, Violet gives a whoop from above.

‘That was wonderful,’ says Lena. ‘Do I know the song?’

‘It is Irish, I think,’ says Carmen. ‘Something about moving through fairs.’

‘We must work it into the show,’ says Lena, and they spend the rest of the afternoon weaving her tunes into the performance.

And then there is Lena herself. Wandering the fair that day, she realises that she must be in charge, must present the show. She can no longer hide in the shadows, even though that is, and has always been, her instinct. She must take control, introduce her acts – for they are her acts, she realises – and take pride in them too.

The night before their first proper show, she sits alone by the wagon, watching bedsheets on a makeshift line flutter in the spring breeze, breathing in the mild country air. She has constructed an outfit – an old pair of her father’s trousers carefully hemmed and pulled up to her waist, one of his white shirts, tucked in and with the sleeves rolled up, a black silk tie at her throat, her hair scraped back in a low bun, and a bowler hat which Tam found on the ground by the stables. Her lips have been reddened with Carmen’s rouge.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she whispers.

She fiddles with the tight, starched white collar, her father’s best shirt, worn on the rare occasions they went to church. She stands up and tries again.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ she says loudly. ‘May I present to you, the ladies’ circus.’

Silence. She bows low to the ground, sweeping the bowler off her head. High above, a lone kestrel circles the sky, searching for rabbits in the tall grass. And then, from behind her, the sound of a steady clap.

‘Bravo,’ says Harry, emerging from the side of the wagon. ‘What time does the show start?’

Lena colours at his words, fusses at the neck of her shirt. She had not meant to be caught like this, for someone to witness this makeshift performance. She puts her hand to her cheek. ‘I didn’t see you.’

He hangs his head slightly. ‘I’m sorry. I know you didn’t.’

She looks at his handsome face, wonders if it is a twinkle of amusement she can see in his eyes, or pity.

‘It was good,’ he says. ‘In fact, I’d go so far as to say that Scotland has never seen anything quite like it. A woman in the ring, in a bowler hat; you’re going to cause quite the stir.’

‘We need to,’ she says. She heads back over to the wagon steps and sits down, aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she does so, that she walks differently in trousers, more confident, assured. ‘We can’t afford to have two disasters.’

Harry puts his hands in his pockets. ‘You’ll be fine. Perhaps you needed a fright to get you on the right track.’

Lena laughs. ‘It was certainly a fright alright. I’ve never been so ashamed.’

Harry shakes his head, steps closer to her. ‘Don’t be silly. Everyone has a bad show sometimes. Just ask Jimmy Moore. He’s had more bad shows than you could shake a dancing bear at.’

‘How are you getting on with him?’

‘Ach, he’s alright,’ says Harry. ‘He’s good company, that’s the main thing. And as long as he pays me I’m happy to stay. Speaking of which, I better get back and help him pack up the ride for the day.’

He bends down and picks up the bowler hat resting at Lena’s feet, and places it on her head.

‘Your daddy would be proud of you,’ he says, and walks away, into the long grass.