Page 22 of The Show Woman

21

Big top

It is Rosie who spots the big top first. It rises out of the morning mist, jewel-coloured flags strung from its huge awning quivering gently in the breeze. A great beast crouched, panther-like, among the rolling Perthshire hills.

‘Look,’ she says to the others from her perch astride Tommy Pony, giving the wagon a great thump on its side. Lena, who is up front with the horses, lifts her hand to her eyes, then looks back at the road.

‘I can’t see properly,’ she says. ‘Is it the rest of the fair?’

‘I don’t think so,’ says Rosie. ‘It looks different. Special. Like the circus that came to the village when I was a bairn.’

Violet’s head snaps out of the wagon door. She looks up ahead, curses, and kicks the floor. Rosie does not like it when Violet swears, mucks up the air with her coarse slang.

‘You have got to be kidding,’ says Violet. ‘Serena bloody Linden. Just what we need.’

Linden’s Circus, Rosie realises, which visited their village fairground all those years ago. With the lions and the elephant, those flying acrobats and the horses that her pa had been so rude about.

‘That’s the woman who fired me, Rosie Posy,’ says Violet. ‘All because I gave her a bit of cheek.’

Lena gives Violet a withering look. ‘There’s rather more to it than that, isn’t there?’ she says.

‘I’ve no idea what you mean,’ says Violet. But she will not look her in the eye.

‘What exactly did you do to that woman?’ asks Lena, sounding like a prim schoolteacher.

‘No more than she deserved,’ says Violet.

Lena sighs and leans forward. ‘It’s quite the set-up,’ she says, her eyes fixed on the majestic big top.

‘Fancy yourself as the next Serena Linden, do you?’ asks Violet, but Lena ignores her.

When they pull into the showground, squashed into a smaller space as the circus tent is taking up so much room, there is much consternation from the gathered show people. Rosie listens to their raised voices as she dismounts Tommy, prepares to tack him up in the stables. Why, Linden’s never take the same routes as the fairs. They always plough their own furrow. They perform in winter, isn’t that when they do the Perthshire towns? What are they doing in Blairgowrie at this time of the year? It’s a damned disgrace.

‘Why doesn’t Linden’s come on the road with the fairs?’ asks Rosie once they have settled on a pitch, started hammering up the tent.

‘Have you seen the size of that big top?’ asks Lena. ‘They’re huge, a whole night’s entertainment. It wouldn’t be fair on the fairs.’

She smiles at her little joke and Rosie feels a surge of affection for her, this statuesque show woman with the sweet smile, who scooped her up that terrifying day in Glasgow and let her be a part of her show.

She wonders if Lena knows about her and Violet. About the things they have started to do in the dark. How Violet will stroke her hair until every nerve in her body feels as if it is jangling like a bell, sparks shooting across her skin. How sometimes Violet will brush the nape of her neck, lingering on the soft hairs there, and her head feels as though it is about to explode with pleasure.

Deep inside her there is a hardened little pearl that strains for more, just like the way the round rosebuds on her breasts harden too. But she is terrified of her own desire, and even more so of Violet’s.

For so long now, touch, for Rosie, has been ugly and brutal. She has had to swallow down the disgust at her father’s meaty hands, his hot breath, the violent words. What she feels now with Violet is different. There is magic, a tenderness, things she has never before allowed herself to feel. But she senses danger, too. What would happen if Violet tried to kiss her? To press her lips to her own, soft and blooming? Would she respond, as her body might wish? Or cry out, ruin it all, with the fear that still runs heavy through her mind?

‘You look concerned, little shrub.’ Carmen’s voice cuts through her dreamy thoughts. ‘Is everything OK?’

Rosie nods hesitantly. ‘It is. It’s just . . .’ She pauses, tries to find the right words. ‘It’s just that sometimes I feel a bit lost. Among all this. So far from home.’

Carmen smiles at her. ‘You are not the only one. I am so many miles from home, and sometimes it feels as though I have always been lost. At least, it did. Until I found you, and Lena, and Violet. Until we became the ladies’ circus. Now I feel as though, if we are lost, we are all lost together. You understand?’

Rosie smiles. ‘I do. I like that. All lost together.’

‘Now,’ says Carmen, linking arms with her, ‘shall we go and find the others?’

Their show that afternoon is half-empty, the one after that emptier again. Over the strains of Carmen’s flute they hear not just the brass bands of the fair, but louder music, drums and trumpets, tambourines and cymbals, drifting over from Linden’s Circus.

When they finish for the day Violet is cross, resentful.

‘I bet the old witch has followed me here,’ she says in the wagon, pulling off her silver costume and flinging it to the floor with an angry throw. It makes a sad little tinkle as it lands.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not that important,’ says Lena, placidly picking up her costume and hanging it by the window to air.

‘Aren’t I? Are you sure about that, Lena? I was her star act, the greatest trapeze artist who ever lived. Don’t you think she might want me back?’

Lena wheels round. ‘Do you want to go back?’

Violet flushes. ‘No. No, I don’t. I wouldn’t work for that horrible old bitch of a woman if she paid me twice what she was paying me before. But you don’t know what she’s like, Lena. She’s sour as vinegar, and I crossed her. I really did. I don’t know how easily she’ll let go.’

Rosie thinks it is probably a fuss over nothing. Her memories of that night all those years ago are tinged with excitement and revelation. The circus seemed magical, and it had changed her life. Surely this old show woman, the lady behind it all, could not be so awful, if she had created something so beautiful?

She looks at Carmen, but she is quiet as she takes off her ribbon costume, hangs it carefully in a corner, pulls on a drab brown dress.

An hour later and Violet, still highly strung and damp-faced, has procured some cheap brandy from a lad who runs a penny shy and plays on the black market. She swigs straight from the bottle, offers a little to Rosie, who sips meekly. Rosie is still getting used to alcohol, the way it warms first her stomach then her throat, before finally fanning out inside her head, as though someone is pouring warm oil into her ears.

‘I’m not in the mood for the drink tonight,’ says Lena. She has worked hard for them since the show, been away into the town for cheese and bread, slices of cured pork, a bag of toffees, then boiled up tea in the great kettle. All while Violet has been gone, sniffing out brandy.

Rosie feels guilty, as though her friendship with Violet might somehow taint her in Lena’s eyes, make her seem lazy.

‘Sorry, Lena,’ she says.

But Lena smiles at her kindly. ‘You have your fun. I need my rest.’

For once, Carmen has not joined them for their tea but gone out alone for a wander round the fair. Rosie worries about her Spanish friend. She seems sad and secretive, but she can be kind, too, shares her bread, helps string Rosie’s hair into a long, flat plait for each show. ‘Your hair is so soft and long,’ she says to her every night as she untangles it with a coarse, horsehair brush, separates the braids. ‘Like reeds in a river.’

Violet takes another swig as Lena vanishes inside the caravan.

‘You know what we should do?’ she says to Rosie. Her eyes are glassy, like great green pools. ‘We should go and have a nose about Linden’s. See what the witch has been up to. Maybe say hello to a few of my old pals. You up for it, my little Posy?’

She slings her arm around Rosie’s neck and Rosie feels the little hairs there stand up to attention. ‘Wouldn’t that be dangerous?’ she asks.

‘Nah. We’ll be quiet. And it’s always a bit slapdash after the circus finishes for the night. Everyone on the drink, all the animals thumping about. I just want to see how the land lies.’

Rosie shrugs. She won’t win this battle. And besides, she is desperately curious to get inside that big top, see those wild animals up close, recapture the feeling that made her heart soar all those years ago. The drink has made her brave and bold. An adventure. Why not?

‘Let’s go,’ says Rosie. And they do.