Gabriel and me waited backstage. Any moment it’d be our turn for real. We’d arrived at Littleton-on-Sea yesterday, and our stand between the promenade and the sand dunes was the finest I’d ever seen.
‘You ready?’ I asked Gabriel, for I certainly was. Though two people on the rope was harder than I’d realised, we’d glowed off each other like candles in a mirror. I still felt the flame of it now.
Gabriel shuffled his feet. ‘Ready as ninepence.’
He didn’t look it. An ugly red mark stood out on his throat.
‘What happened to your neck?’ I said.
His hand flew up to hide it. ‘What? Oh, I tied my scarf too tight.’
Really? But he never wore a scarf.
As I went to say so, the curtains drew back. Gabriel took my hand. His fingers felt icy cold. I wondered if he was nervous. Surely not. Not the Gabriel Swift from Wellbeloved’s Circus. The light caught his tunic, making it sparkle blue. Mine was the same, only with short flouncing skirts. I’d been up half the night working on them both. And now, at last, my hair fell loose down my back. Every part of me felt like a showstopper.
Inside the ring, Mighty Ned announced us. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, a brand new act . . .’ His voice rose and dipped. My heart did the same. The crowd started clapping. The drums beat faster, trumpets blared, and then came the crash of cymbals: our cue.
As I stepped forward, something yanked me back. Gabriel hadn’t moved. He was still holding my hand.
‘I can’t do it, Louie,’ he said.
He was joking. Wasn’t he? I tried tugging him but he wouldn’t shift. The cymbals crashed a second time. Gabriel’s face was tight with fear. I started to panic myself. If we didn’t get out in that ring THIS MINUTE my chance as a showstopper would be over before it had even started.
‘Come on, you can do it,’ I said.
Gabriel shook his head. ‘I can’t.’
The cymbals crashed a third time.
‘Gabriel?’ I said, low and firm. ‘It worked in rehearsal. And it’ll work in the ring.’
He shut his eyes and shuddered.
‘So let’s get out there and do our show.’
I tugged him again. He stumbled a step or two then gave in. Somehow I got him into the ring. Mighty Ned shot me a ‘Where were you?’ look, but no one in the crowd had noticed. I just prayed Gabriel wouldn’t seize up again.
The lights went down. One single spot of brightness shone in the middle of the ring. Gabriel and me, in our matching costumes, stood under it.
Mighty Ned spread his arms out to the spectators. ‘I give you . . .’ the drums rolled, ‘for the first time . . . Miss Louie Lightfoot . . . and the Great Fun Ambler . . .’
We bowed at the applause. Gabriel seemed to settle, waving his free arm and looking more the showman. Then the light split into two smaller spots. One fell on Gabriel, one on me. He let go of my hand. Stepping properly apart, I shook back my hair and bowed graciously to each corner of the tent. A fluttering grew in my chest. I felt truly alive.
From his sickbed, Jasper had given me some advice. ‘Find a face in the crowd,’ he’d said. ‘Make your performance just for them.’
So I scanned the front row. It was faces galore: pretty, young misses, smart, whiskered gents, children in sailor suits. Yet none of these faces stood out.
Then I saw Mr Chipchase. Odd for him to sit at the front with the towners. Usually he watched backstage. Tonight he sat bolt upright in his seat. He was even wearing his best tartan waistcoat. Next to him was a dark, whiskered man whose hands rested on the top of a walking cane. On his head he wore a very tall hat.
My heart skipped a beat. I knew that hat all right. It was him, the flashy cove from Blondin’s show. The man who’d blocked my view, then trailed me through town.
What the heck was he doing here?
I’d no idea. But like it or not, I’d found my face. I’d show him he didn’t scare me tonight.
The music struck up again. The drums beat faster and the lights began to move around the ring. We crossed to our rope ladders at either end of the tightrope. My blood quickened. Hundreds of eyes were on me; I felt them like heat on my back. The lights followed us up our ladders. Every fourth rung, I paused to wave and smile. The flames in me kept flickering till I was all lit up inside.
At the top I stepped out onto the platform, feeling the wood through the soles of my slippers. Then I closed my eyes. Straightened my back. Took a long draught of air.
Seventy feet below, Mighty Ned’s voice sang on. I pictured the scene: towners sat on the edge of their seats, Mr Chipchase stroking his whiskers. All of them watching, waiting – but one face more than any other: the tall-hatted man gripping his cane. With a jolt, I remembered how he’d ranted at Blondin with a sneering, jealous spite. And it didn’t help to think of it now.
Focus, Louie.
Opening my eyes, I looked up ahead. On the platform opposite, Gabriel was ready. A little nod and he stepped out onto the rope. I counted to five, then walked out from my side.
All that mattered now was the rope.
Feeling with my foot, I placed it toe to heel on the line. My knees flexed. Slowly, lightly, I slid my front foot forward. The line shivered. Every twitch of it went through my feet and up into my legs. Every step Gabriel took did the same.
Below us, Mighty Ned told our story. Snatches of words drifted upwards.
‘Out walking . . . saw each other . . . love at first sight . . .’
We met in the middle. The rope trembled, doubly so for having two people on it. I waited for it to go quiet. This was the part where we were meant to stare lovingly at each other. I reached out to touch Gabriel’s cheek. But he wasn’t even looking my way; he was staring down at the crowd.
The next steps were tricky.
‘Times were hard. They couldn’t be together . . .’ Mighty Ned went on.
The plan was to walk round each other, Gabriel going first. He didn’t move. ‘Gabriel?’
No answer. He was still looking downwards.
‘Slide your foot forward,’ I hissed. ‘And look at me.’
The rope began to sway. I bent my knees to go with it. Gabriel didn’t move. His eyes had that glazed look that made me suddenly fearful. If he didn’t flex with the rope sway he’d fall.
Desperate now, I tried another tack. ‘Your platform’s just behind you. Five steps and you’ll be there.’
Really, it was more like ten. But it worked. Gabriel blinked, took a big breath and did exactly as I said. Once on solid wood he slumped to his knees, looking sick as a dog.
Bit by bit, the rope grew still again.
Focus now, Louie.
My head cleared. First, I went backwards. It kept with the story of us parting company. But then I was lost. We were meant to go ‘calling’ on each other, take walks with parasols, read books, skip happily along. Right now there was more chance of snow in July.
Below in the ring Mighty Ned looked up as if to say ‘What now?’ I signalled him to keep talking. He knew the routine as well as I did. We could do it between us. A nod of the head told me he understood. I could’ve cried with relief.
Ned’s banter came easy. ‘Miss Louie couldn’t forget how her love had left her. She kept walking in the vain hope of meeting him once more . . .’
The rest was down to me.
Laid out on the platform were my props. I grabbed the parasol. Holding it high above my head, I walked out onto the rope. The crowd clapped. Three steps along, I opened the parasol and twirled it. I walked backwards, placing one foot, then the other, all the way to Gabriel’s platform.
‘Just stay there. Don’t move,’ I said. If I was going to do this right, far better that I do it by myself. Gabriel nodded his agreement.
More twirls of the parasol. I walked backwards and forwards till I’d reached my side again. The audience cheered.
The next props were paper and pen.
‘There was no sign of him . . .’ Mighty Ned sang out. ‘So Miss Louie decided to write to her love . . .’
Out in the middle I squatted down. One leg trailed beneath me for balance. Spreading the paper over my knee, I pretended to write. Every now and then I paused, chewed the pen, gazed off into the distance. Not once did I look at Gabriel, or down at the tall-hatted man. I didn’t need to.
Something special was starting to happen. I felt it grow. The big top was hushed. Four hundred people stared up at me. Four hundred hearts beating as fast as mine. The air prickled with it.
Keep focused, Louie.
I pretended to grow tired, then tucked the paper in my skirts and lay back on the rope. It cut into my head, my neck, the base of my spine.
‘Each night, she dreamed of him . . .’ said Mighty Ned.
The crowd gasped. The slightest tip and I’d fall. But the rope kept steady. I breathed slow. Counted to ten. Another ten. Then I got to my feet and did a curtsey. The crowd cheered.
Now for the finale.
‘Just when she’d given up hope,’ said Mighty Ned, ‘a letter arrived. A letter telling her that one day he’d be back to claim her.’
In the middle of the rope I opened the pretend letter, held it to my heart, and acted out a swoon. The crowd cried out ‘No!’ thinking me about to fall. Then they laughed in relief as I let go of the letter and it fluttered to the ground.
Mighty Ned bantered on. ‘Thank you ladies and gentlemen . . . do come tomorrow to see more of . . . the wonderful . . . the sensational . . . Miss . . . Louie . . . Lightfoot!’
A crash of cymbals and the music started up. But I wasn’t done yet. A proper finale always had the crowd gasping, sweating, barely believing their eyes. And down in that ring was one particular face. I wanted him to see my courage.
The trick was difficult. Of course Blondin had done it, and I’d tried it a few times myself in private. It had always worked. Now was different. With four hundred people watching, the thrill was huge.
I stood very still. Felt the rope. Thought the rope. Imagined it as part of me, a living, twitching thing. The music stopped. Then came the thickest silence, like a great big breath held in. Swinging my arms, I flipped over backwards.
My feet landed square on the rope. It sagged, then bounced. I bent my knees. My arms flew out. The rope steadied. I waited just a beat before somersaulting forwards.
A whoosh of air. Faces, sawdust, all was a blur. One foot found the rope. The other floundered in thin air. I lurched sideways. Then, somehow, I was upright again.
The crowd made a noise fit to lift the roof. It was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. Every single person was on their feet. You’d have thought Blondin himself was here. But he wasn’t.
This was all for me.