At the first touch of Colm’s lips, all my muscles unravel.
His huge hand cups my nape, holds my head gently. His breath fans across my skin, all the way from the curve of my neck to my ear. When his teeth graze my jaw, my whole body shakes. I have to grab his shoulders so I don’t fall over.
I’ve made a critical error of judgement: I let myself touch Colm, but I didn’t factor in what would happen when he touched me back. Now he’s kissing my earlobe, nipping at my pulse point, nuzzling my neck, and there is no oxygen left in this room.
I squeeze his shoulders, my nails digging in. His other hand rakes down my back. I moan, and he bites hard–
And then he’s pushing me away. He jumps off his seat like he’s been burnt, stumbling to make distance between us, his hand stretched out.
‘Okay, stop. We have to stop. Jesus–’ His chest heaves like he’s run a marathon.
I lean over the seat he’s vacated, panting and dizzy. I can’t even speak, the disappointment is that strong.
Colm stops turning in circles and steps in closer. ‘Sorsha…Ah, babe, c’mere.’ He tugs me into him and I’m too weak to pull back. ‘Sorsha, I’m sorry. I’m real sorry, but we can’t.’
‘But why?’ My voice is muddy, my cheek pressed to his bare chest.
Colm makes a deep sigh. ‘Your aunty told me to take care of you. And I’m doin’ it, I swear–but I can’t do it like this.’
‘Morry’s not here. She doesn’t get to make the rules when she’s a thousand miles away!’
‘Yeah, she does, Sorsh. I’m sorry, but she does.’
‘But–’
‘I called her, Sorsha.’ His breathing steadies as he strokes my hair. ‘I talked to her on the phone. She said that if the police ever catch up with us and your case goes to court, I’ll need to testify. But if you and me are involved, my witness testimony could be invalid.’
His answer is such a shock that I pull right out of his arms. ‘You talked to Morry about me?’
‘I had to.’ His expression is helpless. ‘Come on, Sorsh. You feel it, don’t you? The way it is when we’re together? I can’t even be close to you without wanting to…’ He scrubs his taped knuckles through his hair, his expression tight. ‘Goddammit, this is a fucking mess.’
‘So we can’t get involved, because if we’re involved, you can’t speak in my defence?’ I’m breathless again, but a different kind of breathless. Something starts climbing up inside me, and it’s not the same heat that was building before. ‘Then…he’s still winning. I killed him, and he’s still winning.’
Colm puts out a hand. ‘No, Sorsha. That’s not how it is–’
‘That’s exactly how it is!’ I’m shaking, but with rage this time.
‘Sorsha, listen–’
‘He’s dead, and I can’t get away from him!’ I clutch at my head, spin on the spot. I want to hit something. If the man who attacked me was in front of me now, I’d kill him all over again with my bare hands. ‘I’ve come all the way down here, and I can’t get away, and ohmigod, I can’t live like this!’
I grab the nearest object–my full beer bottle–off the bench and hurl it at the wall. It explodes with a creamy smash, and glass flies, but it’s not enough.
‘Sorsha!’ Colm grabs my stiff arms. He hugs me tight, crooning into my hair. ‘Hey. Hey, come on. It’s gonna be all right. Darlin’, it’s okay, it’s okay…’
But apart from a few damp sniffles, the tears won’t come.
I can’t cry. I’ll cry when this is over.
‘From what I understand,’ Morry says, sighing down the phone line, ‘the boy’s testimony won’t carry as much weight if you and him become…’ She stumbles over the words. ‘Ach, tawni, you know I can’t say it.’
‘If we get involved.’ Anger makes a spiteful red stain in my voice. ‘Wow, Morry, d’you think you might have told me this sooner?’
‘Why? What’s happened?’ I can actually hear her standing straighter, which would be funny if this wasn’t all so sad. ‘Sorsha, listen to me. Getting mixed up with Colm is not a good idea. He’s a respectful boy, and you like him, I can tell, but it won’t–’
‘At least you can say his name now.’ My tone is dull.
I slept like shit last night. When I got back to my room, around one a.m., Ren was already out for the count. I lay in bed, smelling Colm on my clothes. Remembering our kiss, and its aftermath, when the full reality of our situation hit me over the head: I killed him, and he’s still winning. It felt like I was trapped inside one of my nightmares, running with my legs weighed down with cement, my hands flailing helplessly as the world swirled with tattered feathers…
Three times in the night, I woke up gagging. I gave up at five and got out of bed when Ren did. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. My well of endurance is almost bone dry.
‘Sorsha.’ Morry sounds like she’s barely keeping a lid on her temper. ‘Let it go, girl. This is more important than some hearts-and-flowers crush. This is your future–’
I can’t talk to her anymore, so I disconnect. Then I stand there for a good five minutes, feeling guilty about disconnecting.
Ren comes onto the verandah of the mess and hands me a mug. ‘There you go. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be on the phone, but I didn’t think you’d want to drink it cold.’
‘Oh god–coffee. Thank you, you’re a life saver.’ I take the warm mug, and slip the phone into my other hand. ‘Sorry about that. Family.’
‘Ah, family.’
She grins in sympathy. We both roll our eyes. It’s good to have a light moment, for a change. It’s as if I’ve been holding my breath for days, and this is my first chance to exhale. Of all the people around me now, Ren seems to be the one who consistently finds the lighter moments. I got lucky, when I stumbled into being her room-mate.
But everything about me is stumbling this morning. I try to drag myself back to a semblance of normalcy with conversation. ‘Are your folks okay with you choosing show life?’
Ren shrugs. ‘They’re okay. They like that I’m studying now. But my parents are kind of conservative, so it gets…complicated.’
‘Complicated is a good word.’
‘Complicated is an excellent word. In Indonesian, there’s no subtlety to it–it’s just ‘sulit’. Difficult.’
‘I get that.’ I snort.
She gives me a sideways glance. ‘I thought maybe you were talking about your…’ Her hands roll up a tangle in mid-air. ‘Last night. You were upset in your sleep.’
‘Oh, yeah. I get that sometimes.’ My cheeks warm. ‘Ren, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you before, that I get night terrors. I can move out if you want–’
‘And lose my new room-mate? The only person on the lot who speaks my language?’
‘I don’t speak it very well,’ I admit.
‘The only person I’ve met here who doesn’t think my neatness is the sign of an unbalanced mind?’ She laughs. ‘Jangan, Sorsha. Don’t move out. Your nightmares don’t bother me. Although I have no idea how you keep up a full training schedule on four hours of broken sleep.’
‘I manage,’ I say. But I’m not managing today. I feel lost in a fog.
The street is coming to life as I sip my coffee. People walking from one place to another are mostly backstage crew. Not many performers are up yet. Ren and I are the exceptions, her because of study, and me because my life is a mess.
I cover a yawn with my hand. ‘Ah, man. I’m training now, then I’ve got a wardrobe fitting at nine and rehearsal at eleven. What I’d like to do is go back to bed.’
‘I’ll trade you the fitting and rehearsal for a paper on spinal pathology.’ Ren stretches on tip toe. ‘I’m trying to get an early start on my next unit of work. But I’m learning more about all the things I’ll suffer from in old age than I ever wanted to know.’
‘Are you a front bender or a back bender?’ It’s the only question, for a contortionist.
‘Both.’ She sees my expression. ‘It’s rare, I know. And apparently not very good for your spine long-term, but I’d heard that already.’
‘Another reason to get your degree.’
‘Betul,’ she says. True. She smooths down her hair–it’s in one long plait today–and spins in place. ‘Okay, I should go. Although my books are not appealing to me right now.’
‘I might see you later. Maybe I’ll crawl back in for a nap before performance.’
‘Hey, there’s your boyfriend.’ Ren nods down the street.
Colm has emerged from the men’s dorm, wearing his mech yard gear–white tank, orange coveralls, shit-kicker boots. The sleeves of the coveralls are tied around his hips. It’s a good look for him. I press my lips together.
‘Wow.’ Ren’s eyes widen. ‘You said he was a big guy. I didn’t realise you meant that big.’
‘Yeah, he’s a unit. He’s a strength performer, when he’s not being a mechanic.’ Seeing Colm in his tank makes me thirsty. I turn my attention back to my coffee. ‘Also–not my boyfriend.’
She squints. ‘So…you got the hickey on your neck how, exactly?’
‘What?’ My hand flies to the place where Colm bit me last night.
‘And you said his name in your sleep, so I just assumed…’
‘What?’ Now I don’t know whether to cover my neck or my mouth.
Ren smiles. ‘Hey, don’t be embarrassed! It was only a couple of times.’
‘Ohmigod. Okay, I won’t be embarrassed.’ I sigh. ‘Well, maybe a little. Oh, man. Colm’s great. But it’s…’
‘Complicated?’
‘You got it. Ren, I’ll catch up with you later, okay?’ I dump my coffee mug and jog down the steps in Colm’s direction. ‘Hey, hold up.’
‘Hey. Good morning.’ When I reach him, he puts his hands in his armpits like he can’t trust himself around me. His eyes zero in on my neck, though, and colour blooms on his cheeks. I fight the urge to cover my neck with my hand again, until he clears his throat. ‘Walk me to work? I was s’posed to have an early start but I overslept.’
‘Sure. Want me to grab you a coffee on the way past the mess?’
‘I’d love you forever.’ He says it without thinking, then pauses. ‘I mean…yeah. Thanks, that’d be great.’
Jogging back the way I came, I slip into the mess and get a takeaway for Colm, then meet him as he reaches the far end of the mess verandah. I hand over the coffee and fall into step. We walk as far as the end of the cinder block wall without talking. The quiet between us is like a big soap bubble that swirls with all the things we aren’t allowed to say.
It doesn’t stop me from glancing at him, though. All Colm’s details stand out to me this morning, as if some lens inside me has twisted into focus. His blonde hair sticks up, dark from a shower. He’s opted not to shave, and I feel a pang at how much I like that.
His left eyelid is pouched and purple–it’s made good on last night’s promise to turn into a black eye. The sterile dressing is gone: a small cut blackens the descending side of his eyebrow. Aside from the bruises, though, he seems okay. He doesn’t look as tired as he did when we were on the road. He looks well rested and well fed. He smells of soap.
He smells good. Da-amn.
The white tank shows off his biceps as he raises his coffee cup to his lips. Oh, shit, now I’ve looked at his lips. I tuck my hands more firmly into my hoodie pockets, just as he catches my glance with his own. Or maybe he was glancing at me and we collided. We both look back at our feet.
‘Okay,’ he says finally. ‘This is hard.’
‘Yes. This is the pits.’
We both sigh as we walk. I can’t help thinking about what Colm said last night: You feel it, don’t you? The way it is when we’re together?
I force myself to stay focused on the ground, keep my voice neutral. ‘Your eye looks sore. How’re your ribs?’
‘Improving. Did you sleep?’
‘Not really.’ I shrug and keep walking, two brisk paces to his one.
‘I wish you could sleep.’
‘Me, too.’ But what I really wish is that I could lean my hands on his chest and kiss him, right here near the repair sheds, and that’s not going to happen. ‘You’re keeping up with your training, right? For strength work?’
‘Yeah, of course.’ Colm looks slightly offended, like I’ve implied he’s not maintaining his discipline. We’re nearing the entrance to the yard. Giant tractor tyres and piles of mechanical scrap line the path in. The place smells of motor oil and hot solder, and he lifts his chin towards it. ‘I’m lifting engine blocks here all day, so that counts for something. But I’m still practising, too. I’m gonna keep practising.’
‘Great.’ Another wish: that he won’t take this next piece of news badly. ‘Because I talked to Terry. I said I’d perform a solo spot, starting this Friday, if he’ll bring you on the show.’
Colm stops dead beside a decommissioned roller coaster car. ‘You what?’
I have to backtrack to stand in front of him. ‘Look, I wanted to tell you last night. I talked to Terry and I’m performing a–’
‘I heard that part.’ He sets his coffee cup carefully on the roller coaster car. ‘Sorsha, you can’t do that.’
‘I can. I did. I had some leverage and I used it.’
‘You’ve gotta take it back.’ Colm’s face has paled. ‘You’ve got to go to Terry’s trailer right now, and you’ve gotta tell him–’
‘I won’t. It’s done.’ Frowning, I cross my arms. ‘Terry and I shook hands on it.’
‘Well, go and bloody un-shake!’ Colm steps in to clasp my shoulders. ‘Sorsha, you can’t perform solo. Whether I have a job on the show isn’t important–’
‘It’s important to me!’ I jerk away. ‘You need a spot. You deserve a spot. Whether it’s as a feature, or with Seb and Dita, or with another act–’
‘I can find my own job!’ His face starts to darken. ‘Look, the fights don’t matter. But keeping you on the down-low is the whole reason we’re here–’
‘This isn’t just about me.’ I square my stance. ‘How can you stand there, covered in bruises, and tell me it doesn’t matter about the fights? Knowing you’re slugging it out in the mech yard every night makes me feel like shit!’
Colm’s mouth twists. ‘Sorsha, you can’t do this.’
‘I’m trying to make things better for both of us!’
‘And I’m trying to keep you safe!’ Colm’s voice roars to life. ‘The whole point of us coming here was to keep you outta sight!’
I step right in, until we’re nose to nose. ‘Why am I hiding, Colm? Can you tell me?’
‘Sorsha, keep your voice down!’ he hisses. He looks around the street.
‘I won’t. Did I do the right thing? Because if I did, why am I hiding?’
I spin around and walk away. I hear Colm cursing behind me. For the first time this morning, I’m glad I’ve got a full schedule. Without that, I think I’d go a little nuts.
‘You’re reaching too high!’ Fleur shakes her head in disgust. ‘Ohmigod, it’s not that difficult. We spin at the same time, we reach at the same time, Luke catches us at the same time. Get it through your skull.’
This day is really shaping up great.
I try not to grit my teeth. ‘Maybe we should go back to the original plan. We have such different styles–trying to do doubles together might not work.’
The doubles thing was her idea, though, and there’s no way Fleur is backing down. I have to copy her moves exactly to make this trick work. But with every attempt, she changes something–a gesture, a grip, a half-second of timing. Her whole game plan for giving me hell seems to involve sticking to me like glue and making me look bad.
‘Let it stand for tonight.’ Dee settles our squabble with a stern look as we flip off the net. ‘Fleur, just stick to standard form–no flourishes. Sorsha, try to make your copy exact. It’ll be enough to fool the gallery tonight, but I think we should try something different tomorrow.’
‘Sorsha, get back up,’ Luke calls from the swing high above. He’s sitting, tightening up his straps. ‘I want to nail down a few moves for Friday.’
‘What’s happening Friday?’ Fleur looks mystified.
I wish Luke had asked me to train in private. ‘We’re just trying something out. It’s an experiment.’
‘Terry wants to give Sorsha a few minutes in the Friday night spot,’ Dee explains. She doesn’t see me wince. ‘It’s not a big deal. Like Sorsha said, it’s an experiment.’
‘An experiment. On a Friday night.’ Fleur may be a bitch, but she’s not clueless. Her lips pinch. ‘Are we really going to change the whole routine for a blow-in? Is she going to lead now?’
‘Sorsha’s not leading, Fleur.’ Dee’s tone is placating but firm. ‘You know you’ll always have that role. And calling her a blow-in is a bit ungenerous. Let’s just think of it as a guest spot. If it works, and Sorsha stays with us, then great–we attract new audiences. If it’s not a draw, or Sorsha leaves, then we drop it, and no harm done.’
Fleur, grumbles, but she can’t argue with that.
As she stalks off, I step closer to Dee on the pretext of getting chalk. ‘You’re the most diplomatic person I’ve ever met, I swear.’
Dee lets out a breath. ‘Well, I’ve had plenty of practice. Don’t worry about Fleur. She can be hard work, but she has her good points, too.’
‘If only I knew what they were.’
‘Fleur’s loyal,’ Dee points out. ‘She thinks about the whole show, not just her own team, or even her own spot. She’ll take the reins from her dad one day, for sure, and I know that weighs on her mind.’ She smiles at me. ‘Now stop stressing–get up there and work out some moves for Friday. I want to see new faces in the audience on Saturday night.’
I snort. ‘Wow. Okay. No pressure.’
She grins back. ‘No pressure. But let’s aim for big receipts!’
So up the ladder I go. It’s actually good to have something to take my mind off the argument with Colm. Rueben tightens the wire, which was slack while we practised the routine for tonight, then I work harder than I ever have in my life.
The craft part isn’t hard–I feel alive for that part. But most of what I did with Alby was free-form. We knew each other so well, we could anticipate and adapt: a word here, a nod there. It was all so laid back and easy. But this kind of performance is different. The routine has to be tight. Bigger staging, bigger audiences, bigger stakes.
Luke is a good teacher, though. I’m learning how to make my homespun trapeze-tightwire combo into something polished.
‘That’s it–now lift.’ He grabs my waist as I pull myself up from his wrists, forward flip to stand on the bar astride his knees. ‘Now, flourish.’
I cast a hand out, smile to an imaginary audience.
‘That’s perfect. Great work, Sorsha.’ He curls up to sit on the bar as I make room. ‘Okay, let’s run through that one final time, then finish up.’
I’m puffing. ‘You must be exhausted. You’ve been up here for hours.’
‘I’ll nap before tonight.’ He points a finger at me. ‘You should nap, too. Your eyes are bugging out.’
I do rest after rehearsal, but it’s only a cat-nap. In a few short hours, I’ll be performing with the rest of the crew. I don’t usually get nervous, but performing with Klatsch’s is different. I’ll be doing aerials in that enormous tent, high above the sawdust, with every eye in the gallery watching the tilt, staring up at me…The anticipation makes my fingers cold and unsettles my stomach.
The rest of my food from the mess is small and mostly picked at. I dwell on things I shouldn’t be thinking about now–the argument, mainly. Why is Colm being so stubborn? More importantly, why am I hiding? From the moment Colm found me, standing shivering next to a dead man, everyone’s told me it wasn’t my fault, that I’d done nothing wrong. But if that’s true, why did I run in the first place?
That train of thought puts me off the rest of my dinner, so I give up, go shower and change. Eugenia dropped off my first new costume after this morning’s fitting–it’s dark orange, which is a hideous colour with red hair, but beggars can’t be choosers. Eugenia’s done an incredible job with the tailoring, though, and it doesn’t really matter what I wear. You can look like a million bucks, but if you don’t have the moves, you won’t make the magic. I pull a black flyer’s robe over my costume, do my makeup slap and hair, and head out onto the street.
As soon as I make it into the milling crowd of pre-parade bodies, I spot Ren over near the musicians, waving at me as I come closer.
‘Hey, Sorsha!’ She clasps hands with me, introduces a guy on her left who’s wearing glasses and carrying an enormous musical instrument. ‘This is Winston, he plays tuba.’
I smile. ‘Hi, Winston. That’s a lot of brass you’ve got there.’
‘It’s a noisy instrument, which is kind of perfect for this.’ Winston smiles and shakes my hand. ‘Is this your first parade with Klatsch’s?’
‘Yup,’ I admit. ‘First parade, first performance.’
Ren claps her hands. ‘First performance, aduh, that’s so exciting!’
‘Exciting, right. Ren, in this context, that word doesn’t mean what you think it means.’
‘D’you feel like you’re gonna throw up?’ Winston adjusts his glasses and regards me kindly. ‘You’ll be fine. The jitters will settle.’
‘I hope so.’ I cast around for Colm–no joy–before turning back to Ren. ‘I should go walk with the flyers. Have an excellent night! I’ll be watching you perform.’
‘You, too!’
We hug and separate, and I’m whirled into the massed crowd. Counting back from Carey, who’s riding the penny farthing tonight, past the juggling team, I finally catch sight of Dee talking to Rueben, so I head in that direction, about three-quarters of the way along the parade column.
There was a moment, when Colm and I were travelling down in the car, when I wanted noise and sawdust and fire. Now I have all those things, but I’m not sure I’m happy about it. The parade is all about build-up–and I’m built up enough inside as it is. Adding another shot of adrenalin to what’s already coursing around my system might make me keel over.
But Dee links her arm with mine, which steadies me, and we stride together towards the Spiegeltent with the others. Luke sheds his robe at a table near the rear stage entrance, so I follow his lead. Then Fleur, Dee and Rueben take positions near the right-hand wing, and Luke and I take positions on the left, and we wait for our cue.
‘Hold.’ A black-clad stage hand listens through a head-set and watches Ren perform her teaser, then counts us in. ‘Three–two–one–and go.’
The teaser goes off without a hitch. I hardly have time to notice how I’m performing, because it all happens so fast. The ladder rises and rises, I jump onto the platform, and my eyes are spiked by spotlights. Then Luke is swinging out to make the first catch for Rueben, who swings back and takes up position on my side as I launch myself after Dee, at the same time as Fleur makes her first somersault. We’re like fireflies, our orange costumes sparkling in the lights.
The roar of the audience is drowned out by Terry’s voice booming through the PA. ‘Welcome, one and all, to the Greatest Show on Earth…’
I don’t know about ‘Greatest Show on Earth’, but the thrill of that first teaser catches my breath. It’s like my arguments with Fleur don’t exist. We work as a team, for the first time.
Before I have a chance to orient myself, it’s over, and I’m gripping the descending ladder as Lee and Annie start their adagio. The lights change position and I fumble my way back to my place in the wing.
Luke slaps hands with me as I collect my robe. ‘Nice work! Good job, everyone! Keep that energy up for the act, and we’ll be dynamite.’ He tosses me a water bottle from the nearest box. ‘Drink, Sorsha, you should keep hydrated. Our next cue isn’t for an hour, people, so stay frosty.’
And then we disperse. I pull on my robe and grab a sandwich from a buffet table loaded with snacks and fruit, make my way around the backstage area. Bill, Gordon and Chester are prepping nearby, and the air is thick with the smell of flammable accelerant. Bill is dressed in a top hat, with a tailcoat over his bare chest. He’s incredibly tall and skinny, and with his face painted white and black, Day-of-the-Dead style, he looks genuinely demonic. He gives me a doleful smile and I make a thumbs-up.
I duck into the front corner to eat my sandwich–I’m suddenly starving, now the teaser is over–and drink my water, trying to watch from the wings. But the ring crew keep giving me dirty looks. So once I’ve finished snacking, while the lights are dim for the act transition, I dart over to the curtained side scaffolding.
It’s not until I get inside the space that I realise my hidey-hole is already occupied.
‘Jesus, Sorsh, close the curtain, quick.’ Colm flicks the curtain shut behind me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I hiss.
‘I live here now,’ he deadpans. ‘Why aren’t you in the wings?’
‘I got booted by the crew.’ I frown at him in the dim light. ‘I wanted to watch the strong act.’
‘Well, you’re missing it.’ Colm claps a hand on my shoulder, turns me around.
I shake him off. ‘I can see for myself.’
We watch in silence for a while. Colm’s right, the act is half over. From what I can see, though, Seb and Dita have a great routine, with medicine balls and Atlas stones that get progressively larger. They do some hand-balances on each other, using their bodies as props. Dita is impressive: a female strong act is always a novelty. The only problem that I can see is that it’s such a seamless routine I don’t know where Colm would successfully fit into it.
‘They’re good,’ I whisper.
‘They’re pros,’ Colm whispers back. ‘Goddammit. Nice work in the teaser, by the way.’
‘Thanks.’ I shift position, bumping into him. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem.’
Five minutes later, Colm bumps me back. ‘Sorry.’
‘Forget it.’
The audience has quieted after the act transition. Chester and Gordon are in the ring now, tossing fire-knives as a prelude to Bill’s entrance. This hiding space really isn’t big enough for two. Especially when the two hiders are simmering with post-argument tension. Especially when one of the hiders is a large-muscled mountain. And especially when the other hider can’t stop thinking about biceps.
Colm bumps me again. ‘Sorr–’
‘Stop saying that.’ I turn to face him, my voice hissing below the noise of the show. ‘Can we stand here together or not? Should I go?’
‘Don’t go.’ Colm’s eyes are fiery with the flames lighting up in the ring.
‘Then let’s stop apologising.’
I turn around again. This is a bad idea. My body feels charged with electricity–all the tiny hairs on my arms are standing at attention. Maybe it’s residual anger, after our argument. Maybe it’s anxiety about my upcoming performance. Maybe if I tell myself these things often enough, they’ll be true.
‘Okay, one more apology,’ Colm says softly.
I sigh. ‘Fine. What is it?’
‘I’m sorry for this morning. You were trying to help me out. I’m sorry I bit your head off.’
I swallow hard. The pause drags out. ‘I don’t want to argue with you. But I can’t watch you get beat up every night. I just can’t.’
‘You went in to bat for me with Terry. I really don’t think you should perform, but that took some guts.’ His hands settle on my shoulders. ‘And…I don’t know why you’re hiding. Morry and Desmond said it was for the best, and we’re here now. So I’m just following through.’
Colm’s touching me, and all my nerves are sparking like my veins are full of diamonds. My voice comes out quiet. ‘I don’t know if it’s for the best. I feel like I don’t know much of anything anymore.’
‘It’ll be okay. Relax.’ His hands squeeze me gently. ‘Just concentrate on what you’re doing in the spot tonight and forget about everything else.’
‘You’re right. It’s probably just nerves.’ I clear my throat. Colm’s chest is imprinting itself on my shoulder blades. Just being this close to him is giving me a head rush. Out in the ring, Chester has made a circle of candles burn into furious life for Bill’s entrance.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Colm’s hands stroke and smooth as he whispers. ‘You can do trapeze spots in your sleep, remember?’
‘I don’t sleep.’ But my shoulders are liquefying under his touch. The music in the Spiegeltent turns ominous.
‘Just breathe,’ Colm says. He kneads the knot of muscle at the base of my neck.
‘I need to stay focused.’ My words sound small and helpless. I don’t know if I’m reminding Colm or myself.
‘You’re focused, Sorsha. You’re fine. You looked great out there in the teaser.’ His deep, quiet voice is right at my ear. ‘Actually, you looked fucking amazing.’
‘Except for this hideous orange leotard.’
He snickers. ‘Even in the leotard.’
Dry ice smoke puffs through the tent–Bill’s cue.
‘My entrance was off,’ I whisper.
‘Your entrance was perfect.’ Colm squeezes along my shoulders again, then down my arms to the elbow. ‘Relax your arms, Sorsh.’
Those alarms are clanging again. My legs and my voice are both shaky. ‘I shouldn’t be here. We’re not supposed to touch each other.’
Colm’s lips brush behind my right ear, once, twice.
‘I can’t help myself,’ he whispers.
His breath stirs the soft, curly hair at my nape. Diabloenters onstage in a plume of devil-fire, and I am totally gone.
I let my arms drop. My hands brush against Colm’s thighs. He groans, sub-audible, but I feel it through my back. His mouth makes a slow, delicious trail of sensation down my neck as his hands knead my shoulders, my arms. His fingers slide back up to my neck, peel away the black fabric of my robe. He kisses the place where my shoulder blades meet.
All I can hear is my own soft whimpers, and Colm’s heavy breathing. He kisses along my left shoulder. The flames from the freak show onstage make the atmosphere in our cubby feel sinful. Colm slips one hand inside my robe, strokes my stomach. My head falls back and I groan too loud–he slips his other hand over my mouth. I bite on his fingers. He gasps, but doesn’t move his hand away. I suck on the tender pad of his thumb until he starts panting. The air in our hidey-hole is hot as a furnace.
I want to turn around now. I want to kiss Colm now, on the mouth. I want that kiss to go on and on, until we can’t breathe properly, and the not-breathing makes us even more dizzy. I remember the way Colm’s body looked when we were camping, when he undressed on the beach. Yes, I think, Yes, that’s what I want.
Colm braces himself with one hand against the scaffolding. His fingers flex involuntarily, and something about that action, his inability to control it, makes my insides spiral.
‘Sorsha.’ His voice is a deep, hoarse whisper. ‘Goddammit, this is crazy. What are we doing?’
‘I don’t know.’ I turn my head to lip at his ear. ‘But it feels right.’
He makes a full-body shudder. I want more of him around me. I want all of him, everywhere, touching everything at once.
There’s a sudden roar, and I realise the audience is applauding the freak show. ‘Ohmigod, wait. When are they moving this scaffolding?’
‘What?’ He blinks and straightens. His other hand is still on my stomach. ‘When are they moving the…Oh, shit.’
My eyes widen. ‘Soon, then?’
There’s a rattle as the scaffolding trembles around us. We look at each other, with identical expressions of horror.
‘Find me after the trapeze spot,’ Colm says as we disentangle.
‘I will,’ I promise. ‘Don’t go to the fights until I see you.’
‘I’ll wait for you. Break a leg tonight!’
‘Colm–’
Just before he moves, I reach my hand across the widening gap between us and cup his cheek. The longing on Colm’s face makes my heart ache. Then the moment is gone, and we have to pull away.
We scurry out from behind the curtain, splitting off in separate directions, as the scaffolding cage shifts on its castors. A group of stagehands has encircled our cubby. One startled crew member meets my eyes.
‘Sorry!’ I give him a grin before dashing for the wings.
Ren’s spot is a revelation. I knew she was talented, and I already appreciate her work ethic, but her abilities seem magical to me.
How does she even get into those poses, let alone hold them? She makes it seem simple as breathing. It’s not true–I know because I’ve tried it, and even I can’t do that stuff. But her performance is so graceful it seems natural. ‘Contortionism’ sounds torturous, and on some performers it looks painful. But the best artists, like Ren, make it look easy, as if the human body was actually designed to work that way and the rest of us just don’t take advantage of it.
‘Oh my god.’ That’s all I can say, as she comes off-stage and I hand her robe over. ‘Oh my god. Girl, you are amazing.’
‘Phew.’ She grins from one side of her face to the other as she tugs her robe over her skin-tight bodysuit, which is writhing with kaleidoscopic patterns. ‘I guess it went okay, then.’
‘I am totally not kidding. That last hairpin into a handstand triple-fold? Holy crap.’
‘The gallery seemed happy,’ she says, quietly proud. ‘That’s all that matters.’
‘Can you do a Marinelli bend?’ I ask. It’s an elite contortion posture, where the performer supports their entire body weight on a mouth grip while doing an extreme backbend.
‘Yes.’ She looks sheepish. ‘But I’ve never performed it, because Terry would get me to do it all the time, and it puts too much strain on my jaw.’
My own jaw is dropped. I hardly know what to say. I hug her, then let her go so she can change for the final acrobatics display.
I’m doubly appreciative of Ren’s performance because it took me out of my head for a while. My nerves have returned with a vengeance. I don’t really understand it: normally I don’t get nervous at all. But as the clock ticks over, artists moving onstage and then off again, I realise these nerves aren’t going away. I’ll have to perform to get through them. Sometimes it’s like that–you just have to push past it, and after that first performance you never get the shakes again.
That understanding doesn’t help me with the immediate problem, which is that my hands are trembling and my cue is not far off. This time, Colm isn’t around to massage my nerves away. Although maybe that’s for the best: I need a distraction, not to completely lose my mind.
After checking in with Luke, I take up position in the wings, watching the start of Gabriella’s spot and trying to control my breathing. Breathe in, breathe out–easy. Watch the pretty horses. Relaaaax.
Dee and Rueben and Fleur and Luke are spaced around the edges of the wings, like me. We’re all supposed to come on from different positions, converging on the ladders. Then up to the tilt. Then my first swing out with Fleur…
I’m still running it through in my head when Dita comes over, munching on a bunch of grapes. ‘You’re on soon?’
I nod, too intent on my mental run-through to reply in words.
‘Nice. Okay, break a leg out there, Sorsha.’ She turns, one hand on her hip, to check out what’s going on at the entrance to the tunnel. ‘Well. Here’s a costume you don’t want to see on the lot too often.’
‘What?’ I clench and unclench my fingers. Glance at the stage-hands, to make sure I’m not missing my cue.
‘Here, check it out.’ Dita taps my arm to make me look back. ‘What’s going on, d’you reckon?’
The first things I register are the caps–blue caps. Two guys are standing at the canvas edge where the tunnel joins to the backstage area of the Spiegeltent like an umbilicus. Both the men are wearing dark blue caps, and also blue shirts, trousers, badges…
All the nervous energy in my body suddenly collides with a wall of ice.
I stare at the mingers by the canvas. For a second or two, I actually cannot breathe. Only when my vision starts to blur do I remember to inhale.