The police are speaking to one of the stage-hands, who seems to be deferring to a more senior member of the ring crew. My cue is fast approaching. I’ve just remembered to breathe again, and now I might start hyperventilating.
‘Sorsha, are you okay?’ Dita is looking at me strangely.
‘Yes.’ I’m so well-trained, my first response is a lie. Then my stomach cramps, suddenly and painfully, and I come to my senses. I grip Dita’s hand. ‘No. No. Oh god. I don’t think I can do this.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She looks flabbergasted.
‘I can’t go up there.’ I drag my eyes away from the police officers at the back of the tent. Stare up, past the black curtain, to the tilt. I can see the detail on the trapeze platforms from here. Everything looks really close up and very far away, all at the same time. Which is bad. ‘Dita, I don’t think I can perform.’
If I go onstage for the spot, the police will get a great view of me for sure. I can’t let that happen. The nerves I was feeling before are now amplified by a factor of ten million. Sweat is pouring off me. My breaths pile on top of each other. If I was up on the platform this minute, I think I’d throw up.
‘I feel sick.’ My excuse sounds genuine because it’s real. ‘God, I can’t do this.’
Dita must read the panic in my face. She frowns and grips my hand in return. ‘Oh, honey. You actually do look bad. Are you sure it’s not just stage fright?’
‘This isn’t my first stage!’
‘And you don’t think it’ll pass once you’re out there?’ She sees my eyes. ‘Okay, okay, let’s find one of the backstage crew and get the message to Luke.’
As she casts around for the nearest black-garbed crew member, she keeps hold of my clammy hand. I glance back–the police officers at the edge of the tunnel have spoken with the senior crew, and are now being escorted inside the backstage area. People are looking over curiously.
I turn my face away–my whole body, in fact. I turn so far that Dita is forced to twist to stay connected with me while talking to the runner who’s come over.
‘…radio through. Tell Luke Rogan he’s down a flyer on this side. Tell him I’m taking her to medical.’ She tugs back. ‘Sorsha, let’s get you away from the wings, for safety’s sake.’
‘Air.’ My windpipe is constricted; I’m sucking for breath through a straw. It’s like I’m having an allergic reaction to the police presence. ‘Get me some air.’
She bustles me away from the wings. I don’t care what direction I go in, as long as it’s away from the mingers and not into the ring. My vision is getting spotty. What’s important right now is that I’ve got my back to the police. They can’t see my face.
I lower my head, thinking about my distinctive hair. It’s because I’ve got my face pointed at the ground that I bump into Colm, who’s coming from the other direction.
‘Mingers,’ he says as soon as he sees me, and I think that’s when Dita begins to cotton on.
She looks between my face and Colm’s grave expression. ‘Sorsha’s not well.’
‘Got it,’ Colm says, and he moves instantly to my left, to slip an arm around my waist. ‘Let’s get you outside, Sorsh. That’s it. Don’t puke all over the backstage area, the crew will go off their nut.’
I’m shaking. ‘Luke will hate me–’
‘Don’t be stupid. C’mon, Sorsha, keep moving, that’s it.’
Dita walks with us to the side exit. The ovation from the audience echoes behind us: I can tell the moments when Luke and Fleur and the others make their staggered entrances. They’ll be climbing the ladders now. Everything around me is starting to look blurry, but I can’t stop walking, the mingers aren’t far behind us.
Then we reach the outside, and cool air, and night, and relative quiet. I suck it all into my lungs in a series of shallow gasps, while holding Dita’s hand on one side. Colm’s arm curls around me on the other, keeping me upright while my knees tremble.
‘Okay. We’re okay, we’re all good.’ I lift my chin to allow the cold air maximum access. My face is wet, for some reason, and my voice shakes. ‘I’m fine, now. We’re fine. I feel so embarrassed, oh god. But I couldn’t do it. Oh, poor Luke.’
This is hysteria, I think. I should slap myself, to get out of it. I think about asking Colm or Dita to slap me, but they’re both really muscular, and that would probably be a mistake.
‘It’s okay, Sorsha,’ Colm says, wiping my face with his sleeve. ‘Relax, now, it’s fine.’ But he takes his hoodie off, and puts it around me. He puts the hood up, and I think of my hair again, and my legs suddenly decide that I need to sit down.
Colm scoops me up. ‘Where’s medical? Just point me in the right direction.’
Dita gives him an assessing look. I realise they may not have ever met before, and I try to reassure her.
‘It’s okay. Colm brought me down from McNally’s,’ I say, and Colm murmurs, ‘Hush now, Sorsh,’ and I remember that we’re not supposed to be giving away too much detail to too many people. But haven’t I already told people I’m from McNally’s? Lots of people already seem to know.
Colm and Dita exchange a few words above me, which I can’t hear properly, then Colm’s carrying me down the laneway, leaving Dita to talk with two stagehands, who probably want to know what’s going on. I should feel outraged, or even a bit more embarrassed, at the fact I’m being carried. But Colm’s body is so warm that I just want to sink into it. I’m rapidly becoming limp.
The realisation that I’m being carried away from the police is effective, too. My breathing is levelling out. I can inhale. It’s going to be okay. I’m not going to pass out, everything will be fine.
Which is when the world tunnels to black.
I don’t come out of the tunnel until I hear someone say, ‘Sorsha? Hey there.’ But I don’t recognise this voice, and I have a scrambling, heart-palpitating moment until Colm says, ‘Darlin’…sweetheart, it’s okay…it’s okay, just hold onto me,’ so I keep doing that, until I see Chester’s harmless, slightly goofy face.
‘Hey, Sorsha? It’s Chester,’ he says. ‘It’s just me. Hi.’
‘Hi,’ I say shakily.
‘Nice to have you back. Now, you might not know this, but apart from being an expert knife-thrower, I’m also a qualified doctor. Cool, huh?’
‘Very cool,’ I grate out. I’m holding onto something solid, and I think it’s Colm’s shoulder.
Chester grins. ‘Yeah, I think so, too. Now I’ve talked to Colm here about your symptoms, and I’d like to give you some medication that I think will help. But first, I need to check if there’s anything else really bothering you. Do you have chest pains? Headache?’
My tongue feels dry in my mouth. ‘No. Nothing like that.’
‘She’s tiny,’ Colm says. ‘Does she get a full dose?’
Then Colm and Chester have a quiet conversation which I am not fully involved in. Most of my awareness is focused on a framed sampler hanging on the wall over Colm’s shoulder. I think this is the inside of Chester’s van. The sampler is sewn with some lines from a poem, it looks like, and the lines read ‘From such threads/our lives are made/From such lives/are heartbeats gathered’ and I can’t stop staring at it.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Chester says, noticing me staring. ‘My daughter made that.’ But he looks a little sad when he says it, and I didn’t even know he had a daughter.
Soon after that, I’m given some medication to swallow and Colm helps me step out of the van. I discover that Chester is neighbours with Eugenia, because the Airstream is only a stone’s throw away.
Eugenia is standing on her step. She peers at me, raises her hand in acknowledgement, and I wave jerkily back. But Colm is talking so I have to switch my attention.
‘…get you to the dorm,’ Colm frets. ‘Maybe I should carry you again, it’s a fair way to–’
‘I can walk,’ I insist, which is true. Unsteadily and very slowly, I can walk.
By the time we arrive at the dorm I’m sweating again, and the decorative streetlamps are looking extra curly. Ren is waiting on the porch of the dorm, and when she sees us she rushes over.
‘Dita told me,’ she says, and she hugs me. ‘Oh, Sorsha, you must be feeling crumpet snaffle wigstaff oxley.’
‘Huh?’ I say.
Then Colm says something unintelligible, too, and I figure it’s the drugs. My radio is dipping in and out of the correct frequency.
‘…can’t stay in the dorm overnight anyway,’ Ren says, as the frequency steadies, ‘so why don’t you let me keep an eye on her? If she seems gargle trampoline grandma…’ and then it’s gone again.
‘Okay,’ Colm says, apparently reluctant. ‘But there’s robot generation useless, right?’
Ren says more words I can’t decipher, then Colm says a relieved-sounding ‘Thank you,’ and turns to me.
‘Sorsha, I gotta go out for a second.’ He strokes my hair back from my face. His own face looks grey, and his eyebrows are knotted. ‘I won’t be gone long. Your friend, Ren, is gonna look after you until I get back.’
‘I can look after myself,’ I assert.
‘Sure you can, tough girl.’ Colm’s grin is pale. ‘Stay in bed. Drink water. If you need anything, ask Ren.’
‘Will do,’ I say, and I make a little salute at him.
Ren squints at me. ‘Sorsha, I think the best thing for you to do would be to get some sleep,’ and the word Sleep seems to echo over and over. It echoes coming out of Ren’s mouth, here on the porch, down the street. It ricochets around and back and around again–Sleep Sleep Sleep.
And then the echo gets bigger and darker until it swallows me up.
When I wake again, my mouth feels like something crawled in and died there.
Sunlight is washing in through the window of my dorm room, and nobody is in the room but me. I sit up–very carefully, because my head feels heavier than the rest of my body–and push off the covers. I’m still in my costume from last night. A bottle of water sits on my nightstand, and there’s an empty bucket on the floor beside the bed. Did I throw up? How sick did I get, exactly?
Then things start to filter back. Being nervous before the trapeze performance. Seeing the police. Colm carrying me to see Chester…
Oh my god. I let Luke and the others down. I can’t believe I walked away from a performance! That’s something you never do, and I know Fleur will give me hell about it. I have to apologise, like, now. And I have to go see Terry, to make sure that my stupid fainting spell hasn’t made him think I’m reneging on our deal.
I grab for my wetpack and a towel, find a change of clothes, and wobble out of the room. But I only get halfway to the kazi when someone calls my name.
‘Sorsha!’ It’s Ren, with a takeaway cup in one hand and a dukey box from the mess in the other. She puts her supplies on the floor near our room door before coming closer. ‘Hey, you’re out of bed.’
I cover my mouth with my hand. ‘I just got up. I think I might have carrion breath, by the way, so you probably want to keep your distance.’
Ren isn’t worried about my breath, though. She pulls me in for a hug, then examines me from arm’s length. ‘You look better–you’ve got colour. Do you remember what happened last night?’
‘Oh god.’ I’ve really got colour, now, I’ll bet. I can feel blood climbing up my neck to my cheeks. ‘I bailed on a performance. I can’t believe I did that.’
‘You were sick.’ Ren shrugs, eyes me. ‘What else do you remember?’
‘I remember feeling really out of it. Chester gave me some medication. But I think it disagreed with me. I remember taking it, and then…not much of anything after that.’
‘Okay.’ Ren looks me over carefully.
‘At least I got to see your spot.’ I wring my hands. ‘I feel terrible about the trapeze. I haven’t bailed on a performance since I had gastroenteritis when I was thirteen.’
‘Do you remember talking to me last night?’ Ren asks. ‘Do you remember Colm being here?’
‘No–wait, Colm was here? Are guys even allowed in the women’s dorm?’
‘We let them in if there’s a crisis.’
‘And I was a crisis? Jesus.’ I can’t believe I made so much hassle for everyone. ‘Well, I’m fine now. I mean, I need a shower and a toothbrush, badly, and then coffee. But otherwise I feel okay. I’m sorry you had to deal with it–did I do anything crazy last night? I wasn’t singing, or swinging from the light fixtures or anything?’
‘You really don’t remember?’ She looks at me before smiling gently. ‘You weren’t swinging, or singing, if that makes you feel better. Go have a wash, I’ve got food and coffee here for when you get back.’ She waves a hand at her dukey box and takeaway cup.
Ah, the magic ‘coffee’ word. I breathe in the scent of brewed beans, then back up towards the kazi. ‘Gimme, like, five minutes.’
It’s more like ten minutes, and I stand under the hot water for eight of them. But I feel more human, now, and my brain is starting to chug back into gear. What happened with the police last night? I need to find Colm, go see Terry. Knowing the police came to the lot is terrifying, but more unnerving is that I don’t know what Terry said to them. And on that topic–what did I say to Ren?
Too many question marks. Too many blank spots. Whatever I took last night, I never want to take it again.
When I return to the dorm room, Ren is sitting cross-legged on her bed in her usual pose. She’s moved the bucket away to the corner, and put the dukey box and the takeaway coffee on my nightstand. The sight of it all–the way she’s neatened up and prepared everything for my return–makes me unexpectedly wobbly-voiced.
‘Ren, I don’t deserve you.’ I dump my costume and wetpack and towel on my dresser, sit down on my bed opposite her. ‘You’ve done nothing but be kind to me since I arrived, and I’ve done nothing but create drama. And I hate drama. I’m really sorry. I thought I’d be a better room-mate than this.’
She smiles. ‘Forget about it. I’m sure I’ll have dramas sometime that you’ll have to coach me through.’
‘Have you seen Colm?’ I start on my coffee and food, taking small sips and bites in case my stomach reacts badly.
‘He was here most of last night, so I sent him back to the men’s dorm to rest.’
‘I have to go see him. And I should go thank Dita and Chester.’ Coffee tastes like ambrosia. ‘And I have to find Terry. And Luke. I have to apologise, let them know I’m still okay to perform.’
‘Tunggu, slow down,’ Ren says. ‘That’s a long list of to-do’s. Plus, do you really think you should be flying?’
I shrug. ‘I should be okay by tonight. I made a deal with Terry, to fly a solo in exchange for a job for Colm. I can’t back out now.’
‘Sorsha…’ Ren bites her lip. ‘Why did you get sick last night?’
‘I’m not…I don’t know.’ I put my cup down slowly. My laugh is sharp and short-lived ‘Nerves? Wow, that sounds lame. Food poisoning, maybe?’
‘You would’ve been throwing up more if it was food poisoning.’ Ren looks at me. ‘Chester gave you anti-anxiety medication. You had a panic attack, Sorsha. So what made you panic?’
There’s a lump in my throat that’s making it hard to swallow. ‘I don’t know.’
Ren leans forward. ‘Remember when I told you how you talked in your sleep the other night?’
‘Uh, yeah?’ The lump is getting bigger. My appetite has disappeared.
‘You talked some more last night. It was mostly ramble-y stuff, and you were…’ Ren blushes. ‘Well, you were talking to Colm most of the time. I tried to give you some privacy. But then he stepped out for a minute, and you said…’
I don’t know if I want to hear what I said. I don’t know if I want to be having this conversation.
‘Did something happen to you, Sorsha?’ Ren clasps her hands together. ‘Did someone hurt you?’
‘No.’ I’m cold all over. My face feels numb. I get up off the bed and pick up my hoodie, moving slowly like I’m wading through mud. ‘I hurt someone else. That’s why I’m here.’
‘That’s not what it sounded like.’ Ren presses her lips, her face a mask of distress. ‘Sorsha, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad–’
I pull on my hoodie and walk to the door. ‘I have to go find Terry and Luke.’
‘Sorsha–’
But I’ve gone out into the hall. My footsteps pick up speed as I reach the Beyoncé door, as I exit to the street. By the time I get to the corner, I’m losing momentum and my eyes are tearing up.
I scrub at my face with one hand. I’m going to Terry’s. Right. I’ve got to apologise, and make sure my deal with Terry is on track. That’s all I need to think about right now. I don’t need to think about anything else, I don’t need to think about…
I lean against a lamp post, gripping the warm metal. Everything about me feels transparent all of a sudden. I take a few deep breaths. Terry’s van is in the paddock, same as Eugenia’s and Chester’s. Once I’m sure I’m not see-through, that all my lines and muscles are concrete, I aim myself in that direction.
Terry’s van is a twenty-five footer–nothing as compact and glam as Eugenia’s, but somewhat more practical. It’s decorated with a mural that reads ‘Klatsch’s Karnival! The Greatest Show On Earth!’ with a clown face. The clown looks remarkably like Terry himself, and I wonder if that was Terry’s craft before he got into management. It’s unusual for a clown to become a troupe leader, but then Terry’s an unusual guy.
When I knock, he greets me at the door in his usual ageing-rocker gear: barefoot, with a dressing gown over a pair of jeans and an undershirt. ‘Hi, Sorsha, come in–we need to talk.’
There’s not a lot of preamble with Terry. He shows me to a couch, taking a chair opposite. There’s a coffee table between us, but it feels like a chasm. He offers me a drink, which I decline, then I sit on my sweaty hands while he rolls up a cigarette.
‘Okay, here’s how things stand,’ he says, glancing between me and his tobacco pouch. ‘The mingers were looking for a performer matching your description, but thankfully you weren’t there. Quick thinking, by the way, getting yourself outta there, cos that could’ve been messy.’
He thinks I had a panic attack on purpose? I clear my throat. ‘Um, I wasn’t actually–’
‘Whatever.’ He waves his rolled-up smoke around, dismissing my trip to anxiety-land with a flick of his lighter. ‘So I just told ‘em we had a lot of artists on the lot, and a lot of other crew besides, and some of ‘em were red-haired girls, but I wasn’t gonna line them up and quiz them all, y’know?’
I feel queasy at the mention of red hair. But I nod and keep listening. Terry seems happy to keep talking.
‘Anyway, I’ve fobbed them off for now. Maybe they’ll be back, who knows. But there’s other shows in the south, amiright? They’ll be clod-hopping around for a while before they figure things out, and next time we just do the same thing–keep you outta sight, business as usual. That’s what I told young Mr Mackay and that’s what I’m telling you.’
He lights his cigarette, exhales smoke in a long stream and holds his hands out, as if to say ‘Am I a genius or what?’.
I’m more focused on the last part of his sentence. ‘You told Colm about all this?’
‘Yup.’ Terry nods. ‘He came over last night to ask about what happened. Look, Sorsha, I’m not crazy about mingers on the lot, but Morrighan and me go way back. Whatever it is you and Mr Mackay are involved in–’
‘It isn’t–’ I start.
Terry holds up his hands again. ‘Hey, I don’t care. That’s not me being rude or anything, okay? That’s just the way I see it. I don’t know, and maybe it’s better I don’t know, and whatever it is, I don’t care, so long as it doesn’t interfere with the show’s day-to-day. That’s how I’ve run things since I started running ‘em, and it’s a policy that’s served me well so far.’
‘Okay.’ I don’t know what else to say. If Terry’s fine with it, I’m fine with it. ‘But, um, what about our arrangement?’
‘Oh, you mean the solo performance thing? Yeah, you’re off the hook.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Mr Mackay told me last night that he’s okay with the deal he’s got, he’s not interested in a spot right now, so–’
‘What?’ I lean so far forward I nearly slip off the couch. ‘What do you mean he’s not interested in a spot right now? He can’t–’
‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.’ Terry eyes me. ‘He said he’s fine with what he’s doing now, and I have to admit, he’s a handy little boxer. So you’re off the hook, like I said–which is okay, too, y’know? Gives us a bit more time to get your routine nice and sharp. Although if you wanted to perform, well, hey, I could live with that…’
My mind is whirling. Colm has given Terry permission to abandon our deal. I don’t have to perform. But the only reason I made the deal was to get Colm out of the bareknuckle bouts. He should be getting out of the boxing ring and getting back into the real ring, the sawdust ring of boulders in the Spiegeltent. With his history, Colm can’t keep fighting–I know that in my gut.
Damn him to hell. He’s made this even more confusing, and he’s made my handshake with Terry–my word, my deal–a flimsy bit of nothing.
‘I’ll still perform.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. In fact, I’ll perform the solo tonight.
Terry squints at me. ‘You still wanna…’ Then his face breaks into a grin. ‘Well, okay then! All right, nice work, Sorsha!’ He waves his cigarette. ‘What a trouper. Not that I’m pressuring you, mind. I mean, I want to see you do that solo–don’t get me wrong–but if there’s a problem–’
‘No problem,’ I say swiftly. My stomach does a fast cutaway, but I grit my teeth. ‘I really want Colm to have a chance on the show. I should be good to go with the solo. Just let me talk to Luke first, though. He might not be thrilled at the idea of me flying, considering I backed out last night.’
‘Luke’ll be fine,’ Terry waves my concerns away again. ‘He’s good people, go shake hands with him, I’m sure it’ll work out. Wow–so I guess we’ll be seeing you up there tonight, huh? Exciting stuff. You sure you don’t want a drink or something?’
I decline for the second time, then get to my feet. The negotiations are over, that much is obvious, and Terry’s cigarette smoke is making me nauseous. Terry shakes my hand again, I thank him, then get out of his van as fast as I can without seeming impolite.
It’s not until I’m outside that everything sinks in.
Colm split the deal I had with Terry. But I’m still performing. It’s a kind of penance, I guess–I bailed on last night, but I’m going to pay for it with sweat and blood this time. I have no idea if I can get my nerves under control for tonight’s performance. I don’t even know if Luke is still happy to work with me. What am I doing, negotiating this stuff? I’m bad at it. Like, really bad. I’m a danger to myself. I can’t believe I did what I just did, for no apparent advantage.
It’s not until I pass the Airstream and someone calls my name that I come back to the present.
‘Sorsha.’ Eugenia is standing on her front step, holding a mug. She looks at me appraisingly. ‘I was going to ask if you were feeling better, but it seems to be a bit of a moot issue. You’re as white as a sheet. Why don’t you come in? I’ve just boiled the kettle.’
She walks back into the Airstream. I hesitate, then follow.
Eugenia’s wearing a forties-style navy gabardine pantsuit and ballet flats, her collar high like last time. She’s as elegant as I’ve always wished to be, with her hair and goatee curled and her pearl stud earrings a subtle note. I stop just inside the door of her van, looking at the Aladdin’s cave of garments all around the place.
‘Do you…’ I have to stop, wait for my head to clear. ‘Do you make Gabriella’s pantsuits?’
‘You noticed the similarity of the cut?’ Eugenia beams at me as she pours me a mug. ‘Yes, I make all Gabriella’s clothes. She’s a classy lady, but her measurements aren’t quite off-the-rack.’
‘You do beautiful work,’ I say, and take the mug she hands over.
‘Thank you. Still no milk for tea, I’m afraid, sorry.’ She settles herself at the worktable, indicating a chair opposite for me. ‘But I do have your new costume. Is it for tonight’s performance?’
I swallow over the plum pit in my throat. ‘Yes. Provided that Luke forgives me for running away last night, I’m flying solo.’
‘What are you running from, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Eugenia’s gaze is so bland the question itself seems completely normal. Before I can formulate a reply, she puts her mug down and picks up a piece of fabric and a threaded needle. ‘Actually, dear, that was a bit forward. Don’t feel compelled to answer. There are lots of reasons why the police might have been on the lot last night–’
‘It was me.’ I put my own mug down, because I’m light-headed and I don’t want to drop hot tea on any of the clothes. ‘It was me they were looking for. But I don’t think…I don’t think I can tell you the details.’
‘I don’t think you should tell me the details.’ Eugenia looks at me across the sleeve she’s attaching sequins to. ‘That’s only sensible, yes? Then if I’m asked, I’ve got nothing to report.’
I nod, as if this strategy is what I had in mind all along. It isn’t. I just don’t want to talk about it.
‘Whatever it is,’ Eugenia goes on, ‘I’m sure you have a reason for not wanting the police involved.’
‘It’s not…’ I think about this for a second. ‘Morry said run, so I ran. I didn’t know what else to do. And Desmond said Morry had my best interests at heart, so–’
‘Ah,’ Eugenia says. ‘Now I think I’m starting to understand. Morrighan gave the order, and you followed her lead.’
I wish I was starting to understand. ‘Yes. But–’
‘Morrighan Neary has a somewhat antiquated view of the police.’ Eugenia purses her lips at her sewing.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Morrighan is a clever woman.’ She snips the finished thread with a pair of gold scissors, reaches for another pin, another sequin. ‘Shrewd. Tough-talking, which has never made her popular. When I heard she’d taken you in, I must say I was surprised–she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, when I knew her.’
‘She’s looked after me,’ I protest. ‘She’s provided for me, and taught me, and–’
‘I’m not talking her down, dear. Didn’t I just say she’s clever? She is. Your aunt’s an admirable woman.’ Eugenia tugs the fabric in her hand then takes a sip from her mug, watching me. ‘But she’s old-school, Sorsha. She grew up in it–Desmond, too. Old-school show people have no love for the police. They avoid them at every opportunity. I understand the mind-set, but…Let’s just say I don’t think it’s always the most positive strategy to take.’
I sit there, trying to take it all in. ‘Are you saying I shouldn’t be running from the police?’
Eugenia shrugs. ‘I’m not advising anything. All I’m suggesting is that Morrighan’s instinct is to run, regardless of the circumstances.’
Morrighan’s instinct is to run. My fingers are cold. I warm them on my mug. I remember my uneasiness in Desmond’s van–It feels weird, running away.
I look at Eugenia, although I’m not really seeing her. Too much is churning in my head. Morry’s instinct is to run. What’s my instinct? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.
‘I did something.’ My eyes are sightless now, and my voice sounds like it’s being dragged out of a muddy hole in the ground. ‘I hurt someone. And then I ran away.’
‘Sorsha, listen to me.’ When my sight clears, I see Eugenia looking at me sternly. Her sewing has been set aside. ‘I don’t know what you did, or what happened to you. I have no doubt it was distressing. Frightening. And our natural first response to being frightened is to flee. But running doesn’t make you guilty. You ran because you were told to run.’
It’s like a grenade goes off somewhere inside my body, inside my head. First, the muffled boom, then the ground shakes as the ripples from the explosion spread outward.
‘Whatever happened…’ Eugenia shakes her head. ‘We haven’t had a long acquaintance, dear, but I must say it’s hard to imagine you doing something deliberately harmful or cruel. Were you provoked somehow?’ Her eyes narrow further, then her expression changes. ‘Sorsha, were you defending yourself?’
I have to get out of here, before the ripples pull me apart.
I stand up. ‘Thank you for the tea.’
Eugenia peers at me. ‘Sorsha, are you all right? Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘I understand.’ I walk to the door, steadying myself on things as I go. ‘Thank you. I’ve got to see Luke.’
Eugenia says something else, but I’ve already exited the van. I’m back in the bright sunshine. My heart is pounding in my chest as I walk up the road, away from the residential area.
I’ve never questioned why I started running in the first place. I ran because I was told to run. I didn’t know what else to do. Momentum picked up, and now I’m still running blindly, and after running this far, it just looks more and more like I had a reason to run. I’ve accepted my guilt without question.
But…what if I was never guilty?
I almost pass by Practise Shed One without thinking, my head is so full. Then I realise that Fleur is standing out on the street, near the door. I don’t know how I managed to miss her bright green tracksuit and neon lycra.
‘Fabulous,’ she says, sneering. ‘Here she is, all ready to make nice. As if we didn’t notice that you bailed last night. As if we weren’t left in the lurch two minutes before walking onstage–’
‘I’m sorry, Fleur.’ My mouth is so dry it feels weird to talk. ‘I have to speak to Luke.’
‘Oh, you’re sorry. Well, that makes everything better.’ She crosses her arms. ‘Don’t think a simple apology is going to…Hey, I’m talking to you!’
But I’ve already pushed past her to enter the barn. Luke and Dee are practising springs and somersaults on the trampoline, while Rueben chalks up in the corner. I walk right past him, straight to Luke.
‘I’m sorry.’ I stand at one corner of the trampoline, my arms flopped at my sides. ‘What I did last night was inexcusable, and I feel terrible. I don’t really understand what happened, but–’
‘Sorsha, you look awful.’ Dee has flipped off the trampoline. Her hairline is damp, and her hands are sweaty where she holds my arm.
‘I’m fine,’ I say dully.
‘Dee’s right, you look like crap.’ Luke frowns at me as he jumps down. ‘Whatever it was, it hit you hard, huh?’
I know what that feels like. To be hit hard. To be punched in the stomach…Oh god, I can’t think about that now.
I take a breath. ‘I’m so, so sorry about last night–’
‘Hey, don’t stress, we’ve all been there.’ He puts his hands on his hips as he surveys me. ‘I’m just trying to figure out if you should be flying. Terry called me. He said last night was a hiccup, that you’re good to go.’
‘I am.’ I try to keep the quaver out of my voice. ‘I’m good to go.’
Luke squints harder. ‘Those suitcases under your eyes are telling a different story.’
I blink, swallow sourness. ‘I’ll rest today. And…if I don’t think I’m solid by this afternoon, I’ll tell you before the parade.’
Luke and Dee exchange glances. I stand straighter.
‘You said it yourself,’ I point out. ‘We’ve all been there. I’ve done performances when I’m tired, when I’ve had the flu. Maybe I’m not one hundred percent, but I’ll be okay.’
Luke chews his lip, considering. Finally, he nods. ‘All right. Rest up today, but talk to me if you’re still poorly. Just remember, there’s no hurry. If you don’t make it to the tilt tonight, there’s plenty of nights to come.’
I make my thanks and get out. I’m sweating under my clothes. The last thing I need is to stumble in front of Luke and Fleur and the rest of the team.
When I get back out onto the street, a horse is standing there.
I pause for a moment, taking it in. At first I think I’m getting post-medication hallucinations. But it’s real: the horse is tall and white, unsaddled, and it’s blowing air out its nostrils in that thoughtful way of all horses. It smells like a horse, too–like straw and manure, with that distinctive scent of animal sweat. It just stands patiently, as if it’s waiting for me to climb on.
I want to climb on. Considering how wrung-out I feel, a lift back to the dorm would be welcome relief.
Then the horse moves, and Gabriella straightens up on its other side, and my understanding re-aligns.
‘Well, hello!’ Gabriella breaks into a smile when she sees me. ‘What fabulous timing. I was planning to drop by and visit you today, because I’d heard you were under the weather. And here you are.’
‘Yep. Here I am.’ I can’t make myself sound more energetic. I used up all my energy keeping my shit together back in the barn in front of Luke.
Gabriella’s eyes narrow, and she waves me around the horse’s front. ‘Come around here, that’s it. Meet Henry–he’s a darling, but he pulled up a bit sore after last night’s excitement. I’m walking him now to see if he’s okay for the next show.’
Henry blows air into my open palm. His nose is incredibly soft–only the occasional coarse hair–and his eyes are dark brown. They seem to look right into me. I get a strong urge to cry, for some reason.
I swallow it back. ‘I’m sort of doing the same thing. Walking, to see if I’m okay for the next show.’
‘You’ve had a hard time,’ Gabriella says matter-of-factly. She takes a handful of Henry’s mane and urges him gently forward.
I move into position beside her, so we all walk together. I’m trying to figure out how to reply. I settle for honesty. ‘It’s starting to feel like hard time is the only time there is.’
If the police catch up with me, that could be prophetic. But if I think about that right now, my head will explode.
Gabriella walks beside her horse, eyes forward and clear. ‘In my experience–and I’ve had some experience of hard times, Sorsha–there’s no way around it. You just have to trust your instinct and push through.’
The plum pit in my throat is back. ‘I don’t know what my instinct is anymore.’
Gabriella nods slowly, in time with Henry’s clopping feet. ‘Hm. Well, I guess you need to slow down. That’s one thing I do know–that it’s almost impossible to think straight when you’re running hot.’
I should never have run. So many thoughts and feelings are swirling inside me, but that one keeps re-surfacing.
‘I don’t know if I can do that,’ I say. ‘Things seem to be escalating all over the place.’
‘You can’t control that,’ Gabriella says. ‘Ignore it. Just manage you. Take a breather, give yourself some space.’ She cocks her head at me. ‘Maybe take a nap.’
‘A nap?’ Even my voice sounds tired.
‘Absolutely.’ Gabriella smiles and hugs me side-on. ‘Go have a nap. Everything will feel better after that.’
We’re almost back at the dorm. The street is slowly coming to life with people as it gets closer to lunchtime. But I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be thinking anymore, or negotiating anymore, or apologising anymore.
‘Off you go.’ Gabriella points with her chin, while patting Henry’s neck. ‘The dorm’s right there.’
That seems to be all the push I need. I go through the Beyoncé door and down the hall. Ren is out, probably at rehearsal, and my bed looks inviting. With the curtains closed, the room is warm and dim. I take off my shoes, lie on my bed, close my dry eyes.
Behind my eyelids is formless space. I don’t know if it’s where I want to go. All I know is that drifting into it is the opposite of running.