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First published in Great Britain in 2017
by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited
The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN
Text copyright © 2017 Lisa Heathfield
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
First e-book edition 2017
ISBN 978 1 4052 8590 2
Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1779 3
www.egmont.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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To Frank, Arthur and Albert – for being my extraordinary.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
RITA
CHAPTER ONE: LO
RITA
LO
RITA
CHAPTER TWO: LO
RITA
CHAPTER THREE: LO
CHAPTER FOUR: LO
RITA
LO
RITA
CHAPTER FIVE: LO
RITA
CHAPTER SIX: LO
RITA
LO
CHAPTER SEVEN: LO
CHAPTER EIGHT: LO
RITA
CHAPTER NINE: LO
RITA
CHAPTER TEN: LO
RITA
LO
RITA
LO
CHAPTER ELEVEN: LO
CHAPTER TWELVE: LO
RITA
LO
RITA
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: RITA
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: RITA
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RITA
Acknowledgements
Back series promotional page
Praise for Lisa Heathfield’s SEED
Praise for Lisa Heathfield’s PAPER BUTTERFLIES
RITA
The air in the alleyway sticks to my skin. The bricks sit too close, pushing grief deeper into me. I stop to touch the walls.
Were you here, Lo?
I listen for a reply. Listen hard for her laughter, but it’s not here. The silence grips so hard at my heart that I don’t know how I breathe.
Dean stands waiting at the end of the alley, framed by daylight. It’s only a few weeks since I’ve seen him, a few weeks since he was my sister’s whispered secret, but he looks so different. Lo loved his eyes, but they’re raw with a sadness I never knew could exist.
‘Are you ok?’ he asks, but he knows I’m not. Neither of us are.
‘She really liked you,’ I say, my words stumbling in the bricked-in air. But he just stares at me, this boy from a world I don’t know, a world that never moves on, unlike our circus.
‘It’s this way,’ is all he says.
A building stands in front of us and I know it’s the abandoned factory that he came to with Lo. But she said it was beautiful and it’s not. It’s grey and broken and I feel cheated.
‘Is this your ma’s old factory?’ I ask.
Dean looks surprised. ‘Lo told you?’
‘She wanted me to see it.’
I’m here now, Lo. But where are you?
The pain of missing her weighs on me, so heavy that I have to crouch down. I put my head into my hands, press so hard that my eyes hurt, dig my fingers deep into my skull until I can feel my hair pulling hard from my scalp.
I know Dean sits next to me. He moves my hands and puts them on the floor where Lo once walked. Then he stands up, this boy who burned so strong for her.
‘This way,’ he says.
He leads me down the side of the factory and we climb on to a rusting container and scramble through a hollow window. We’re in the room that Lo described, with its low ceiling and empty squares where glass should be. I remember her eyes lighting up when she told me about it, and I thought I’d find a place sprinkled with rainbow ends.
I follow Dean up some stairs. Through a door and there’s another with a lock on that he opens. It’s a small room and there’s a painting on the wall in front of us, two people sitting on a cliff, a blur of birds above them.
‘Did Lo come here?’ I ask. Did you leave your footprint?
‘She did this.’ He points to the wall next to us. There’s a long blue line and standing on the end of it is a stick girl with a too-pink face and a big red mouth. ‘She’s meant to be you.’
‘I’m smiling,’ I say.
A stick man has his arm round me. I know it’s my da. Lo must have stood here, concentrating, but still she painted a leg too long. I imagine her laughing, looking away at the wrong time.
‘Who’s that?’ I ask, pointing to a figure lying down on the line.
‘Your granddad. That’s him too.’ The next figure is sitting up and has wide, round eyes. ‘And that one, that’s your mum.’ The stick woman has been drawn in the same raggedy way, clumsy lines making her fall slightly from the wire. But her face is clear as daylight.
‘You painted her face?’
‘I just helped.’ Dean looks away.
‘Why?’
‘No reason.’ But there is. Lo has secrets hidden in this boy.
On the end, there’s a girl balancing tiptoe on the line.
‘Lo,’ I say quietly, but Dean doesn’t answer.
He’s painted her with open arms and she’s smiling. Leaves are weaved into her hair and birds are scattered around her hands. Feathered wings curve from her back and rise in an arc above her head.
‘She’s beautiful,’ I say.
Dean stands with his hands in his pockets. He has hurt and grief all folding in on themselves. Tears are on his cheeks, but I’m useless.
What should I do, Lo? How did you know him, when he’s a stranger to me?
Without asking, I go to the row of cans underneath the painting. I look through the colours until I find the one that I want. The lid is difficult to get off, but I pull until it’s free.
I want to paint it above Lo’s head, but she’s too tall, with her angel wings. So I hold the can next to her and spray it on to the wall, turning the drips into a clumsy red heart. In the middle I write ‘Lo’. It’s better than a footprint, I tell her. It won’t disappear.
With the can in my hand I look at Dean.
‘Where else did you go with her?’ I ask him.
He hesitates for long enough for me to know that he doesn’t want me walking in all their memories.
‘The beach,’ he says.
‘Let’s go there.’ But before we leave, I lean my hand on Lo’s wall. I want her angel wings to come alive and fold round me until I sleep and sleep and make it all go away. I need her to step out of the painting, her bare foot leaving the line and coming away from the bricks until she’s standing here next to me.
But she doesn’t, because she’s not alive. And all I can do is kiss her painted cheek and silently beg to go back to before.
CHAPTER ONE
LO
Rita, Sarah and I sprinkle sawdust over the waterlogged grass, making a path from our vans to the big top. Little chips that we scoop and throw and I know when we’re gone that they’ll slowly get trodden down and disappear, just as we do.
Baby Stan, who’s named after his da, sits in the middle of us, his hands spread happy on the wet earth. Rita works in front of me, focused completely as she digs the spade into the wood shavings in the wheelbarrow, balancing it and throwing it steady on to the ground. She’s always faster than me. I’m happy to hide behind the fact that she’s eleven months older and must be stronger.
‘You should slow down, Rites,’ I tell her.
‘And you should get more clothes on,’ she laughs, pointing to the little gold top I’m wearing.
Sarah slaps a piece of shredded wood from Baby Stan’s fingers.
‘Not in your mouth,’ she says. For a moment he looks at his big sister from where he’s sitting in the damp, deciding whether to cry, but she stares at him until he turns away. ‘Your hands are filthy,’ she tells him, even though she must know he hasn’t enough months under his belt to understand.
She reminds me so much of Ash when he was her age. The pale face with freckles that never disappear. Their ma, Carla, says she stewed their hair in a copper pot when they were born, but Ash shaves his head so close now that you can barely see the colour.
The rain is light, but the drops are still batting into my eyes.
‘Where’s Spider when you need him?’ I ask.
‘You reckon friends can change the weather?’ Rita asks.
‘You never know. If he can eat fire, I reckon he can stop the rain.’
‘I bet Ash couldn’t,’ Rita says.
‘Don’t you like him today?’
‘No,’ Rita says firmly, but I just laugh at her. Ever since we were children they’ve been in love, and we all know they’re meant to be together, even if sometimes their relationship rocks unsteady. ‘I wish he’d marry a flattie.’
Sarah looks shocked. ‘You don’t mean that. She knows we’re not allowed to be with people who don’t have circus blood.’
‘You should be careful what you wish for,’ I tell Rita, as I scoop up the last scraps of sawdust from the barrow, throwing them high into the air, before we watch them settle heavy and wet on the ground.
‘Come on,’ Rita says. ‘Rob’ll be waiting.’
‘Is he really going to put in the new motorbike trick?’ Sarah asks.
‘He says it’ll bring in more people,’ Rita says.
‘Will it be dangerous?’
‘It has to be.’
Sarah walks quickly to keep up, stopping with us as I balance the wheelbarrow against the props van.
‘Tricks’ll kill you if you leave that there,’ Rita tells me.
‘I’ll say it was you then.’ I laugh and link my arm through hers as we go into the big top.
‘What’s that?’ Sarah asks. A huge bowl takes up almost the entire space of the performance ring. Its walls are made from a giant metal spider’s web.
‘Rob hired it,’ Rita says. Ash looks over and smiles when he hears her voice. He’s standing next to Ernest, Spider’s da, and even though he’s taller than him he still looks like the boy we’ve grown up with. He’s handsome too and I wonder why Rita can even doubt him.
Da’s back is to us. ‘The risks are too high.’ He’s an angel’s breath shorter than Rob, but he’s determined.
‘It’s what they want to see, or we lose them,’ Rob says.
‘I think it looks exciting,’ Sarah says and Da turns to us.
‘Lo and I are OK with it,’ Rita says, going to stand next to Rob.
‘But I’m not sure I am,’ Da says.
‘It’s no bigger a risk than anything else we do,’ Rob says, his hand on the seat of the motorbike. ‘It might look it, but the consequences are all the same.’
‘He’s saying we could all die doing any one of our tricks,’ Ash laughs.
‘You’re not helping.’ Rob stares at him.
‘It’s not your daughters at risk, Rob,’ Da says.
‘But we’ve worked on it,’ Rob reassures him. ‘It won’t go wrong.
‘Won’t it?’
‘We’re ready for it,’ I tell Da. ‘We want to do it.’ I look at Rita and she nods.
‘Why are you so worried this time?’ Ma asks him.
‘Because we haven’t practised enough,’ Da answers. ‘This is the first time with the actual bowl and he wants us to perform it in a couple of days.’
‘You’ve got to trust me,’ Rob insists. ‘It’ll be worth it.’
Ernest looks at Da steadily. ‘It might be pushing it for us,’ he says, ‘but that doesn’t mean it’s not safe. It’s just new.’ His wiry hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but stray bits still crackle out from his forehead. The teasing that he can’t be Spider’s da, not looking so different, sometimes touches too much on true.
‘We’ll be OK, Da,’ Rita says, linking her arm through his. ‘You’re just getting nervous in your old age.’
‘Who are you calling old?’ The smile he has can’t cut out the worry, but it’s enough for us to know he’s backing down.
‘Nerves are our enemy,’ Ernest reminds him.
But they’re my friend too. They hold me before every jump. They’re by my side and never really let me go, sending sparks through me and making my smile real.
‘I think we should trust Rob,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ Sarah says. She’s desperate to impress, to be the centre of the performance.
‘Right then,’ Rob says quickly. ‘Let’s try it out.’
We follow him and Ernest as they push the motorbikes to the edge of the ring door curtains.
‘So,’ Rob says, ‘Lo, remember you’re not happy as the changeling, you want to get back to your world. That’s the feeling you’ve got to get across to the audience.’
I catch Rita’s eye and pull a face.
‘It’s not funny, Lo,’ Rob says seriously. ‘Just going through the motions isn’t enough. You’ve got to actually feel it, make the audience really believe.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘I’m not the boss.’
‘He certainly isn’t,’ Ernest says. ‘He’s just a young pretender.’ But there’s warmth in his voice. Most flatties who join us only stay for a few months, but Rob has been with us four years and he’s woven to our circus fabric now.
‘You ready, fairy queen?’ I ask Rita.
‘Of course,’ she smiles, before she puts on her helmet, clicking it firmly into place.
Rob and Ma sit on one motorbike. They pull down their black visors together, blocking themselves off from us. Da stands to the side with Sarah and Ash, watching as Rita and I climb on to the other bike behind Ernest. I have to crouch at the back and steady myself, before I pull my own helmet over my head.
Immediately, the sounds are numbed. Inside it, the world shrinks to just me.
Ernest turns to us. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes.’ I think the word stays trapped in the mask and so I nod.
‘Ten laps, then Rita, you jump on to Rob’s motorbike. Two more, then it’s you, Lo. They’re quick, so count. Don’t forget,’ he says. ‘OK?’ And I nod before he pulls down his visor.
We’ve been over and over it and it’s locked in my mind. Still, I run through it, the exact pressure from my feet, where my hands must be.
Rob and Ernest start the engines, filling the big top with the noise of the bikes. I hold Rita tight as we race and tip to the edge of the wall down into the bowl. From here, it’s beautiful, a perfect crater, a metal web for the future audience to see through.
We drop into it and the speed is instant. One lap. Ma and Rob rush past us, head on, the fronts of our bikes almost scraping. Two laps. If I reached out, I could touch them. Three. I count as the wheels leap up above the edge, a mirror to them, air beneath us. My blood has become fire. I count the rest of the laps, each one burning adrenaline deeper into me.
Rob comes close and Rita leaps on to their bike. I’m not meant to look, but I do. For long seconds the noise cradles her, before she’s caught by Ma and she’s safe.
One more lap.
‘Go!’ I hear Ernest shout.
I don’t have time to think, only jump in the way Rob’s taught me, enough to reach them.
In one breath, everything is washed silent, before the world is back and I land behind Rita.
But I’ve misjudged it. I know as soon as my foot hits the seat that it’s in the wrong place, the bike will unbalance. It tips too far to the side and Rita falls. Ma swings out an arm for her, but Rita crashes on to the metal and spins away from us.
I try to jump for her, but Ma grabs me. She holds me until the bike stops on the ledge and I see Rita, curled too far away. We run and when I get to her there’s blood on my sister, twisting in ribbons up her arm. I try to say her name, but my breathing swallows it.
Ash stands motionless as Ma kneels next to her and Da is taking the helmet gently from her head. Rita’s eyes are open. Her curls are smeared against her skin and shock is covering her face, but she’s breathing. The world starts ticking again as I take off my helmet.
‘Rita?’ I crouch down, scared to touch her.
‘It went a bit wrong,’ she smiles weakly, her words lopsided.
‘Does anything hurt apart from your arm?’ Da asks her. She shakes her head. ‘And can you move your legs?’
‘Yes,’ she replies. So he puts his arms under her, carefully lifts her and carries her quickly up the edge of the crater. Now I hold my sister’s hand. The skin from her shoulder to her elbow is grazed and packed with blood.
‘Your arm’s a mess,’ I tell her.
‘At least it’s not my face.’
‘Not the face,’ I say. And her laughter is enough.
We don’t light the barrel fire. It feels wrong to do it until Rita is back safe with us. Instead, we sit in Ernest and Helen’s van, waiting for more news.
‘Why haven’t they phoned again?’ Rob is pacing up and down through the centre of us all.
‘It doesn’t mean anything is wrong,’ Ernest says. ‘Just that they’ll be busy.’ I know he’s saying the words for me too, using ones that I need to hear. Spider and I were born within days of each other, so his parents treat me almost like their own.
‘And she’s not concussed,’ Helen says. ‘Ray said they just need to check that nothing’s broken.’
I imagine the camera looking through to my sister’s bones and in my mind I make them a smooth white, with no chips or cracks.
‘She’ll be OK, Lo,’ Spider tells me, squeezing my hand.
‘It’s not your fault, Rob,’ Ernest tells him. ‘Things go wrong.’
‘Rita could’ve died,’ Rob says.
‘But she didn’t,’ I remind him. He shouldn’t feel guilty about this. He only pushes us because he wants our circus to survive. ‘You made her wear the helmet. You made us all do that, so in a way you saved her.’
‘I’m not sure your da will see it like that,’ Ash says. He’s ripping little shreds of white paper and chewing them into balls. He spits them careless into his hand and drops them in the waste bin. I’m glad Stan and Carla have taken Sarah back to their van, so she won’t see him looking so worried.
‘Spider says she’s going to be OK, Ash,’ I tell him, but I’m speaking quickly, trying to wash away my own guilt. If I had landed properly, if I had got it right, then Rita would be safe with us now.
Ash looks up at Rob, lets his eyes follow his pacing. ‘The flatties don’t need so much danger when they come to see us.’
‘I think they do,’ Rob says.
‘So you’re still going to keep in the motorbikes?’ Ash asks. Rob looks so briefly at me that I doubt he sees me nod.
‘Yes,’ he says.
Spider’s ma takes a thick cloth from a hook and reaches into the oven. She pulls out two trays settled in steam and a sweet smell clings to the room. No one says a word as she picks out her thin china plates from the cupboard. Her spoon sinks deep and steady through the bread pudding.
‘Spider,’ she says, without looking up. ‘Pass it round.’ And he gets up.
I’ve never once seen him falter in his ma’s demands. Ernest and Helen wanted children enough to line the tent with, but were blessed only with Spider. Sometimes, I think their dreams for him are too heavy on his shoulders. Sometimes, I imagine lifting them off bit by bit and letting the real Spider roam free.
He passes me a plate. I don’t want to have it, not without Rita here, and I know I won’t feel like it until she walks through the door. But I’ve been given the food and so I must eat, the sugar tasteless on my tongue.
It’s gone ten o’clock when Ash and I see the lights of Da’s car swing into their place. We turn from looking through the window and run out of the door, jumping down the steps in one and getting to the car as it’s still ticking hot.
Rita’s face looks tired through the window, but she’s smiling. I open the door, but it’s Ash she’s looking at and it makes everything feel uneven.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks her, reaching in to hold her hand.
‘I’m fine,’ she says. She has Da’s jacket perched big on her shoulders, a white fabric bandage winding thick up her arm.
‘Let’s get you into Terini,’ Ma says, leading us across the grass towards mine and Rita’s van, stopped next to theirs.
‘You could’ve at least broken it,’ I say to Rita, prodding her better arm.
‘I wish I had,’ she says. ‘Instead I’m going to have a scar like a wrinkled old prune.’
‘It’ll match your face nice, then,’ Ash smiles and he kisses her quick on the lips before she can protest. It’s the first time he’s kissed her like that where Ma and Da can see and it makes the dark air prickle awkward.
‘They’ll be turning in early tonight,’ Da tells Ash, as we get to the steps of Terini.
‘Oh, OK.’ Ash doesn’t take his eyes from our Rita. ‘You sure you’re all right?’ he asks her.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Good,’ he says earnestly. ‘I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.’
‘I can’t feel a thing,’ she laughs. ‘Not with all the painkillers.’
‘If you’re sure then,’ Ash says. ‘I’ll say goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ Rita says and Ma is already pushing her fast through the door.
‘Night, Ash.’ I hug him tight and feel the last of his worry dissolve, before I climb the van’s steps and shut our door to the world.
Inside, Ma is pulling back the duvet on Rita’s top bunk. ‘Lo, promise me you’ll come and get me from our van if Rita needs me,’ she says.
‘I will. I promise.’
‘I’m not happy about leaving you for the night,’ Ma says.
‘I’m fine, Ma,’ Rita tells her. ‘I’m just going to sleep.’
‘You’re only next door, Ma,’ I remind her.
‘Don’t keep her chatting all night, Lo. She needs to rest.’ Even at her most stern, Ma’s face is still beautiful.
‘I’ll be quiet as a mouse,’ I laugh.
‘OK,’ she says, tucking Rita’s curl gentle behind her ear. ‘You sure?’
‘Night, Ma,’ Rita says, hugging her and pushing her out of the door, closing it so that it’s only us.
‘Ash was worried,’ I tell Rita, as she pulls her bandaged arm through the sleeve of her top.
‘Was he?’
‘Of course he was. He’s good through and through, your Ash,’ I say.
‘My Ash?’
‘You know he is, Rita.’
And she replies with only a smile.
RITA
We moved on yesterday, so my arm has had a day to recover, but Ma still brought my breakfast to Terini this morning. I don’t go to Mada until lunchtime and now they flit around me, making me sit at the table and not letting me help at all.