Lisa Heathfield - Flight of a Starling

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.