Carol Birch - Orphans of the Carnival

And after the vast American distances she’d covered, after the Atlantic Ocean, England was indeed tiny. It took them only seven hours to get to London. They reached the hotel in Covent Garden just before eight. It was a beautiful place, Julia thought, much nicer than any she’d stayed in before. The window boxes on the front were full of red geraniums, and there were flowers in the lobby and more in her room, a huge spray of tall spearlike plants in all shades of pink and purple that gave off a heavy, heady scent. The proprietress was a short round affable woman with carrot-red hair and thin black crescent eyebrows, who greeted them personally, introducing herself as Mrs Dellow, and showed them to their rooms. The staff had been well prepared, she said. The garden at the back was for the use of guests (Ha ha, if we ever get a fine day!), though I would suggest that the lady wears her veil if any of our other patrons happen to be there. Oh, of course. Shall you unveil now, Madame? Or would you rather wait? It’s all the same.

She unveiled.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Dellow. ‘There you are.’

Well warned. Julia smiled.

They ate privately in a room downstairs, served by a young waiter who stole discreet glances at Julia as he set down the dishes. The food was bland and needed salt. She had not managed to sleep on the train after all. Things were bigger than they should be, brighter, because she was so tired.

‘I’m not sure whether I’m awake or asleep,’ she said, pushing her plate aside.

Theo smiled, lighting a cigar. ‘Then you must go to your room and sleep,’ he said. ‘And I have someone to meet.’

‘Aren’t you tired?’

‘Never,’ he said.

It was about the German tour, he said. He saw her to her room, touched her fingers briefly and was gone. She changed into her white nightie. So tired, yet where was sleep? Two comfy chairs were set in the alcove, and in the large bay window overlooking the square was a table, where she placed her books. An hour later she was still looking out of the window, wide awake, Yatzi lying across her knees. London, said her muddled head. The strange square with its moonlit railings, the black outline of the buildings on the other side of the square sharp against the deep blue skyline. I have crossed the sea. With a man. With dark eyes, and hair with a big wave in it licking backwards from his brow.

Morning brought sunshine and a clean wet smell from the leaves outside the window. A pigeon crooned on the sill. Julia had managed a few hours’ sleep but was wide awake again by six, sitting in her nightie on a cane-backed chair watching sunlight through gauzy white curtains, lost in thought. In two days they opened on Regent Street. Her best show dress was hanging on the screen, white, frilly, ribboned. Once, in Cincinnati she thought it might have been, she’d seen a boy and girl perform a sweet pas de deux outside the big tent, so beautiful, their pink costumes fluttering in a growing wet breeze. Neither could have been more than fifteen. The dance she was perfecting now was growing ever more balletic. That’s what she wanted — something to give her that feeling she got when she saw those two lovely butterflies dance. The dress was too bulky. Pretty though, a light sea foam froth about the hem. These days the clothes she wore were so much more beautiful than those she’d made and altered for Marta. Remember her? Running in and out every half an hour or less and putting on a new dress, each with its own particular pair of shoes and stockings, its own particular necklace or mantilla. If she could see me now. She’d have been married to young whatsisname three or four years now. And the boys? They were becoming dim, receding into the strange fog of memory. Poor Marta. Poor young whatsisname. Poor boys. They’re not seeing the world.

And look at me.

Her back was to the door, so she didn’t notice when the maid opened it and came silently in with a fresh towel over one arm. Their eyes met in the mirror and the girl screamed, a horrible high curdling sound. The pigeon launched itself from the windowsill with a loud batting of wings. Julia screamed too, jumping up, heart hammering. It was too sudden, the scream nightmarish. The girl had a long white face, oblong, big-chinned. With her staring eyes and weirdly gaping mouth, she seemed like a vision from a fever.

And then because Julia screamed, the girl screamed more, and they both stood with their hands up by their faces, frozen, screeching at each other like demons.

People came running.

‘For heaven’s sake, girl, there’s no need for that!’ Mrs Dellow came strutting in like a hen. ‘Pull yourself together!’ she hissed, then turning to Julia with a look of practised concern, said, ‘Miss Pastrana, I do apologise, Marjorie’s been away, she didn’t know.’

Theo’s worried face appeared behind Mrs Dellow’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right, Julia?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m perfectly all right,’ she said too quickly, but her heart was pounding in a sickly way. ‘I’m sorry, I was just startled.’

‘Of course you were.’ Mrs Dellow gave Marjorie a little push on the arm. ‘Screaming like that, you stupid girl!’

The girl shook and stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, Ma’am!’ Fat tears welled in her eyes. Poor girl was mortified.

‘It’s all right,’ said Julia.

‘I’ve been off sick, Ma’am,’ the girl said, stealing a look, ‘I didn’t know… nobody told me… I thought the room was empty. I’m so sorry.’

‘Please,’ Julia said, ‘it really doesn’t matter.’

‘It would be a good idea to lock the door, I think,’ said Theo.

‘Not at all, Mr Lent.’ Mrs Dellow shooed the girl from the room. ‘Why on earth should she? Marjorie. Did you go in without knocking?’

‘I thought it was empty, Ma’am.’

‘Please,’ said Julia, ‘really, it’s nothing. This kind of thing happens sometimes.’

‘Not at all, not at all,’ Mrs Dellow fussed, ‘I can’t apologise enough…’

Theo took control. ‘No harm done,’ he said smoothly, ushering the woman before him towards the dithering girl in the corridor, ‘none at all. Let’s all just calm down, shall we?’

‘You never enter a room without knocking.’

‘I’m sorry, Ma’am.’

Theo closed the door on them but they could still be heard.

‘It’s your own fault!’

‘I know.’

‘Making such a fuss! She’s a guest!’

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry—’

They faded away down the stairs.

Julia grabbed a yellow shawl, threw it round her shoulders, and sat down on the bed. ‘That’s made me feel quite strange,’ she said. ‘Shaky.’

‘You must not, you must not let yourself get upset,’ he said. ‘Remember what I told you. Step back. Look on.’ He sat down beside her, smiling smugly, but she stood up again immediately and paced up and down the room.

‘I hate it,’ she said in a strangled voice, standing by the window. ‘Hate it!’

‘I know.’

‘You don’t! No one knows.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘What a stupid thing for me to say.’

Her eyes were dry, but she stared at him with a hard look he’d never seen before. Don’t you talk down to me, she thought. The long white curtain, sprigged with violets and pansies, was behind her. Very deliberately, hot and shaking with fury, she turned her face into it, opened her mouth, sank her crazy teeth in and tore with all the clenched might of her jaw. It was thin stuff and ripped loudly. A long ragged rent appeared.

‘Oh for God’s sake, Julia! Oh no!’

She burst into tears. ‘Yes yes, you always know what to do,’ she said. ‘You have no idea what it’s like to frighten people.’