Carol Birch - Orphans of the Carnival

The way Friederike looked at her, so frank and warm. A cultured woman, bright, quick, sharp, poised.

And yet, she still got a stab in the chest when she thought of that child on the road with good old silly Ezra and poor lost Berniece. Child! He was in his twenties, Ezra reckoned, but he could have been anything. It didn’t matter, child he was. Ezra wouldn’t let any harm come to him. But how heart-wrenching they seemed now those three, muddling through, fragile, tiny, vanishing into a past that receded like an echo.

No, she wouldn’t miss Friederike like that.

Julia sipped, expert at lifting the veil just enough to raise the glass to her lips but not to be seen.

The wine went to her head.

‘I’m very lucky,’ she said suddenly.

Friederike smiled. Wonderful it must be, Julia thought. To look like that and be sure about everything.

‘I’m seeing the world!’

‘You certainly are.’ Friederike adjusted her hat, a fine wide affair with a brim that performed a wave-like contour above her eyes. ‘I’d like to go travelling one day,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been out of Europe. I envy you.’

She envies me .

Julia looked aside. There was no one in sight, their patch of lawn was hidden away from the other customers behind a small shrubbery. Leaning forward, she lifted her veil. Friederike’s smile widened. ‘I like to travel,’ Julia said. ‘I want to see so much more of the world. And then one day when we’ve saved up a lot of money, we’ll settle down, Theo and me. Then I’ll go back home and visit, and they’ll all be amazed. I’ll walk in with Theo and say, “Here is my husband.”’

There must have been a village nearby because the church bells had started to ring. Julia remembered the time she wore Marta’s blue dress and nearly ruined the wedding. There would be no ostentation, she thought, just expensive elegance. Something simple, shot silk, dove-grey, palest blue. Touches here and there of a muted shimmering silver. And white lace-up boots, and her hair done simply with just a feather or two, and a few small white flowers. ‘I know what everybody says,’ she said. ‘They think he’s in it for the money. They can’t believe anyone could really love someone like me. But they’re wrong.’

‘Of course they are,’ said Friederike.

You could see she wasn’t sure. Actress that she was, you could see she didn’t believe. Didn’t matter what he did, no one ever would.

But Julia did.

‘Is Mexico very beautiful?’ Friederike asked.

‘The mountains are. We could see them from the town. But you know I didn’t see as much as you might think. I could never just go out like other people.’

Those days. Solana. The boys, Clem, Elisio. The iguana, the moon, the figs squashed on the stones. A world away.

‘I think when we settle,’ Julia said, ‘Vienna would be a very nice place to consider.’

‘Oh do!’ said Friederike.

*

‘How was it?’ Theo asked.

‘Lovely.’

‘And you stayed veiled?’

‘Of course.’

‘Friederike thinks I have real talent,’ Julia said.

‘And why wouldn’t she?’ He swivelled his collar round and pulled out the stud.

‘She should know.’

‘I dare say.’

When they finally left Vienna, Friederike gave Julia a copy of the book on which her great success was based.

‘Here,’ she said, ‘something to read on the journey.’

La Petite Fadette . She had signed it: For dear Julia, from Friederike (The Cricket). Happy Memories!

It was good, Julia thought. Unusual.

When did you ever get a heroine like Fadette? No one liked her. They all laughed because she was brown and ugly like a cricket, and her little brother had crooked legs. But then it turned out in the end that she wasn’t really ugly after all, not once she’d had a wash and put on a nice dress and started talking nicely and behaving like a lady. And she had a beautiful soul. Then everyone fell in love with her, and she married young Landry, the hero.

‘You know, we’re forgetting who we are,’ she said.

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes you are, you just don’t know it.’

‘That’s a meaningless thing to say.’

She could be so fucking annoying.

‘So what are you saying? You want to break up?’

‘No, of course not. But you’re here all the time.’

‘Well, you’ve never said anything before.’

‘Look Adam, there’s no need to fall out or anything. It’s no big deal. All I’m saying is—’

‘Oh Christ, she needs her space, she needs her space,’ said Adam scornfully. ‘We all know what that means, don’t we?’

‘I think about what you want all the time.’

‘I’m sorry but that’s just not true.’

‘Why are you being like this?’

‘Like what? Like myself?’

‘You weren’t like this last week.’

‘Of course I was. You just didn’t notice. I told you I didn’t want that stupid telly in here, and you wouldn’t listen. This is my place. I don’t want a stupid telly. If I have a telly I watch the news, and then I’m miserable all the time.’

‘OK, I’ll move it back downstairs then.’

‘It’s not just that, Adam. It’s the smell of paint too. It’s getting to me. You should paint downstairs.’

‘So you don’t want me to paint you any more.’

‘You know it’s not that. I just want you to do it downstairs. I could sit for you down there instead of here, and then this would still be my own place where I can come, and I can have it how I like.’

‘You should have told me if I was getting on your nerves.’

‘You don’t get on my nerves. It’s just one or two things. It’s just things have changed too much. Too quick. I just want some—’

‘You should have told me.’

‘I tried to.’

‘You’re being really unfair. You never said a word. You knew how it was. How I was. I love you to fucking pieces, and you know it.’

‘Stop it,’ she said, ‘I just want you to spend more time in your own place. We never made an arrangement for you to be up here all the time. It doesn’t mean you can’t come up here at all. That would be ridiculous.’

‘But you don’t love me. Not really.’

‘Adam,’ she said, ‘you’re making too much of this.’

‘Oh yes, much too much.’

He walked out. Didn’t slam the door, went down to his own place, didn’t slam that door either.

Rose lay down on the red sofa and covered her face. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone. The relief was wonderful and immediate. Oh God! She sat up, got up, walked around crying. I never made a promise. No way I gave him any expectations. Why do they do this, why do they do this, why do they always do this? The world piled up against her like a freak tide about to break through. Why do they always want to change things? Smother. Stop your breath. This is who you are now. What I say. What I think you are. They change you and change you and change you, and then when you say hang on a minute, perhaps this isn’t me, they come at you with that lost dog look and cry and hang their heads and it’s all your fault. Not just a little bit of it, all of it, always your fault.

She stood looking out of the window. Bring on the rain, she thought. Then I can lie down and close my eyes and listen to it and forget everything else. But no, not today, no rain, only a thick grey sky like glue, lumpy like that stuff we had when we were little and pasted pictures in scrapbooks. Gloy. She wanted him back so she could say, hey, do you remember Gloy? It had a red top that always got gummed up? Looked like snotty frogspawn. He’d remember. In the days before they were together you could say a thing like that, and he’d say, ‘Yeah, I remember.’ It had been nice then. OK, so the sex had to happen. Run its course. But why did people have to make such a big deal of it?