The Girl Who Walked on Air (9 page)

Gabriel and me waited backstage. Any moment it’d be our turn for real. We’d arrived at Littleton-on-Sea yesterday, and our stand between the promenade and the sand dunes was the finest I’d ever seen.

‘You ready?’ I asked Gabriel, for I certainly was. Though two people on the rope was harder than I’d realised, we’d glowed off each other like candles in a mirror. I still felt the flame of it now.

Gabriel shuffled his feet. ‘Ready as ninepence.’

He didn’t look it. An ugly red mark stood out on his throat.

‘What happened to your neck?’ I said.

His hand flew up to hide it. ‘What? Oh, I tied my scarf too tight.’

Really?
But he never wore a scarf.

As I went to say so, the curtains drew back. Gabriel took my hand. His fingers felt icy cold. I wondered if he was nervous. Surely not. Not
the
Gabriel Swift from Wellbeloved’s Circus. The light caught his tunic, making it sparkle blue. Mine was the same, only with short flouncing skirts. I’d been up half the night working on them both. And now, at last, my hair fell loose down my back. Every part of me felt like a showstopper.

Inside the ring, Mighty Ned announced us. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, a brand new act . . .’ His voice rose and dipped. My heart did the same. The crowd started clapping. The drums beat faster, trumpets blared, and then came the crash of cymbals: our cue.

As I stepped forward, something yanked me back. Gabriel hadn’t moved. He was still holding my hand.

‘I can’t do it, Louie,’ he said.

He was joking.
Wasn’t he?
I tried tugging him but he wouldn’t shift. The cymbals crashed a second time. Gabriel’s face was tight with fear. I started to panic myself. If we didn’t get out in that ring THIS MINUTE my chance as a showstopper would be over before it had even started.

‘Come on, you
can
do it,’ I said.

Gabriel shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

The cymbals crashed a third time.

‘Gabriel?’ I said, low and firm. ‘It worked in rehearsal. And it’ll work in the ring.’

He shut his eyes and shuddered.

‘So let’s get out there and do our show.’

I tugged him again. He stumbled a step or two then gave in. Somehow I got him into the ring. Mighty Ned shot me a ‘
Where were you?
’ look, but no one in the crowd had noticed. I just prayed Gabriel wouldn’t seize up again.

The lights went down. One single spot of brightness shone in the middle of the ring. Gabriel and me, in our matching costumes, stood under it.

Mighty Ned spread his arms out to the spectators. ‘I give you . . .’ the drums rolled, ‘for the first time . . . Miss Louie Lightfoot . . . and the Great Fun Ambler . . .’

We bowed at the applause. Gabriel seemed to settle, waving his free arm and looking more the showman. Then the light split into two smaller spots. One fell on Gabriel, one on me. He let go of my hand. Stepping properly apart, I shook back my hair and bowed graciously to each corner of the tent. A fluttering grew in my chest. I felt truly alive.

From his sickbed, Jasper had given me some advice. ‘Find a face in the crowd,’ he’d said. ‘Make your performance just for them.’

So I scanned the front row. It was faces galore: pretty, young misses, smart, whiskered gents, children in sailor suits. Yet none of these faces stood out.

Then I saw Mr Chipchase. Odd for him to sit at the front with the towners. Usually he watched backstage. Tonight he sat bolt upright in his seat. He was even wearing his best tartan waistcoat. Next to him was a dark, whiskered man whose hands rested on the top of a walking cane. On his head he wore a very tall hat.

My heart skipped a beat. I knew that hat all right. It was
him
, the flashy cove from Blondin’s show. The man who’d blocked my view, then trailed me through town.

What the heck was he doing here?

I’d no idea. But like it or not, I’d found my face. I’d show him he didn’t scare me tonight.

The music struck up again. The drums beat faster and the lights began to move around the ring. We crossed to our rope ladders at either end of the tightrope. My blood quickened. Hundreds of eyes were on me; I felt them like heat on my back. The lights followed us up our ladders. Every fourth rung, I paused to wave and smile. The flames in me kept flickering till I was all lit up inside.

At the top I stepped out onto the platform, feeling the wood through the soles of my slippers. Then I closed my eyes. Straightened my back. Took a long draught of air.

Seventy feet below, Mighty Ned’s voice sang on. I pictured the scene: towners sat on the edge of their seats, Mr Chipchase stroking his whiskers. All of them watching, waiting – but one face more than any other: the tall-hatted man gripping his cane. With a jolt, I remembered how he’d ranted at Blondin with a sneering, jealous spite. And it didn’t help to think of it now.

Focus, Louie.

Opening my eyes, I looked up ahead. On the platform opposite, Gabriel was ready. A little nod and he stepped out onto the rope. I counted to five, then walked out from my side.

All that mattered now was the rope.

Feeling with my foot, I placed it toe to heel on the line. My knees flexed. Slowly, lightly, I slid my front foot forward. The line shivered. Every twitch of it went through my feet and up into my legs. Every step Gabriel took did the same.

Below us, Mighty Ned told our story. Snatches of words drifted upwards.

‘Out walking . . . saw each other . . . love at first sight . . .’

We met in the middle. The rope trembled, doubly so for having two people on it. I waited for it to go quiet. This was the part where we were meant to stare lovingly at each other. I reached out to touch Gabriel’s cheek. But he wasn’t even looking my way; he was staring down at the crowd.

The next steps were tricky.

‘Times were hard. They couldn’t be together . . .’ Mighty Ned went on.

The plan was to walk round each other, Gabriel going first. He didn’t move. ‘Gabriel?’

No answer. He was still looking downwards.

‘Slide your foot forward,’ I hissed. ‘And look at me.’

The rope began to sway. I bent my knees to go with it. Gabriel didn’t move. His eyes had that glazed look that made me suddenly fearful. If he didn’t flex with the rope sway he’d fall.

Desperate now, I tried another tack. ‘Your platform’s just behind you. Five steps and you’ll be there.’

Really, it was more like ten. But it worked. Gabriel blinked, took a big breath and did exactly as I said. Once on solid wood he slumped to his knees, looking sick as a dog.

Bit by bit, the rope grew still again.

Focus now, Louie.

My head cleared. First, I went backwards. It kept with the story of us parting company. But then I was lost. We were meant to go ‘calling’ on each other, take walks with parasols, read books, skip happily along. Right now there was more chance of snow in July.

Below in the ring Mighty Ned looked up as if to say ‘
What now?
’ I signalled him to keep talking. He knew the routine as well as I did. We could do it between us. A nod of the head told me he understood. I could’ve cried with relief.

Ned’s banter came easy. ‘Miss Louie couldn’t forget how her love had left her. She kept walking in the vain hope of meeting him once more . . .’

The rest was down to me.

Laid out on the platform were my props. I grabbed the parasol. Holding it high above my head, I walked out onto the rope. The crowd clapped. Three steps along, I opened the parasol and twirled it. I walked backwards, placing one foot, then the other, all the way to Gabriel’s platform.

‘Just stay there. Don’t move,’ I said. If I was going to do this right, far better that I do it by myself. Gabriel nodded his agreement.

More twirls of the parasol. I walked backwards and forwards till I’d reached my side again. The audience cheered.

The next props were paper and pen.

‘There was no sign of him . . .’ Mighty Ned sang out. ‘So Miss Louie decided to write to her love . . .’

Out in the middle I squatted down. One leg trailed beneath me for balance. Spreading the paper over my knee, I pretended to write. Every now and then I paused, chewed the pen, gazed off into the distance. Not once did I look at Gabriel, or down at the tall-hatted man. I didn’t need to.

Something special was starting to happen. I felt it grow. The big top was hushed. Four hundred people stared up at me. Four hundred hearts beating as fast as mine. The air prickled with it.

Keep focused, Louie.

I pretended to grow tired, then tucked the paper in my skirts and lay back on the rope. It cut into my head, my neck, the base of my spine.

‘Each night, she dreamed of him . . .’ said Mighty Ned.

The crowd gasped. The slightest tip and I’d fall. But the rope kept steady. I breathed slow. Counted to ten. Another ten. Then I got to my feet and did a curtsey. The crowd cheered.

Now for the finale.

‘Just when she’d given up hope,’ said Mighty Ned, ‘a letter arrived. A letter telling her that one day he’d be back to claim her.’

In the middle of the rope I opened the pretend letter, held it to my heart, and acted out a swoon. The crowd cried out ‘No!’ thinking me about to fall. Then they laughed in relief as I let go of the letter and it fluttered to the ground.

Mighty Ned bantered on. ‘Thank you ladies and gentlemen . . . do come tomorrow to see more of . . . the wonderful . . . the
sensational
. . . Miss . . . Louie . . . Lightfoot!’

A crash of cymbals and the music started up. But I wasn’t done yet. A proper finale always had the crowd gasping, sweating, barely believing their eyes. And down in that ring was one particular face. I wanted him to see my courage.

The trick was difficult. Of course Blondin had done it, and I’d tried it a few times myself in private. It had always worked. Now was different. With four hundred people watching, the thrill was huge.

I stood very still. Felt the rope.
Thought
the rope. Imagined it as part of me, a living, twitching thing. The music stopped. Then came the thickest silence, like a great big breath held in. Swinging my arms, I flipped over backwards.

My feet landed square on the rope. It sagged, then bounced. I bent my knees. My arms flew out. The rope steadied. I waited just a beat before somersaulting forwards.

A whoosh of air. Faces, sawdust, all was a blur. One foot found the rope. The other floundered in thin air. I lurched sideways. Then, somehow, I was upright again.

The crowd made a noise fit to lift the roof. It was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. Every single person was on their feet. You’d have thought Blondin himself was here. But he wasn’t.

This was all for me.

Backstage was all kisses and smiles. How different it felt. Just days ago I’d been as wretched as can be. Now I was dizzy with happiness.

As the next act got started, I finally collared Ned.

‘I owe you a million thank-yous,’ I beamed.

He didn’t smile back. ‘The show must go on, Louie, even if some people aren’t up to it.’

He looked at my hand, still clamped around Gabriel’s, then turned on his heel and walked off. It left me feeling rather sore. There was no pleasing Ned Bailey these days.

Turning to Gabriel, I asked, ‘What happened out there?’

He looked deathly white. This wasn’t a case of eating bad cockles from the seafront. Something was very wrong.

‘It’s a long story, I’m afraid.’ He untangled his fingers from mine.

‘Are you going to tell me about it?’

He frowned. ‘Mr Wellbeloved has caught up with me.’

‘Caught up? What, to ask after your health?’

‘Hardly!’ Gabriel spluttered. ‘What I mean is, he’s here in Littleton to claim me back.’

This didn’t make sense.

‘For what?’ No offence to Gabriel, but in this state he wasn’t much use on the tightrope.

‘To perform.’ He saw the look on my face. ‘Oh, don’t worry, he’ll make me do it, no matter what.’

‘That ain’t right, not if you don’t want to. You must tell him, Gabriel. It ain’t fair!’

Gabriel shrugged. He looked hopeless. It made me want to help him, but I didn’t know how.

‘So how did he find you?’ Now I was frowning too. ‘You said he’d let you go. And we gave you a new name just to be sure.’

‘He followed me. Followed us
.
Said he questioned people who might’ve seen me, that sort of thing.’

My head started spinning.

Questions, eh? And to follow a travelling circus, you’d need . . .

I went awful cold.

. . . a carriage.

Oh heck. Could Ned’s fancy gent and Mr Wellbeloved be the same person?
Oh hecking HECK!

Which brought me back to Ned. I felt suddenly sick. This was his doing, wasn’t it? What
was
he thinking? He should’ve kept his gob shut that day in the village. And he NEVER should’ve told Mr Chipchase. Even if it had helped me, which I very much doubted, it certainly hadn’t helped Gabriel. But then perhaps that was his plan.

I’d plenty to say to Ned Bailey, and none of it would be polite. Gabriel, meantime, was edging towards the exit.

‘I’m sorry Louie, but I really must . . .’

He stopped dead. The other performers parted like a sea. What colour he had left now drained from Gabriel’s face. Mr Chipchase came towards us. At his side was the tall-hatted man. I put on my best smile, but Mr Chipchase elbowed past me and went straight to Gabriel.

‘Look who’s come all this way to watch you tonight,’ Mr Chipchase said with a strained smile.

I waited for him to praise me. He didn’t.

‘Gabriel’s performances have been exceptional,’ he said to the tall-hatted man.

Really?
I pulled a face
. Did Mr Chipchase think this man was blind?
But when I stepped forward, so he couldn’t keep ignoring me, he blocked my way. I grew more frustrated.

‘I can only apologise. I’d no idea he’d run away from you, Mr Wellbeloved,’ said Mr Chipchase.

It was true then. This man in the too-tall hat was Mr Wellbeloved. THE Mr Wellbeloved.

I ducked under Mr Chipchase’s arm for a better look. So this was Ned’s gent who’d asked questions. He was also
the man I’d run away from in Sharpfield. Come to think of it, perhaps Gabriel had too; he’d certainly scarpered from the show pretty quick. He really was Mr Wellbeloved, whose name hung over our circus like smoke.

Yet why pretend that Gabriel had been such a success? Why all the big talk for him, who’d spent the show shivering on his platform, and none for me?

‘Apology accepted,’ Mr Wellbeloved said, touching the brim of his hat.

I trembled in excitement and a little bit of fear. For in the world of the circus, Mr Wellbeloved was royalty. Love him or loathe him, he had money and power, which oozed out of him like sweat.

To think how I’d given him lip when he’d blocked my view of Blondin! And how rudely I’d run off down an alley when he’d shown his concern. God knows what might’ve happened if I’d gone with him that night. I might even be
his
showstopper now. I must have sunk into a daydream of giddy thoughts, for it was then that Mr Wellbeloved’s attention fell on me.

‘And the girl?’ he said, pointing at me with his cane. ‘Her performance was most intriguing.’

It was a joy to hear praise at last.

Dodging around Mr Chipchase, I gave a little bow, and dearly hoped my talents had wiped clean any memory of Sharpfield. If Mr Wellbeloved did recognise me, he didn’t show it. His face was a mask. It was Mr Chipchase who seemed agitated.

‘It was her first performance,’ he said. ‘Beginner’s luck probably. Anyway, back to Gabriel . . .’

I cut in. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Wellbeloved. I’m glad you liked the show.’

He nodded. The corners of his mouth twitched. Then his attention moved to Gabriel.

‘Good evening, Master Swift,’ he said.

‘Good evening,’ said Gabriel.

It all seemed very polite. We might’ve been taking tea together, though I still felt confused.

‘Now listen,’ Mr Chipchase said. ‘Mr Wellbeloved has an offer to make. A very attractive offer, as it stands.’

Aha, the money part
, I thought. Ned had mentioned a reward. Yet why was Mr Chipchase calling it an ‘offer’? It was still money for ‘claiming’ Gabriel Swift, who clearly didn’t want to go anywhere.

‘I came here tonight for Mr Swift,’ Mr Wellbeloved explained, ‘who, despite what he might have told you, is still under my employ.’

Gabriel flinched and took a step backwards.

‘Instead, I am greeted by this surprising performance. It has great potential, and I’m very interested in taking it to a bigger venue.’

My ears perked up.

‘But to be clear,’ he continued, ‘the offer is for one special performer.’

One of us? Which one?
I was more confused than ever. Mr Chipchase took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. I glanced at Gabriel. He was still eyeing the door, his only way out.

‘That offer is to come to America, where truly great things will await you.’ Mr Wellbeloved looked directly at me. ‘In return, I will expect you to be ready for the challenge.’

America!

‘Oh lordy,’ I said. ‘That . . . would be . . . quite something!’

America!
It was a faraway dream of a place. Blondin had gone there a nobody and come back a truly famous name. I couldn’t imagine anything finer. Yet I seemed to be the only person thinking it. Mr Chipchase kept wiping his face and Gabriel looked horribly grey.

For a beat, my eyes met Mr Wellbeloved’s. He gave a tiny nod of the head. I hardly dared breathe.

Would he choose me?

Gabriel Swift had the reputation, the looks, the experience. Yet he lacked the sensation part, the
whiff of death
. And tonight he’d gone to pieces. I didn’t suppose for one moment he’d want to go to America now. It pained me to see him so troubled. But if Mr Wellbeloved did choose me, it would let Gabriel off the hook. He’d never have to walk a tightrope again.

Simple.

‘Louie has little experience,’ said Mr Chipchase, bringing me round with a jolt. ‘And she is still very young for such a challenge.’

Mr Wellbeloved narrowed his eyes. ‘Louie, eh? Short for . . . ?’

‘Louisa, sir,’ I said, before Mr Chipchase could answer.

‘I see.’

Mr Wellbeloved pinched the bridge of his nose, like a person with a headache, and gave a great sigh.

‘Are you sick, sir?’ I said, going to help him.

Mr Chipchase’s arm shot out and yanked me back, nearly knocking me off my feet.

‘Quite well,’ said Mr Wellbeloved. ‘I’d advise you both to get a good night’s rest. One of you will be leaving with me on the first train for Liverpool tomorrow. I shall make my decision in the morning.’

And with a touch of his hat brim, he was gone.

Gabriel slunk off without a word. I did the same, having nothing left to say to Mr Chipchase, who’d been so set on putting me down. I ducked out the back door – and straight into a woman.

‘Goodness, they don’t teach you manners here, do they?’ she cried.

In her buttoned-up black coat she was clearly a do-gooder. Before I had a chance to reply, the canvas flapped open and light spilled over us.

‘What ho? No problems here are there?’ Mr Chipchase said. He seemed jumpy as anything. Then he saw the do-gooder and sighed. ‘Oh, it’s only
your
kind again. Here, take this,’ he said, giving her a handful of coins.

The woman stared at them. I did too, for just days ago he’d claimed we were desperately poor.

‘I won’t be bribed,’ said the woman.

‘For your charity’, he said. ‘Please, take it. With my blessing.’

Blessing?
Since when had he wished do-gooders well?

After plenty of fuss, the woman took the money. ‘It doesn’t mean I won’t report you. That boy on the tightrope was terrified,’ she said, then fixed on me, taking in my short skirts and loose hair. ‘And you, young lady, look quite improper. You should be at school.’

I toed the grass uneasily, yet Mr Chipchase seemed remarkably unconcerned. ‘It’ll blow over once Gabriel’s in America,’ he said, after the woman had gone. ‘There are worse things to concern ourselves with than do-gooders.’

‘Mr Wellbeloved ain’t decided yet,’ I reminded him. ‘He might choose me.’

‘Forget it. You’ll be staying here. You work for Chipchase’s.’

I folded my arms. ‘As a showstopper though, right?’

He didn’t answer me for a long time, and I was sure he’d forgotten I was here.

‘Well?’ I said.

He rubbed his face and sighed. ‘I don’t know, Louie.’

I kicked at the ground. If he thought I’d go back to being invisible again, he was wrong.

‘But Mr Wellbeloved saw my talents.
He
noticed me. He had a glint in his eye just from looking at me,’ I said.

‘Did he now?’

‘He did. And that’s a good thing, ain’t it?’

By the look on Mr Chipchase’s face it clearly wasn’t. ‘How can I put it?’ he said, stroking his whiskers. ‘Mr Wellbeloved is a gentleman of the shade.’

I scowled. ‘Meaning?’

‘He’s not just rich and successful. He has a dark side too, though you obviously hadn’t noticed.’

The way he’d looked at Blondin’s daughter flashed into my mind. I pushed the memory aside.

‘I knew it would cause trouble, letting you have your way,’ said Mr Chipchase. ‘We should’ve stuck to the dog tricks. It would’ve saved us a lot of bother.’

I stared at him, open-mouthed. Had he gone completely insane? ‘The crowd LOVED me, sir. Didn’t you see it?’ I clasped my hands to my chest. ‘Didn’t you feel it?’

He gave another great sigh. ‘You’re a beginner at this game, Louie. Your time will come.’

‘I’ve been practising for years!’ I cried. ‘And I’m tired of being held back all the time!’

‘I mean it for the best.’

‘But you put me in a clown suit and make me hide my hair. And then you push me to one side when Mr Wellbeloved turns up. It’s like you’re ashamed of me!’ I blinked back angry tears. ‘It ain’t fair!’

Mr Chipchase’s face went very red. I knew I’d gone too far. But whatever he thought, I
had
caught Mr Wellbeloved’s eye. It didn’t matter to him which one of us went to America; he’d get his cut either way.

Yet as I made to go, Mr Chipchase patted my shoulder quite gently. ‘You did well tonight, Louie,’ he said. ‘Your mother would be proud.’

‘Shame she couldn’t make it,’ I said sarcastically. ‘What kept her?’

He looked at me gravely. ‘I’ve often wondered that myself.’