Breaking Light (29 page)

Rey laughed again. ‘Hell, no! Zilda is a coochie girl, Gabe, and that's not all she is. No, no, I'm talking about
real
women.'

‘Who are they? Where … ?' Gabriel asked fervently, but he never got an answer as, just then, Zilda's voice thundered over them again:

‘That's it, you dirty lot! Get a move on; we haven't got all day. Got to serve the gentry, now. Up you get – on your way.' She shooed with her paddle-like hands from the van, as if the men were a group of ducks frittering in a yard.

As the rugged men of the night crew shuffled off towards the trailers to find their bunks, Rey nudged Gabriel and nodded towards a group of smarter looking caravans. ‘Here they come, the real aristocracy, the seediest kinkers you have ever seen.' A dark flicker went through his mossy eyes. ‘Look at them,' he continued, with soft contempt, ‘and the great ringmaster at the rear.'

And Gabriel stared in open-mouthed amazement at the party of show-people who strolled towards the cook shack. It was a scene from a medieval court. A Mexican dwarf in a double-breasted pinstripe suit came first, arguing with a rakishly thin man who followed a few steps behind, showing the innocent palms of his hands and blinking away tears in a mask of white make-up. This unhappy pair were followed by a bare-chested African, as black as tar, smoking a fat Cuban cigar; a man in a soiled string vest and boxer shorts, who had shaved the left part of his body whilst wearing his hair long, braided into a pigtail
tied with a pink ribbon on the left side of his head; a pinhead with a lopsided smile; a midget and his wife, hand in hand; and then, the most magnificent of them all, teetering in flowing silk dressing gowns and feather boas, Mary and Anne, one pink and one blue, radiant clouds in a Tiepolo sky. A couple of yards behind them, in a frayed velvet tailcoat and skinny trousers, walked Dr Buster himself, with a considered gait, hands clasped behind his back, dark eyes to the ground, like a schoolmaster – or a vicar, perhaps – guarding his flock. Just then, he looked up at the two youths. He registered Gabriel with merely animal indifference and, turning his head slightly, a wolfish grin on his face, he winked – quickly, darkly – at Rey, who took a step back, away from him.

And Gabriel. What about Gabriel? The blood had slowed in his veins, his heart beat sluggishly against his chest, pumping, pumping. For an instant, he saw himself clearly, standing between the band of freaks and the golden boy, Reynard, recognising something in all of them, confirmed, and for a moment almost comfortable, in the familiar sense of unreality.

Doris Ludgate was standing by the French windows in the drawing room at Oakstone. It was raining outside and the reflected light from the puddles on the patio marbled the ceiling above her. Mr Askew hesitated in the doorway, where the shadows disguised him. He was still uncertain after their last meeting in the allotments. She was holding a folio book in her arms, flicking through the pages with great intensity, lowering her face to study some of the images closely. Mr Askew tried to hold back the anxiety that was rising in his throat; he followed every page as her chubby fingers scrabbled at them. He remembered the way she had slobbered jam on a piece of toast once – in his kitchen. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

‘Careful with that, please, Mrs Ludgate; it's one of my most precious books.'

She looked up with a start, almost dropping the book. ‘Oh,' she said, ‘it's you again.'

‘Yes, it's me.'

She flared up. ‘I would prefer it if you didn't sneak up on me like that.'

‘I wasn't sneaking. It's my house, remember.'

‘Pah!' She exhaled and craned her turtle neck. She flicked her hand on the open page. Dust danced in the grey light around her. ‘These images are filthy.'

He shook his head sadly; it
was
more than he could take. ‘They are heartbreaking.' As if it could be told in a word.

He could feel her looking at him, too closely for comfort. Raising his head defiantly, he met her gaze. He could not read her expression at that moment. It puzzled him. Was she smirking, as usual, or was there something else? In any case, he did not like her touching the book. He hated her hands on its back and her index finger, damp with her slimy saliva, on the edge of the pages – his pages.

‘I would be grateful if you would put Diane Arbus back where she belongs,' he blurted.

‘Diane who?'

He nodded towards the book.

‘Oh, her … Who is she, anyway?'

‘Ah, a kindred spirit.'

‘A
what
?'

He ignored her; she wouldn't understand, anyway. He sighed. He used to feel so connected to Arbus; that way she had of moving amongst other people, recognising them. I too just wanted to go where I had never been – where I had left no trace.

But Mrs Ludgate was looking thoughtfully now at the book in her hands. ‘It's a bit creepy …' she said and he sighed, exasperated. But her voice was strange, altered, as she continued. ‘She seems to find in each one of them exactly what they are trying to hide – whatever is behind those masks.'

Mr Askew stared at her in disbelief. He had not expected this turn of events. ‘But you're absolutely right!' He was astonished – excited, even. ‘Arbus said that the flaw was what drew her attention to a person; it's the flaw that makes a person beautiful, that makes us look at them.'

Mrs Ludgate nodded slowly and walked over to the side table where she had found the book. Putting it back gently, she said, without looking up, ‘I suppose she got that right. Perhaps we shouldn't worry so much about being … what we are.' She sounded unhappy.

He was suddenly feeling a bit odd and realised that he was tingling all over with a sympathy that he did not know how to offer – not yet, anyway. Instead, he told her, ‘When I was young, I worked on a sideshow for a little while. It may sound weird to you … but to me it was more of a lesson of life – a kind of rite of passage, if you like.'

She didn't let on, but he could tell that she was listening. That's when I first realised that life is a striving for unity, he thought now, a desire for completion, a search for the missing half. We all suffer under the weight of emptiness. We are afraid of being alone. Love – and desire – is all about reintegration with our other half – through love, we hope to be whole. It's no great mystery, then, that we are frightened – and fascinated – by stories of fraction and duality; conjoined twins, clones, doppelgangers, spirits split from the body, the ego fighting the id, castration – these are all threats to love.

‘She knew that, too, didn't she?' Mrs Ludgate nodded towards the book.

‘Knew what?' He flinched, as if she had read his mind, but noticed something new and intense about her, something that challenged the gloom around them.

‘You know … that we are never quite … right – or at least not just one thing.'

‘Sure, she knew … She knew that those of us who believe that we harbour a freak inside won't stop searching. We may
be mended, but we still carry the phantom pain … We
are
the phantom pain.' He stopped abruptly.

‘Is that what you wrote about in them books of yours?'

‘Eh?' What did she know of his books? ‘Yes, I suppose so …'

‘There's stuff … stuff that we carry around with us inside, like, which makes us seem uncaring and cold to other people.' Her breath made a fluttering sound and he was reminded of the streamers he had once made for Michael's bike. ‘But we are not!'

The fervour of her defiance made him recoil. ‘No, no; I'm sure you're right.'

‘I'm not educated and all that, but I still understand … things.' Her cheeks were flushed. ‘It's just that, most of the time, it's been better to pretend otherwise.'

With that, she turned to go, but stopped and looked back at him. ‘Perhaps you would let me look at that book again sometime, if I ask beforehand?' A magpie rattled dryly outside the windows. The rain had brought on the worms.

‘Yes, yes, of course,' he answered, bewildered, but it was all too sudden and he was already backing away.

‘There's some unwashed crockery in the sink,' she said, vaguely, and gestured towards the kitchen, because she too needed to escape. As she passed him on her way out of the room, Mr Askew realised that something had changed. He could not put his finger on it until she stepped into the hall. He turned quickly and looked down at her feet. She was wearing a pair of slippers. Her feet made no noise.

*

It had been a great adventure, it was true – a rather spectacular coming of age. Mr Askew drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel to a tune on the radio and hummed to himself as he
drove along the country lane towards the coast. The hedges on either side were still seething with life. It reminded him, briefly, of his allotment. He had neglected it a bit lately. It probably needed watering – and weeding. Why was it that weeds stayed so fiercely alive when the things you were actually trying to grow died so easily? Yes, I must do some weeding, he thought. The prospect made him feel good. He did love his allotment – the simple pleasure it provided. Driving on, he smiled again. ‘It was a bit like running away with the circus, eh? What do you give for that? I was quite the hero, though; saved the day in the end, didn't I?' He laughed to himself, shaking his head. A car overtook him on the narrow road and he swerved to the left, rattling the wing mirror, the hedge scratching against the side of the Skoda. ‘Bloody hell!' he cursed and, driving on at a slower pace, he muttered, ‘It's beyond me how they are ever let out on the roads.' But then he remembered how he used to drive without a licence, in the beginning, after that summer on the moors when Rey had taught him to drive on abandoned quarry roads and dirt tracks. Rey had made sure that he would know how to drive when the time came.

*

He reached the hill from which the sea became suddenly visible and slowed down to take in the view. A tanker rested heavily on the horizon and, closer to the shore, a sail hung listlessly from a single mast. The light was milky, the sun hidden behind a veil of cloud. It was clammy out there, as if there might be some thunder in the afternoon. He drove along the coast road for a few miles, watching the seabirds as they lifted on the thermals only to dive again over the cliffs. Every now and again, another car would honk at him as it passed. ‘Halfwits,' he muttered at the
windscreen. He parked, as usual, a little away from the house on the cliff and walked the last bit along the coastal path.

‘Good morning, Mr Askew. A bit sticky today, isn't it?' He was greeted by Ms Turpin at reception.

‘It is, indeed; we may get some thunder later on. Unusual for this time of year, no?' he replied, smiling broadly. He liked Ms Turpin; a steely-haired spinster with a heart of gold, he had a feeling that she was the kind who did not mind silence. For no good reason at all, he felt like telling her. ‘Can you imagine, I ran away with the circus once and saved a couple of damsels in distress.'

‘Did you, now?' She laughed. ‘I'm glad you made it back.'

‘Only just.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yeah, only just.'

*

‘Well, now,' Stan said, and lit a cigarette, ‘isn't it lovely to be amongst friends?' They were standing around him in a semicircle in the narrow caravan. Charlie, who had just pulled a knife, was facing a few men from the roustabout gang, who, in turn, were clenching their fists. Behind Stan, on a ruffled couch, Mary and Anne lay sprawled together; Mary had a bruise under her left eye and a mark on her neck – the imprint of a man's fingers. Rey, with Gabriel in tow, had only just entered the scene.

‘What's going on?' Rey asked in a level voice.

‘They pimped the twins to a couple of men from the village,' one of the prop gang replied without taking his eyes off Charlie and Stan.

‘Where are those men now?'

‘They ran off; Hutch and Chris are after them.'

Rey nodded slowly and turned to the twins. ‘Are you two all right?'

‘Fine,' Mary replied, curtly. Anne was covering her eyes and clutching at her pale blue dressing gown; her hair looked like spring sunshine against it, Gabriel noticed.

‘If you ever try something like that again, you're dead men, do you hear me?' Rey said, calmly, turning to Charlie and Stan, his green eyes afire.

‘Who are you to tell us what to do, pretty boy?' Stan sneered and spat on the floor. ‘What makes you so bloody righteous?'

‘Ever sinning, ever righteous – I embody the contradictions of human nature; hadn't you realised?' Rey replied with the ghost of a smile.

Stan, it seemed, was losing his cool. ‘You book-reading faggot! How the hell do you think you can tell me what do?' he shouted, bunching his fists.

Charlie took a step closer but Rey held up his hand. ‘No, Charlie, put the knife away. I know the boss put you up to this.'

‘And I wouldn't come between the boss and his business, if I were you,' Charlie snarled.

‘What's in it for you, then, eh, Charlie? An extra week's pay? A trial run of the goods?'

Charlie didn't reply.

‘You're a fool if you think he'd let you in on the proceeds.'

Charlie gave him a look of contempt; he was not the kind who would take advice. ‘Oh, yeah?'

Rey laughed sarcastically. ‘You think you know him, then? You think he's just some petty crook, like you? Somebody who grabs a bit of fast cash when he sees it coming his way? Well,
you're
so
deluded. Dr Buster is a greedy devil, a wolf of hell; he's been trading in people – their bodies and souls – since long before you were born. It's what he
does
. And he'd get rid of you in the wink of an eye, if he didn't need you to carry out his dirty work.'