Circus Solace (3 page)

“And now you’re there, at
The Gent’s old house. I don’t know what to make of that, I’m sure. Looks like you’ve got reasons, I’d bet that much. Maybe some good will come of it but be careful, you two. Don’t you go upsetting the applecart and have the man come looking for you, you understand?” Marcus looked at Matt with cold, hard eyes. It was the same glare he’d offered up when they’d stepped through the door. A look fit for strangers.

“Yes sir,” Matt answered quickly. He noticed something in the air and realised what it was: silence.
Pa had not offered up any agreement or promise.

“We’ll see what we see and find what we find,” he said at last. Matt noticed how Marcus almost winced at hearing the words and wondered what that meant. “We won’t go looking for trouble but we won’t be told by others what our business is or isn’t. What do we owe you for the meal?”

“The first meal’s on the house. Show kindness to strangers and then they’ll be friends. That’s what The Gent always used to say and it’s something I’ve tried to live by.” The hard eyes cracked a little and warmth came flickering through.

“You got the same stubbornness as the girl,” he said and shook his head. “I wonder if she taught you or if you always had it.” Matt realised they were talking about his ma and for a moment his heart raced.

“Guess I’ve always had it,” Pa replied and rose up from his seat.

“Thank you for the meal, sir,” Matt said, standing up.

“Well, you’re welcome, young man. You come by if you feel the need for a slice of cake or some such. Maybe I’ll find that old recipe for Star Ship Pie one evening.” Marcus winked and his daughter gave out a loud tut. “Maybe I’ll have the last laugh, after all,” he said finally, looking at his daughter and then back to the two of them as they walked to the door.        

             
                            *

Matt and
Pa drove back in something like a stunned silence. At different times, each of them opened their mouths to speak but no words, or the
right
words, would quite come out. As they reached the driveway, the shadow of the house came into view but it was no longer threatening or some strange, alien thing. Now, it looked more like a bruised, beat-up old friend. Something that had seen better days, no doubt, but still had that faint aura of good times clinging to it. As they parked the car Matt tried to figure out what was different about the old place. Pa cleared his throat as they walked up to the door.

“Some story,” he said and glanced over to Matt.

“Some story,” Matt repeated, still struggling with all the commotion and tumbling feelings the old man’s story had created in him.

“It can’t be true, what h
e said but…” Pa said, his voice trailing away, at a loss.

“But it didn’t feel like he was lying,” Matt finished and saw
Pa nod his head, as if the last piece of the puzzle had just slotted snugly into the heart of the picture.

“
You said it, Matty…but it can’t be true, not really. If it were true, then…” his voice trailed off again as they reached the steps. Matt drew up next to him. For the next few moments, they mirrored each other’s actions; tilting their bodies to the right, craning their necks slightly. Something about the house had changed.

“
It’s not your grandpa’s house…it can’t be,” Pa whispered.

“It’s not…” Matt went on.
Pa reached out and took his hand. Together, they took the steps one at a time, until they reached the door. The lock turned easily, the angle smoother than it was just a few hours ago when they arrived, fitting in with the new development; Matt swore the house was no longer slanting as much as it had been when they’d arrived that morning.        

             
                            *

Matt woke up early and spent a long time looking out
to the back of the house. A large field ran up to the horizon, trees thick in the distance. It looked unkempt but not quite wild, as if it had been waiting for them and keeping itself in check just enough to not appear unruly. Even though Matt had thought of nothing else apart from the diner story, he had not dreamed. For the first time, his ma had not come looking for him in his sleep.
It’s because she’s already here
, a voice whispered and Matt shook his head. Matt had kept his door open last night, as always but had not heard Pa sleep-talk to her as he had done every other night.

Dressed, he faced the window, closed his eyes and tried to imagine the group of abandoned folks gathered on the edges of the field. Without trying, he visualised them sitting around a smouldering campfire, sometimes laughing, something crying, but
always together. The images were so clear, Matt felt as if he were looking at a photo rather than his imagination. Every feature in each face was clear and every nuance defined, even down to the eyelashes. The names would not come but their voices were clear echoes in his mind, as if their whispers were carrying from the tips of the tree tops. Finally, he opened his eyes and for a moment, Matt saw a flash of something, someone, flicker amongst the shades of the tree trunks.

“Matty?”
Pa’s voice brought him back from his reverie and broke the connection. He turned round, his eyes wide and saw Pa was fully dressed.

“Looking out to the fields, huh?” he asked. Matt nodded and noticed the bags under
Pa’s eyes looked just a little lighter. “Maybe when we get back from the town, we should go exploring, what do you think?”

“Sure,” Matt said and
again wondered if Pa was feeling what he was feeling; the connection to the house. “What do we need to buy in the stores?”

“A few nails, some groceries. No more than two brown bags of stuff, I think.” He came up beside Matt and looked out to the grasses.

“There’s a lot out there, huh?” he said, putting his hand on Matt’s shoulder. It didn’t shake as it had done so many other times before.

“A lot to find, I think,” Matt replied, feeling bold now and braver than he’d felt in a long
, long time.

“I was thinking the same, Matty. Feels like there are things to discover out there, doesn’t it?” Matt reached back and put his own hand over
Pa’s. “You sleep okay?”

“Good,” Matt replied without hesitation. “Did you,
Pa?”

“Better,” he said and squeezed Matt’s shoulder gently, signalling it was time to go. Matt slowly ed
ged away from the window but not before sensing more movement in amongst the trees in the distance. As he turned, he saw Pa’s face squinting slightly and a half-frown forming over his brow. Matt realised he had seen it too.

             
                            *

P
a went through each aisle of the hardware store, carefully picking out nails and screws as if each one were a jewel. Matt followed him for a while but then began to look out the window to the small strip of shops. In the cold light of day, he noticed that the sidewalks
did
seem oversized. He also noticed the hardware owner kept stealing glances back to them and Matt wondered if Marcus, or his daughter, had been gossiping about them since the night before. The man, Mr. Nightweather, seemed polite but almost timid, as if customers were out of place in his shop. He wore bottleneck glasses which made his bright blue eyes seem to be constantly agog. Matt noticed that Pa kept blowing dust from whichever nail he scooped out of the box. For a moment, he looked down to see if their footprints were interrupting the coating of dust on the floor. Fortunately, it wasn’t quite that thick.

After the hardware place, they made their way to the local grocers-Mrs. Bumblecoater, the clothes shop-Mr and Mrs Tarbuncle, the bakers-Mr. Wurlitzer and finally the post office, which was run by a friendly old woman by the name of Emily
Slurpslacker but who insisted they called just ‘Em.’ Finally, their jobs done, the two of them stopped by the diner and saw only Marcus behind the counter. He waved them in from the window and Matt could almost feel the stare’s of the other shop-owners on their back as they stepped through the door, causing the bell to ring overhead.

“My daughter works in the next town over, like most folks here. She just helps me out on weekends,” Marcus said as he offered up seats for them both. “What will it be? Be warned, everyone’s peeking out from their curtains to look at you, so make it a good choice.”

“Well, we’d better go with the chef’s recommendation, then, I guess,” Pa said, handing him back the menu. Matt copied him and watched as a smile spread over the old man’s face.

“Smart man. Leave it to me,” he said and wandered back behind the counter.

“Did you notice all the eyes on us today, Matty?” Pa asked. Matt nodded and both of them suddenly broke into relieved smiles.

“Good. I thought it was just me. Well, I guess its natural enough, in a small town but it does seem a little odd.” He shrugged and Matt felt oddly reassured seeing
Pa do that. He did the same and then before they could say anything else, Marcus came back with their order. He set out each item, stating what they were until there was only one plate left in his hands. It seemed to almost glow and Matt couldn’t help but peer over a little, curious to what it was.

          
“And last but not least, for young Matt,” he said, his voice suddenly taking on a crisp and clear tone. He sounded no longer like a waiter but more like a ringmaster. “A blast from the past and a one slice only kind of deal. Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to, the one, the only, Star Ship Pie!”

The plate arrived on the table and Matt almost gasped to look at it. It was a traditional triangle of pie and the crust was a light, dusty cream-brown like any other but inside
, magic sat. Layer upon layer of thick, ripples of colour, like strips of far-out, alien toothpaste made out of sugar and milk and other, unknowable, flavoured things. Matt looked at it from the left and then the right and by the time the plate came towards him, he didn’t know it he should eat it or frame it for a rainy day. Even the china seemed to hum with what sat on top of it.

              “Save it until last,” Marcus said, bringing him back from the pie. Matt looked up, almost dazed and felt as if he’d been hypnotised by the colours at his fingertips. Matt nodded and glanced over to Pa, whose jaw had fallen open at the sight of it. He came round and nodded his support at what Marcus had said, but it was half-hearted. Even as they went about eating and drinking, Matt knew both of them had one eye on the bustling, buzzing, shimmering cake plate in the corner. 

“Bet you’re trying to guess what’s in it, huh?” Marcus said, his voice back to its low hum.
“You could guess every day, in every way, until Doomsday and not come up with every ingredient to this little masterpiece, gentlemen.”

“Could you tell us one thing?” Matt said and was surprised at how small his voice sounded.

“At a push, vanilla…but not just any vanilla,” he said, looking over to the plate. His eyes grew wide and excited, as if he was listening to his favourite piece of summer music being played after a long, cold winter. “It comes from Mount Vesuvius. Some of the white ash hardened and solidified in the air with the pods and bingo-bango, Vesuvius Volcanic Vanilla.”

“And…”
Pa said, leaving the words hanging in the air.

“And…that’s your lot for a first time. I’ve had folks wait five years just to find out that one ingredient, so think yourself honoured.” He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. “Once
, we had a competition in the town to guess all the ingredients that went into a Star Ship Pie. Winner got a lifetime’s supply. Old Em from the post office, this was back when she was Emily Drinkwater and the biggest heartbreaker in town, she submitted a list of a thousand and three different spices and flavours. She spent one whole winter writing it out. She didn’t even come close; I gave her a month’s free slices just for her hard endeavours. You ready?”

Marcus pushed the plate to the centre of the table and for a second, Matt thought the pie itself vibrated where it sat. He set down two spoons and sat back.
Pa looked over questioningly but the old man shook his head.

“If I help make what I love disappear, I’d go crazy,” he said with a smile. Matt noticed
that after a second or two, the grin faltered and shifted into something else, something sadder. The history of the town and the way Marcus told it ran through Matt’s mind and he realised how many meanings words could have when they came out attached with memories.

“
Stop right there
!”

Matt and
Pa dropped their spoons as the door swung open to reveal two burly men with badges. They were almost identical, apart from the fact that one had a broken nose and the other cauliflower ears, as if they’d fought each other inside their ma’s belly while waiting to get out.

“
This is not allowed,” the one on the left said.

“By law,” the other finished. Both slipped their badges away at the same time and parted left and right, leaving the doorway open.

What bounded in made Matt gasp, as the cake had done minutes before, but for all the wrong reasons. A man-and it was a man- ricocheted into the diner, dressed in a clown’s outfit. He moved jaggedly and then slowed abruptly; making the last few steps to the table seem as if he were almost oozing out from the costume. A man, sure, but Matt saw how the make-up seemed caked too bright and thick, as if it wasn’t paint at all but a second skin. It had cracked in places, leaving thin strips of pink flesh to poke out, but it was the colour of bacon gone bad and rotten. The colours were coarse and vulgar, the too-bright shades of migraines and nightmares. The clown was too thin, as if he were made of a stack of twisted coat-hangers; arms wiry, legs bandy, a neck that was little more than pins gathered together. All of that but not skinny, not quite, but
lithe
, as if he could pull out a slingshot full of ball-bearings, or a bouquet of stinging nettles from his chest pocket, at a moment’s notice. Matt thought the clown stood like a jutting, poisonous, streak of lighting.