With more panic than commitment to the moment, Dandelion and I plunge into the arena and turn to the right, so that we’re cantering slowly around in a clockwise direction. Elke and Snowdrop are ahead of me, and Anouk and Patches are behind me, as they should be, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.
There’s no time to indulge in the sensation as I scramble to my feet atop Dandelion’s back, and then, arms spread wide and the fake smile still plastered to my face, I descend slowly into the splits diagonally across my horse’s back. In front of me, Elke does the same. If all is proceeding as it should be, Anouk will be in the same position behind me. We hold the position for one full revolution of the arena while people applaud. Because of the bright lights I can barely make out the audience, but I can hear them and feel the pressure of their eyes. Dandelion can, too, but her muscles aren’t bunched tightly like they used to be when Dad was after us.
That thought settles my nerves a little. I’m in Cale’s arena, where nothing bad can happen to us. I plant my hands on Dandelion’s withers and kick my legs up behind me into a handstand, and then come down and scissor my legs around in a clockwise and then an anticlockwise direction. As the world spins, I see that Anouk is behind me and moving sleekly, and my smile finally becomes genuine. I’m so proud to be out here with my new friends. I push up into an elbow stand for a full revolution of the arena, then stand up and curtsey to the audience along with the other two. I’m the first one to peel away and head back through the curtain, and I collapse with relief along Dandelion’s back as soon as I’m out of sight.
The applause is crazily loud to my ears and everyone backstage, the other performers and stagehands, are whistling and clapping too as I slide from Dandelion’s back and land on my feet. It’s wonderfully bewildering to accept everyone’s hugs and kisses, and someone snaps a polaroid of me, Anouk and Elke, arm in arm.
As everyone hurries back to their places and the horses are moved out of the way, I look around for the one person who didn’t come forward to hug me. Cale is standing by the curtain, about to head out to introduce the contortionists, and for a moment I feel a pang of regret that he hasn’t come to congratulate to me, too.
Then he turns and looks at me right before he heads out to the arena. He has a big, warm smile, just for me, his dark eyes shining. I can tell what he’s thinking without him even saying it.
Well done, sparkle.
I feel warm from the top of my head to the tips of my toes as I grin back, and he gives me a little bow right before he heads through the curtain and into the spotlight.
Chapter Eight
Cale
Late summer heat and stillness lies over the fields of England. The scarlet poppies have long since bloomed and wilted. The hedgerows that line the laneways are browning. Nettles clog the bridle paths and tiny green blackberries are budding on thorny brambles.
The horses become dusty every day, even if they haven’t been pulling the w
agons. It’s a restful evening chore, currying their coats until they’re gleaming once more. Ryah must think so, too, as she often joins me in the task in companionable silence.
I study Ryah’s face in between swipes of a chestnut gelding’s coat, enjoying the peaceful expression on her face. She wears a pair of denim shorts and a tank top with Wellington boots, and her hair is a messy ponytail atop her head.
“Told you,” I say with a smile as I move past her to a bay mare. She looks up at me in surprise. Ryah, Elke and Anouk have performed together for two weeks now, and Ryah’s confidence has grown every night.
“Told me what?”
“That you wouldn’t fall off.”
She grins at me and swipes at the perspiration on her forehead with a dusty forearm. “Not yet, anyway.”
Yes, she might still fall. But I can see from her face that she’s not terrified of the idea anymore. “How do you feel about the act?”
She muses on this a moment, tossing the curry comb up and down in her hand. “I like it. I feel like I could add a few extra things to my bit, but it’s done now.”
“Acts are never done. You can change it any way you choose.”
Ryah stops tossing the comb. “I can?”
I laugh. “Of course you can. This is a circus, not a tea ceremony. You can do whatever you want to entertain the crowd. You can change your act as often as you like, if you’re learning new things or you find you’re getting bored—as long as it’s safe.”
“Always Cale’s caveat,” she teases.
“Always.”
“Have you ever changed your act?” She reaches for a bucket of apples. The horses all perk up, eager for something sweet and crunchy.
“Every now and then. I’ve been too busy to adapt it lately, but I should. I tell everyone they should switch things up at least every twelve months.”
“The skittle thing you do is amazing,” she says thoughtfully, weighing an apple in her hand. She turns it over in her fingers, examining it speculatively. “Could you cut these apples while you were juggling if I threw them to you?”
“Oh, maybe,” I reply, forking hay into a trough and nudging Jareth away with my shoulder as the big black horse tries to get to Ryah and the apples. “Greedy guts.”
“Let’s try it.”