On a day we’re not performing, I ask Ryah to ride with me into to woods. We make our way along a bridle path until we reach a field with a stile, secure the horses and clamber over. An oak tree spreads its branches and deep green leaves overhead.
I have a backpack with me, and I kiss Ryah’s nose and whisper, “Close your eyes.”
She does as she told, her fingers running along a oak branch as I unpack what I’ve brought.
“You can open your eyes now.”
“What’s this?” she asks, gazing at the picnic blanket I’ve spread on the grass.
“A date.” It’s not a candlelit dinner and a movie, but we are alone together, and we have nowhere we need to be, which is luxurious in itself. I search her face, hoping for signs of pleasure.
She smiles delightedly. “I’ve never been on a date.”
I hold my hand out to her and we sit down on the rug together, our legs touching as I cut pieces of French cheese. There’s fresh fruit and tarts as well, and we eat gazing out across the rolling fields.
“I saw one of those gourmet delis in the village and it gave me the idea.” I eat a piece of buttery cheese off a tin plate.
“Such a good idea.” She puts a grape in her mouth and chews contentedly, leaning against my side. “What do people talk about on dates, then?”
I laugh. “I have no idea. What would you like to talk about?”
She twines her fingers through mine, thinking. “What were you like when you were very small?”
“Trouble.” I grin at her. “Mum said if something wasn’t tied down or tied shut, I’d be off with it or into it. I smiled a lot at strangers. If she took me out in the pushchair I’d sit up and look at everyone and wave my hands till I got their attention.”
“You were a show-off from a young age, then?” she asks with a teasing smile.
“I was. What about you?”
“I was shy. Mum said I screamed and cried the first day she took me to kindergarten because I was so scared, but when she came to pick me up I didn’t want to come home. They let me paint pictures and the teacher was kind to me. It was wonderful. I used to follow the farm cats and horses around at home, and I had my first pony when I was four. She was called Misty and she was tiny. Only seven hands. She kept the grass short in the yard.”
We sit here exchanging sweet stories about our childhoods, the bad things unspoken for a change.
Her hand strokes across my jaw. “I wish I had you to myself all the time. I have to share you with so many people.”
I kiss her fingers. “Want to know a secret? If I’m in the arena, or talking to someone else, or even fast asleep, I’m always, always thinking about you.”
Ryah presses her mouth against mine. I love that she kisses me without shyness or hesitation. “And I you.”
We pack up and head back, to the show, to the people expecting us. But never far from one another.
The next afternoon the two of us are on horseback, lazily following the wagons. On a bend, when the people on the wagons up ahead could see us, we behave innocently, but on straight stretches we move our horses closer and exchange kisses and hold hands. I feel like a teenager. It’s wonderful.
We arrive at our destination and everyone gets off their wagons and stretches stiff muscles. There’s an old church on the edge of the green, and Ryah wanders over to take a look at it.
I focus on unsaddling Jareth and unhitching some of the other horses. Then I hear something that terrifies me. An ear-splitting scream.
Ryah’s scream.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ryah
He’s found me.
The heavy hand on my shoulder was a split-second warning, and as I whipped around I saw him. Dad. Looming over me, an evil leer on his face.
“No! Get off me.” I scream and struggle to get away but he holds tight to me. Acting on animal instinct, I turn my head and bite his fingers as hard as I can.
He yells in pain and backs off, and that’s when I get a good look at him. It’s not Dad, but a man I don’t know in dirty jeans and with a scraggly gray beard. He’s flicking his fingers as if to shake off the pain.
“Stupid pikey bitch.” The man’s eyes flash, and he pulls back his arm. I know with sinking certainty what’s coming, and I can do nothing to protect myself.
“Hey. Hey.” There’s the sound of running feet, and suddenly Cale’s there, and he’s shoved the man aside. The stranger stumbles, and almost falls to the ground.
Cale impels me behind him and says in a low, deadly voice, “Is there any reason you’re touching her?”
“Calm down. I was just being friendly.”
“Fuck off you were.”
The man looks between Cale, me, and the wagons on the green, hatred and embarrassment burning in his eyes. “You lot aren’t fucking welcome here.”
Cale pulls out a knife, flips it in his hand and hurls it toward the man. It happens in a split second, and the knife sinks into a wooden sign that reads St Mary’s Church, right by his head. “You think I need your permission?”
The man jerks aside and backs off, pointing his finger at Cale. “I’ll be watching you and your lot. If anything’s stolen I won’t call the police. We’ll fucking sort you out ourselves, pikey scum.”
“Stop using that horrible word,” I scream at him.
“Looks like a pikey. Stinks like a pikey. It’s a fucking pikey.”
I take a step toward him, with the intention to do what I have no idea because he’s twice my size, but Cale catches my arm and holds me back.
“It’s all right. Let him go,” Cale mutters.
The man laughs hearing this, and strides off toward the pub, swaggering like he’s just won a fight. I hate that he’s acting like he’s won. That he’s better than us. A crowd has gathered. I realize that they’ve been there all along. Not to help us, but to stare.
I swipe at the tears on my face, hiccupping with despair and rage. A woman catches my eye and I call out to her, “Get a good look? Enjoy the show?”
She quickly averts her eyes, as if she’s ashamed. She should be ashamed.
Cale turns me toward him, peering into my face and pushing my hair back. “Are you all right?”
“I thought that was Dad,” I say, tears spilling afresh down my face. “Something about his silhouette, or he’s just been on my mind lately.”
I start to sob brokenly, and Cale pulls me against him, rubbing comforting circles on my back. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. It’s all right.”
I bury my face into his familiar warmth, taking deep breaths between sobs and trying to slow my panicked heartbeat. “The further south we go, the more afraid I become.”
“We’re going a different way this year. I diverted us this afternoon, and we won’t be passing your old home.”
I look up at him, confused, as I sniffle my way back to composure. I glance around at the village. “Is that why people here don’t like us? Because they don’t know us?”
Cale presses his lips together and doesn’t answer my question. He takes me by the hand and leads me over to where Elke, Anouk and everyone else in the circus has gathered.