CHAPTER 6
The circus was on the move again.
Lulubelle was relieved; she hated staying in one place too long. Most of all she dreaded the winter quartering. Sometimes the circus could still get bookings: there were enough people willing to sit in a draughty Big Top, coaxed in by the promise of heating - though the reality was noisy blasts of hot air which both deafened and roasted those in the immediate vicinity and left other people windswept without being much warmer. And, at least in the smaller circuses, the generators seldom worked perfectly. So all in all, in the winter months, people preferred to stay at home.
People said that circuses were dying: animal acts were cruel and there were better variety acts on TV. But enough folk - adults as well as children - were still seduced by the excitement. Lulubelle loved the publicity parades. Some circuses simply stuck up posters all over the next town they were visiting and arrived in anonymous vans.
That was one advantage of being with Mannfield's (though there weren't many, Lulubelle considered): at least they knew about publicity. They used her for all she was worth, parading her through town on a trailer decorated like a carnival float, waving and smiling, posing in her briefest and most glamorous sequinned costume, with spangled antennae sprouting from her headband. The music was so loud that all the shoppers turned to see where it was coming from and, once she had their attention, Lulubelle would perform slow handstands, while the trailer halted for her at green traffic lights and all the cars behind hooted.
Lulubelle loved being the centre of attention. She resented her craving for it, as an addict resents his need for the drugs he lives for and despises, but the attention she yearned for was also the attention she earned, she told herself. She deserved every bit of applause. She was the best. Not the best in the business, she had to admit. Not yet. But then, she was only ten.
When she pictured the world, she saw it as a giant circus with each person rehearsing their particular act, and on the poster advertising the world's finest attractions there was a gap. Above the gap was an arrow, pointing down from the heavens, and on the arrow was written: LULUBELLE LACOSTO IS ON HER WAY: WATCH THIS SPACE!
‘Get out of the way, kid!’
She jumped. Eight men were dragging the edges of a tarpaulin outwards, like fishermen spreading a net, and one of them had almost stumbled into her before she had noticed. That was what came of daydreaming, as her mother was always telling her: ‘Head in the clouds again, girl! Come down to earth like the rest of us!’
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, and fled for the caravan. Almost there, she paused, turned three consecutive somersaults in the air and landed at the foot of the pull-up steps. ‘Mum!’
‘What?’
The bunk was still pulled down. Her mother was lying across it, painting her nails.
‘You haven't packed up,’ Lulubelle said. ‘The first vans are moving out.’
‘There's not much to pack, is there?’ said her mother. ‘Let me finish the other hand.’
‘We can't move like this!’ Lulubelle said. ‘It'll all get thrown around again; you know what happened last time. Everything got broken.’
‘That wasn't my fault,’ said Lucinda.
‘I never said it was,’ Lulubelle said. ‘But we don't want it happening again.’
She began tidying up, moving a greasy pan off the top of the stove. ‘Fold the bed up, Mum,’ she said. ‘I need to get to the sink.’
‘In a minute.’
‘We've got to get moving, Mum! You know what Mr Mannfield said!’
‘Sod him,’ said Lucinda. ‘Throw me a tissue, Lu; I've smudged my thumb. Look what you've made me do, with all your nagging.’
‘We can't afford to lose another job,’ Lulubelle pointed out. She handed her mother a tissue. ‘Sit in the window seat,’ she coaxed her. ‘I'll make you a coffee if you get up.’
‘I've run out of fags,’ Lucinda grumbled. ‘You know I can't drink coffee without a ciggy.’
‘I'll get you some,’ Lulubelle promised. ‘When I've cleared up - all right?’
Swearing under her breath, Lucinda shifted her body sideways off the bunk, levering herself upright at the last minute as though lifting an enormous weight, though her frame was slim enough. She stretched out one leg and inspected it. ‘I'm sure I'm getting veins.’
Lulubelle steered her towards the window seat. The caravan in front of them was already trundling geriatrically across the rutted surface of the field. Jake, who would be towing their van, was standing a hundred metres away, dragging on a cigarette and chatting to Sam. Lulubelle prayed that Sam's conversation would distract him. Once Jake sauntered over to their van, he'd start shouting at Lucinda about not being ready again, and Mr Mannfield had a habit of appearing out of thin air if he heard shouting.
She ran to the bunk, folded the bedding roughly and stowed it in the cupboard overhead, tugged the rusting legs of the bed till they folded flat, and kicked the bed into its storage space in the wall of the van.
‘Yoo-hoo, Ja-ake!’ Lucinda was rapping on the window to attract his attention.
‘What are you doing?’ Lulubelle demanded furiously. ‘We don't want him to see we're not ready!’
‘I need a ciggy, darling,’ said Lucinda plaintively. ‘He might have a spare one.’
‘And he might have a spare black eye in his fists,’ Lulubelle said. ‘Give me a hand here, Mum!’
‘Don't call me that,’ Lucinda said. ‘You do it to irritate me.’ She turned away, her back hunched. It was a sign, Lulubelle knew, that she did not intend to co-operate. It was going to be one of those days.
‘Jake!’ It was Mr Mannfield's voice. ‘Get that caravan on the towbar and get it moving!’ He hammered on the door as he opened it. No one ever knocked and waited to be let in.
Lulubelle bounded towards the door. She gave him her brightest smile. ‘Mr Mannfield!’ she said.
He was momentarily diverted. Lucinda, behind her, moved out of sight, bunching herself into the corner so that he wouldn't notice she was still in her negligee, with her hair in curlers and yesterday's mascara smudged.
‘All ready?’ he said.
‘Just waiting for Jake,’ said Lulubelle demurely.
‘Jake!’ he roared again, without bothering to turn his head. Lulubelle flinched.
‘Coming!’ Jake responded sulkily.
Mr Mannfield stepped backwards heavily, taking the three steps with one stamp of his boot. ‘Get moving,’ he told him.
Lulubelle pushed the door half-shut after him. Lucinda stood with one hand to her heart, theatrically. ‘Whew!’ she said. ‘Thanks, darling!’
Lulubelle turned on her. ‘Get dressed!’ she said. She threw the dirty frying pan into the bin on the inside of the sink cupboard door and began locking down the covers on the sink and the cooker.
‘Don't do that!’ Lucinda protested. ‘Dumping the pan in the bin! That's dirty, that is!’
The look Lulubelle gave her was withering. Lucinda heaved a deep, injured sigh and began to get dressed. ‘That daughter of mine's turning into a real old nag,’ she said, under her breath.
Lulubelle went on stolidly stowing piles of Lucinda's belongings into cupboards and securing the doors. There were tears in her eyes but Lucinda didn't notice and Lulubelle was hardly aware of them herself.