All Fall Down Read online

  ‘Forget that stuff,’ I blurt. ‘I just saw Zep Deal lurking around the Spiegeltent.’

  ‘What?’ Mitch straightens, frowning.

  Marco’s lips are thin and white. ‘Fleur?’

  ‘I just saw it, like a few minutes ago.’ I push my hair out of my face and try to catch my breath. I look at Marco directly. ‘Hi. Um–’

  ‘He was outside the tent?’ Mitch’s face is constantly set to ‘glower’, so it’s hard to tell if he’s more disturbed by this news than by anything else. ‘Or inside? Was he carrying anything?’

  ‘He came out from inside.’ I rub under my ribs with one hand to quiet a stitch. ‘He wasn’t carrying anything that I could see. I don’t know what he was doing but it seemed weird. He headed for the midway.’

  ‘So he’s not there now.’ Mitch chews one close-bitten thumbnail furiously. ‘Dammit. I thought that kid was on the level.’

  ‘We should check it out,’ Marco says. He’s wearing jeans again today, but he’s already half in costume, with a white shirt on and a dark paisley waistcoat unbuttoned in front.

  ‘The security sweep–’ I start.

  ‘Isn’t for an hour.’ Mitch drops his fisted hand. ‘But I’ll bring it forward. First, go and see if anything’s up. Marco, you go with her.’

  There’s only the barest hesitation before Marco replies. ‘Of course. Show me, Fleur.’

  I make my way out of the office, heading for the road I just came in on with Marco following behind me. I rub at my ribs again; I’m agile from trapeze, but I’ve slacked off my cross-training since Dad’s accident and now I’m regretting it.

  ‘I know I said ‘lurking’,’ I say. ‘But that’s a leading word. I just don’t know what Zep could’ve been doing at the Spiegeltent, or why he was there right before the sweep.’

  ‘Hopefully we’ll find out.’ Marco’s voice is tight and his eyes are trained forward.

  ‘Marco, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about last night.’ May as well start somewhere. It would be better if I could do this without puffing, but we’re making punishing time.

  ‘Apology accepted,’ he replies stiffly, then we’re on the incline to the tunnel, and neither of us has breath to talk.

  The Spiegeltent is much cooler inside. The air is still, and a bit musty.

  ‘Should we split up?’ I scan around the section of wing we’re standing in. ‘You go right and I’ll go left?’

  I can see the indecision on Marco’s face–what if something happens to me? I’m supposed to be staying safe–before he grimaces and nods. ‘Yes. It’ll be quicker if we search separately. But if you see anything strange, don’t touch it.’

  I hold up my hands. ‘No touching. Got it.’

  We break off from each other to search. Apart from a few bits of stray litter and a set of wing curtains folded in a pile, there’s not a lot at ground level. Some training mats. A stack of metal buckets kept in reserve for Diablo Bill’s fire act. A few spare melamine-topped tables, used during shows as a dumping ground for performers’ belongings. The left wing is usually kept clear, to avoid cluttering up the areas where people gather for final tech-checks or stretching, then await their turn in the ring. I look for something that seems out of place, or something that doesn’t belong.

  While I search, I think about the expression on Marco’s face when he accepted my apology. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes were turned away. Impossible to tell if he’s still angry, but his voice didn’t sound cold. He sounded…muted.

  I turn in a circle in the quiet space. What am I even looking for? A bomb in a darkened corner, ticking like some sort of Acme weapon from a spy movie? I head back the way I’ve come.

  Marco meets me at the same halfway point where we parted. ‘I don’t know. I can’t see anything, but there’s more stored equipment down the right wing. We just don’t have time to check it all.’

  ‘Yeah, this isn’t working, I don’t see anything obvious. And I think we’d have to assume it might not be anything obvious–it could be as simple as an unclipped wire line, or an unscrewed bolt.’ I put a hand on my hip. ‘I’m still not convinced Zep was doing anything malicious in here. He could’ve come in for any reason.’

  ‘You think he just left his jacket behind?’ Marco gives me a look of frank doubt. ‘Fleur, you noticed him leave. You knew in your gut it was odd, or you wouldn’t have paid any attention to it. And you wouldn’t have come to Mitch’s office and reported it.’

  I can’t fault his logic, but it’s bugging me all the same. ‘Let’s have a quick look in the ring. But if we don’t see anything, then we leave it to the sweep team.’

  ‘After you.’ Marco waves me forward through the curtain.

  The ring isn’t actually a ring; the stage design is contemporary ‘open fourth wall’ circus, with first-rank audience seats dispersed amongst a set dressing of fake boulders in front, rows of bleachers rising up behind. Without atmospheric lighting to create softening shadows, the ring looks sparse and industrial.

  Marco and I split off to walk the perimeter, poke through equipment at the rear, then meet up again to examine the bleachers near the patron entryway.

  ‘I think this is a waste of time,’ Marco pronounces.

  I agree with that assessment, but I’ve got other things on my mind now. ‘Ask you a question?’

  ‘Shoot.’ Marco scans the back-end poles, and he sighs as if I’m really about to shoot him.

  ‘Do you still like jam doughnuts?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answers absently, then he turns. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  ‘Why?’ Now I have his full attention.

  I shrug. ‘I was thinking about something I said last night…That you don’t know me. But I don’t know you, either.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Of course you know me–’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ I take a step closer to him across the sawdust. ‘We haven’t talked about ourselves much at all. We’ve talked about the show, and our jobs, and the way we used to be. But I haven’t told you anything personal about myself beyond circus stuff. And you haven’t told me anything about Scotland, or who you are now–’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want to know?’ He holds himself very still, his mouth a solid line. ‘You can’t afford to give pieces of yourself away, remember?’

  I swallow hard and pull my courage together with both hands. ‘That was a lie. I do want to know. I want to get to know you again. Because…because regardless of what happens, I’d like to stay connected this time. I don’t want to lose touch like before.’

  ‘Even if–’

  ‘Even when you go back to Cadell’s. Yes.’

  There’s a long, tangible pause while we look at each other. God I hate awkward silences. You wait for what feels like an eternity for the other person to come to some kind of verdict, and you’re–

  ‘I still like jam doughnuts,’ Marco says softly. ‘But now I like crème brulee more.’

  I release a breath. ‘Crème brulee? That’s kind of–’

  ‘Posh. Yeah, I know. But I only like the cheap, mass-produced ones you get in the supermarket.’ His cheekbones are slowly pinking up.

  ‘I’m kind of boring,’ I admit. ‘Still just addicted to chocolate.’

  ‘You can get deep-fried Mars Bars in Scotland.’ He sounds almost conversational.

  ‘Really? That…actually sounds kind of disgusting.’

  ‘They’re delicious. Are you still into horror novels?’

  I shrug. ‘I’ve kind of moved sideways into serial killer thrillers. And some romance fiction, for a bit of variety.’

  ‘Serial killers, with a side order of snogging. Okay.’

  ‘Diss my swoony reads and I will hurt you.’

  ‘I’m still reading spy novels, so I can hardly patronise. Did you ever date Zep Deal?’ The w
ords tumble out of his mouth seemingly against his will.

  ‘No. We’ve only ever been just friends. Did you think I was sticking up for Zep because I was involved with him?’

  ‘Yes. No.’ He exhales. ‘I was just…being stupid.’

  ‘I actually don’t date much. Too busy. I dated a guy from off the lot about four months ago. Simon–he was a DJ. It didn’t work out.’

  ‘I hate him already.’

  We have somehow moved closer to one another than is strictly necessary. I decide to throw caution to the wind. ‘Look, I’m sorry. You were right–I was pushing you away. You scare the hell out of me, Marco. I couldn’t control what happened to my dad, I can’t control this sabotage situation with the show, and I can’t control what you’re going to do in a week’s time.’

  Or how I feel about you. I’m not quite brave enough to say that yet.

  ‘Well, you scare me too, sometimes.’ Marco’s face is unguarded.

  ‘I scare you?’

  ‘You’re so fucking gutsy. You’ve taken on all of this yourself.’ He waves a hand at the inside of the Spiegeltent without taking his eyes off me. ‘You’re brave, you’re smart, and you’re as stubborn as an entire team of oxen.’

  ‘I…can be stubborn.’ I’m not sure how I should respond. All those traits are essential for show-running, in my newfound personal experience. ‘But it’s like you said, I haven’t been doing it single-handed. You and Mitch and Eugenia have been working incredibly hard. Especially you. You’re not exactly a fifth wheel, y’know.’

  ‘I knew it was crazy, to come back here.’ He looks down the centre aisle of bleachers towards the ring, where he steps out as ringmaster seven times a week. ‘I knew it would be awkward like this. But…I wanted to come back. And Mum asked. Even after she told me all those years ago that I wasn’t cut out for circus–’

  ‘Wait–what?’ My mouth falls open. ‘Marco, she didn’t. I mean, Eugenia talked with me. That’s not how she remembers it.’

  ‘She talked with you?’ He’s blank-faced.

  ‘Well, I was kind of prodding her,’ I admit. ‘We were discussing Zep, and circus, and family…Look, the only relevant bit is that Genie said she told you it was good if you needed something different. She didn’t want to restrict your choices.’

  Marco pales. ‘I thought she meant that I might not be cut out for the life.’

  ‘Oh, Marco, no…’ I reach out and touch his arm.

  ‘I thought if I wanted a change, then maybe that meant circus wasn’t where I was supposed to be.’

  There’s a pause, and I swallow hard. ‘Do you still believe that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He frowns. ‘I don’t know how much of enjoying being here is that I’m getting to spend time with you.’

  His tone is so straightforward, I can’t tell if he realises how much his words electrify me. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m touching him.

  I start to pull away, but he drags my hand back with his own. ‘I was pissed off last night.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  ‘I know.’ He stares right into my eyes. ‘And you were right to be cautious. I haven’t lived in troupe for so long. I must seem like a stranger.’

  ‘You’re not a stranger.’

  ‘I have baggage. It’s kind of complicating everything. And my external commitments are–’

  ‘I don’t care about that.’

  I really don’t. What I said to Marco holds true: I want to stay connected to him, whatever happens. It was stupid that we fell out of contact, and our estrangement certainly wasn’t all his fault. I could’ve made an effort, could’ve gotten in touch with him in the last five years. Sustaining a friendship is a mutual thing, and I can’t blame him for dropping the ball when it was me who didn’t want to try. I was angry after he left, all those years ago, but I can’t still be taking that out on him now. It isn’t fair.

  ‘I-I want us to be friends,’ I stammer.

  ‘Fleur…’ Marco is still holding my wrist. ‘Maybe you can be just friends. But somehow I don’t think that’s going to work for me.’

  The depth of his voice sends prickles all up and down my spine. His body is very close to mine, radiating warmth, and it’s making me lightheaded.

  I have to force my voice above a whisper. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because last night wasn’t only about me being angry from the argument.’ His smile is slow, his eyes dark whirlpools. He draws on my wrist until my palm is pressing against his stomach. ‘I was so turned on I could hardly see straight.’

  I gasp, and feel his muscles contract under his shirt at my reaction. I can’t seem to stop staring into his eyes. It’s like being hypnotised.

  His face is near enough for our breaths to intermingle. I’m shocked to realise that our free hands are clasping, our fingers entwined.

  ‘Fleur, do you know what you do to me?’ he whispers.

  He leans closer, his lips brushing the surface of mine for a bare second–before a noise from outside the canvas has us jerking apart like a pair of startled rabbits.

  Colm Mackay’s big blonde head and broad shoulders loom in the patron entryway as he flips the canvas aside, blinding me with outside sunlight.

  ‘Hey.’ He stands like a giant shadow for a moment, before tugging the flap shut again. ‘Sorry, have you guys seen…’ His eyes jump between me and Marco, then he blushes prettily. ‘Uhh…okay. Look, Gibson said the sweep’s due to start, and I should let you know that he’s on his way. So, um, now you know.’

  Marco recovers his professional chill a beat before I do. ‘Has Mitch got the team with him?’

  Colm nods. ‘Yeah, he’s only–’

  He’s interrupted by the sound of voices outside the canvas. I have enough time to smooth my hair back before the canvas lifts again and Mitch strides into the tent, Archie Carsisi and Fraser Hemming close on his heels. They split off to start the sweep, following the set pattern.

  ‘So did you find anything?’ Mitch sees me shake my head, shrugs. ‘It was a shot in the dark, Fleur, don’t worry about it. Let the team have a proper look now. Go get changed for the parade, and if there’s anything worth reporting I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Should we speak to the police?’ Marco asks quietly.

  ‘I’m not going to call it in just yet,’ Mitch says.

  ‘But should we?’ I don’t want to think about this but I have to say it. ‘I mean, we have some suspicious activity and circumstances, they might need to–’

  ‘If I’m going to sling accusations around, I want to make sure I’m slinging them at the right person.’ Mitch folds his arms and frowns at the tilt. ‘At the moment we don’t have anything solid.’

  ‘Okay.’ I bob my head. ‘Okay, fine.’

  Mitch starts towards the ring. ‘You guys should go get cleaned up. I’ll see you both in a half hour.’

  Marco and I look at each other. Then, by unstated mutual agreement, we leave in different directions.

  The sweep team didn’t find anything.

  Now I’m standing in the wings in my trapeze costume and black robe, chafing my hands. I’ve done the teaser with Luke and the others, and Marco and I just finished our ringmaster intro. I’ve handed my headset off to a crewmember, and spoken to Bennett about last minute hiccups. There’s none so far, which is somehow making me nervous.

  Now I watch the first act–Lee’s new routine with his acrobatic team–and wonder why I still feel this uneasy premonition of disaster.

  ‘It’s all looking okay?’ Marco walks up from behind me, winding his shirt sleeves down, fixing them at the cuffs.

  ‘Yes. I think so. Why does that make me anxious?’

  ‘Stop worrying, Fleur.’

  ‘I’m trying. You’re right, it’s probably fine.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Dammit. Should we have called the polic
e? Marco, listen.’

  He reaches out with both hands and cups my head. ‘Petal. Calm down.’

  There’s a long moment when I’m just staring into his eyes. They’re a burnt caramel colour, with streaks of dark blue; his waistcoat is the same midnight blue, with paisley swirls of jet. Tonight, the dark streaks in his eyes seem to have fanned out and taken over. It’s the only hint that he’s as affected as I am.

  His hands drop but he keeps staring. ‘Right. Come with me.’

  He takes my wrist and tugs me with him. He walks quickly, moving us out of centre backstage. The crew bustles, swallows up our absence. Soon we reach the far right side of the wing, where I came in that day with Dee and Sorsha, moments before Dad’s accident. Old equipment is stacked in orderly rows, and it’s into one of these rows that Marco pulls me now.

  He turns me around and backs me into a tall pile of crash mats. Then he presses his hands to the wall of vinyl behind me, bracketing my shoulders on each side.

  ‘Uh, I’m feeling a little hemmed in here,’ I point out.

  ‘You need to be contained for a minute.’

  ‘That’s a bit rude.’

  He leans in and whispers straight into my ear. ‘I can think of ruder things.’

  My eyes snap shut.

  ‘Look at me, Petal.’ He drags one finger from the point of my shoulder, up the side of my neck to lift my chin. ‘Just concentrate on what’s happening now. Stop stressing out about possibilities. Everything is going fine. We’re working it out together.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. I honestly can’t tell anymore if he’s talking about the performance or us.

  Then he dips his mouth close to my neck and lights a fire from my collarbone to my earlobe with his breath.

  My inhale is unsteady. ‘Marco, what are you doing?’

  ‘You can’t tell?’ He lifts his head and grins. ‘Sometimes you focus better when you’re distracted. So this is me, distracting you.’

  ‘I’m…pretty distracted.’ That is ungenerous. If I were any more distracted, I’d lose all my autonomic functions. ‘You might have ulterior motives, though. For distracting me.’

  Marco watches the pulse beat in my throat, and licks his lips. ‘I might.’