Hearts of Fire Page 8

  She slammed the door shut and took several deep breaths before turning back to me. “Sorry about that. He’s my brother. I love him, but the man is going to kill himself if he keeps drinking.”

  “It must be difficult,” I said sadly.

  She sighed and walked to the kitchen, lifting the kettle and pouring the boiled water into a teapot. “It is difficult. King’s lived a bizarre life. If you could have seen him in his day, you’d never connect the man he was then to the man he is now. He’s not a bad person, but his addiction makes him horrible to live with at times.”

  Her words had my mind racing with questions I wanted to ask, but I felt it might be rude. I went with something simple. “King’s a very unusual name. Is it a nickname?”

  She shook her head and set the teapot down on the table, pouring us each a cup. “No, it’s his surname. His given name is Oliver, but nobody ever calls him that anymore.”

  “But your surname is Mitchell.”

  “That’s right. We’re only half-siblings. Same father, different mothers. That’s why there’s such a large age gap between us.”

  “So you weren’t raised together?”

  Marina lifted her cup to her mouth and took a sip. In contrast to how distressed she’d been a moment ago, she now seemed relaxed and open. “Oh, goodness, no. King and I had very different upbringings. My mother was a lounge girl…King’s mother was a concert pianist. British upper crust. So you see what I mean when I say life used to be a lot different for him.”

  Well, that was certainly interesting. I wondered what great tragedies must have befallen him to bring him so low. Not that living with the circus was low, but he didn’t even have a camper van. From what I could tell, he slept rough most nights. A small pang of emotion swept over me as I considered the loneliness of an existence like that, the pain he must be going through.

  I thought back to the first time I’d seen him the other day, and how I’d felt like his eyes held a multitude of experiences, sinner and saint all rolled into one. I was about to ask her more questions when I realised that King wasn’t really the person I wanted to learn about. Jack was just as much of a mystery, one that pulled at my curiosity far stronger than anything else.

  As we drank our tea, I tried to figure out a casual way to work him into the conversation, but then I didn’t need to. Marina did it for me.

  “I saw you show up with Jack today while Winnie and Julie were arguing,” she said, and her observation made me self-conscious. It felt like Marina saw a lot more than most people. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Yeah, he, uh, came into town with me and Lola.”

  “Really? Did you ask him to come?”

  I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but I answered anyway. “Um, yes. Well no, actually. I invited him, but then he was rude, so I withdrew the invitation. Then he decided he’d come anyway.”

  “You know,” said Marina, plucking a biscuit from the plate on the coffee table and taking a bite, “I first met Jack a number of years ago in Dublin. He was practically still a boy back then. Had been performing fire tricks on the street for passers-by. His skill at such a young age was incredible. I’d never seen anything like it. So I waited until he was done and expressed an interest in recruiting him into the circus. I tell you, I’d never come across such a mistrustful creature as I did when I first met young Jack.” She paused and chuckled.

  “He was angry at me, came right out and said he wasn’t a gigolo. He thought I was trying to buy sex from him when I’d made the suggestion of work. It was a terrible misunderstanding. I left, but returned the next day and tried to convince him that I wasn’t a madam or some washed-up old woman looking for sex, but that I ran a circus and I thought he’d be ideal to perform with us. Still, he wasn’t having any of it. I gave him a card with my information, and every time I saw him chuck it in the bin. I knew real talent when I saw it, and I wasn’t going to give up on him. So I came back every day for a week until he finally agreed to have lunch with me. And the rest, I guess, is history. But my point is, Jack doesn’t trust easily. I’ve seen him in your company a number of times now, and it’s heartening. The fact that he’s letting you in means something.” Reaching across the table, she took my hand and gave it a soft squeeze. “Promise me you’ll be careful with his trust, Lille.”

  There was genuine affection in her voice, and I knew that, for whatever reason, Marina cared a great deal for Jack.

  “I will be, I promise.”

  “Thank you, love.”

  A moment of quiet went by before I spoke. “You know, he may not be as mistrustful as you think. I’ve seen him with Julie….”

  Marina cut me off with a sound of derision. “Jack doesn’t trust Julie. I think we both know what that relationship is all about. It’s a friend he needs, not a pair of open legs. You, Lille, are his friend. He needs a friend.”

  What she said took me by surprise. Was I his friend? I wasn’t sure my feelings for him were entirely friendly. In fact, I was certain they weren’t. Still, there was such hope in Marina’s eyes that I felt I needed to make an effort to be his friend. Whatever had happened to him to make him so untrusting of people must have been horrible, so I supposed, despite his behaviour sometimes, he deserved a friend he could trust. I resolved myself to being that person. It would also allow me to tick an item off my list. I’d thought it contained only selfish endeavours, things that would make me feel better, make my life better, but I was now seeing that wasn’t the case at all. I could use my list as a means to make better the lives of those around me, too.

  Yes, Jack would be my number seven:

  Make a new friend.

  Six

  Jack’s brother was in the paper

  “I wish I could have a flower for a nose and butterfly wings for ears,” said the little girl whose face I was painting red like a ladybird. Her name was Bea, and she was the daughter of one of the circus workers. She seemed to always be running around the place unsupervised, so I tended to spend a lot of time with her, mainly because I worried she might get lost or hurt if left alone. I was a worrier like that, which was why my lofty dreams of adventure often didn’t pan out.

  “I don’t like the way noses look. They’re ugly. Ears are ugly, too.”

  I laughed loudly. How could I not? The things children came out with sometimes were just crazy. “I tell you what,” I said fondly. “I’ll paint you a portrait, but instead of a nose, you’ll have a flower, and instead of ears, you’ll have the prettiest little butterfly wings anyone has ever seen.”

  She blinked at me and cocked her head curiously. “What’s a portrait?”

  “It’s a picture of you. Like, the same as if someone took a photograph, except it’s a painting.”

  This explanation seemed to excite her. “Really? You’ll paint a picture of me? Do you think Daddy will let me hang it up on our wall?”

  “Maybe. You’ll have to ask him,” I answered as I coloured in the black dot on her cheek.

  Bea grinned widely and wiggled happily in her seat just as Pedro and two other men stopped by. They were labourers who assisted with various things around the circus. To be honest, I didn’t really like the look of them. They had hard eyes, and their personal hygiene left a little to be desired.

  Perhaps one of them is Vera’s murderer, my brain put in. I hated that I thought it, because I was judging them purely by the way they looked.

  “Lily white,” said Pedro flirtatiously. “You look very sexy today. Maybe you’d like to come join me and my friends in the gazebo for a drink.”

  “I’m busy with Bea at the moment, but maybe some other time,” I replied, nervousness formulating in my gut. I was uncomfortable and just wanted them to move along. There was something about the interest in Pedro’s eyes that unsettled me, like he’d already stripped me naked, had his way, and disposed of me all in the space of a moment. It kind of made my skin crawl. Also, he and his friends were drinking cans of beer in the middle of the day, which
just felt off to me. Not to mention one of them was smoking what was clearly a joint. I tried to focus back on Bea, wishing they’d just leave, but they kept standing there, bantering back and forth.

  “I have to go pee now,” Bea said, and hopped off her seat. I’d finished painting her face, but I’d been drawing it out, hoping to look busy to Pedro & Co. I swore under my breath when one of the men grinned and said, “Looks like you’re free now. Come on, let’s go have some fun.”

  “That’s very kind of you to offer, but no, thank you,” I replied politely, focusing on putting away my paints.

  Pedro chuckled and looked to his friends. “She’s so fancy, isn’t she? We don’t get fancy around here very often, Lily White.”

  I swallowed, fiercely disliking the nickname he’d given me, but didn’t comment on it. I felt like engaging them in any way would only lead to trouble.

  “I like fancy,” said one of the men. “Nothing tastes sweeter than fancy pussy.” He smacked his lips together, and I cringed inwardly. Coming from a small town and living with an overbearingly strict mother, I wasn’t used to lewd talk, especially lewd talk directed at me. A sick feeling grew in my belly.

  Stuffing all my things in my bag, I slung it over my shoulder and made a move to leave, but Pedro stopped me. I was actually a couple of inches taller than he was, but he had muscle on his side, and there was something distinctly intimidating about him despite his smaller stature.

  He gripped my arm, and it wasn’t friendly. In fact, his fingers dug into me in a painful way.

  Cocking his head, he asked, “You think you’re too good for us, huh?”

  I swallowed. “Of course not. I’m just very busy, that’s all, and I don’t usually drink alcohol during the day, so….”

  “You looking down on us for drinking, eh?” Pedro bit out, and turned to look at his friends, his fingers still digging into my arm. “Pity fancy is usually snobby, too. I should teach her a lesson. Stupid fucking uppity bitch.” The alcohol on his breath told me he’d had quite a bit to drink, so maybe that was the beer talking. Still, the way he spoke was upsetting. I could feel tears catching in the back of my throat, apprehension clenching in my gut. I wished someone would come by and help me, but we were at the front of the tent, and most people were in their motor homes or at the gazebo having lunch at this hour.

  “Let go of me,” I pleaded, trying to keep my voice even.

  Instead of letting go, Pedro pulled me closer so that our bodies collided. His grip was like steel. “You’re gonna come have a drink with us as an apology. Make things right. Then we’ll let you go.”

  He dragged me forward, and I stumbled over my own feet. Pedro slid his arm around my waist, still holding tightly. I suspected he wanted to make it look like I was going with him willingly to the people in the camper vans we passed by. I tried to break out of his hold again, but he only gripped me harder, held me closer.

  We were passing by a van that I realised was Jack’s when I heard a low voice swear, “What the fuck.”

  “Jackie boy, we’re going to have some fun with this one. Want to come?” one of the men asked. I turned my head, desperation in my eyes when I looked at Jack, and I saw the anger plain as day on his face. He strode forward, fuming, and used both hands to push Pedro away from me. “You don’t fucking touch her, you hear me?”

  I stared wide-eyed at the scene that unravelled. “Are you serious, bro?” Pedro asked, wearing an indignant expression.

  Jack looked at me. “Did you want this dickhead’s hands on you?” he asked, and all I could manage was a fervent shake of my head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. And I’m not your bro. Are you so hard up you’re forcing women to spend time with you now, Pedro?”

  Pedro spat on the ground and grinned viciously. “She wants it. Just needs a little convincing, that’s all. Bet she’ll be a nice tight little fuck.”

  In a blur Jack swung for Pedro, laying a hard punch to his jaw, and I heard an awful crack.

  “Oh, Jesus fuck, did you just break his face?” one of the men exclaimed, looking bleary-eyed.

  Pedro was grunting in pain, kneeling on the ground and holding onto his jaw. “I’m going to fucking kill you, McCabe,” he seethed.

  Jack stepped forward and towered over him, flashing his teeth menacingly, his threat low and eerily calm. “Try it.”

  For the first time, Pedro looked genuinely frightened as he crawled to his feet, still holding his jaw. “Come on, boys, let’s get out of here.”

  They all scurried away, and I stood there, several feet between me and Jack. Once they were gone, he seemed to deflate, running a hand through his long hair and cursing under his breath.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. The tears that had been clogging my throat made my eyes grow watery. I was so unbelievably grateful for what he’d done, but there was an air about him that made me wary. I wanted to hug him in gratitude, but my body remained frozen and stiff. Jack advanced on me then, but stopped just when his chest brushed mine. His voice softened considerably when he lifted his hand and ran his knuckles down the side of my face.

  “I told you. I told you coming with us was a bad idea, but did you listen? No, you didn’t. You put your trust in a bunch of strangers. Can’t you see how stupid that was, Lille? For all you knew, we could have had some kind of human-trafficking gig going on the side and sold you into a life of slavery or prostitution. You never would have seen your family again.” He swore, dragging his fingers through his hair yet again, and looked to the side. When he turned back to me, he met my eyes dead on. “You have to learn that you can’t trust people.”

  I swallowed down all of the emotion that had formed like a ball in my throat and met his eyes. “I just wanted to escape,” I whispered so, so quietly.

  “And you could have been escaping, only to be captured. This work, this place, it’s not safe for women all alone.”

  What he said irritated me. “What about Lola? And Violet? They’re alone, and they’ve survived just fine. Look, this whole thing was just a bit of bad luck. Pedro and his friends were drunk and acting stupid. I’ll know to stay away from them in future. But thank you for helping me. I’m not sure what might have happened if you hadn’t, and for that I owe you one.”

  At this I shocked even myself when I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him in for a hug. I heard him suck in a breath as I pressed my body to his and rested my face against his hard chest.

  Hug me back. Please, hug me back, I silently urged him.

  He was still for a second before I felt him accept my embrace, his arms going around me, returning the hug almost too tightly. We stayed like that for a long time, standing on the grass outside his camper, birds chirping in the trees nearby. In the distance, I heard one of the elephants make a noise with its trunk that reminded me of a brass horn.

  Jack’s face moved, and I could have sworn I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head, his lips in my hair. Then he murmured, “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

  He pulled away first, and we began walking. I kept my eyes on my shoes, embarrassed and wondering if he felt awkward that I’d hugged him. When we got to Violet’s camper, I asked him if he wanted to come inside. I didn’t expect him to say yes, so when he nodded and followed me in, I had to stifle my surprise. Lola was sitting on the sofa, earphones in as she watched YouTube videos on her phone. She saw us and smiled, greeting us loudly, “Hey, you two!”

  I gestured for Jack to sit down, and poured him a glass of water. He hadn’t even asked for it, but I felt like I had to offer him something, and I had nothing else. I sat across from him at the table and a few minutes of semi-awkward silence passed, Jack and I looking at each other and then intermittently looking away. Lola started talking, pulling her earphones out, completely unaware of the tension between us.

  “Oh, my God, you have got to see this, Lille. I’ve been watching this guy’s videos for the past hour. He’s amazing. Everyone online is going crazy for him.” She came and pulled up a chair be
side me, laying her phone on the table and hitting “replay” on a video. The caption read: Jay Fields Amazes Yet Again!!

  In the video, a tall, attractive man with light brown hair and lots of tattoos stood on the street, shuffling a deck of cards in a way I’d never seen before. The cards practically did somersaults as his lightning-fast fingers simultaneously spun them into the air and effortlessly caught them again. He approached a woman standing in front of him and held out the deck.

  “Okay, darlin, pick a card, any card.”

  I was so engrossed in the video that I startled when Jack’s chair squealed across the floor and he stood abruptly.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked in concern. His face was pale, and he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

  “I have to go,” he said, turning and exiting the van in a rush.

  Lola and I exchanged a bemused glance before I got up and followed him out. I called after him, but he kept stomping away. We’d reached his camper by the time I caught up with him, reaching out and tugging on his arm.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, trying to catch my breath.

  Jack stood by the door to his camper. His shoulders sagged. “Just leave me alone, Lille.”

  He turned to me then, and there was such sheer agony in his eyes that my heart almost broke. Marina was right — Jack did need a friend, and I was determined to be one for him.

  I reached down and slid my fingers into his, my voice soft as I said, “Let me be your friend, Jack.”

  My words seemed to strike a chord in him, because I’d never seen him look at me so fiercely. A raindrop landed on the tip of my nose as a light shower started to fall.

  “Can we go inside?” I asked, indicating the falling rain.

  Jack seemed to struggle with whether or not to let me in, and then finally he nodded and tugged on my hand as he opened the door. Inside his camper was warm, and it smelled so strongly of him it was almost dizzying: clove oil, mint, and something that was a lot like burnt embers. The living area was tidy but worn; the whole place was very much lived in. I saw the door to his bedroom was open; a navy blanket lay messily on top of the duvet, and on the floor was a stack of old books. I tilted my head to try to read the spines, but before I got a chance, Jack pulled the door closed. I startled, embarrassed to be caught looking in his room. My cheeks heated, and without being invited I went and sat down on the sofa, which, like in most of the campers, was built into the furnishings. It was upholstered in a dark green tartan.