‘Sorry, I don’t speak –’
She smiles brightly. ‘Are you lost?’
‘I’m looking for someone. She works . . .’ I hesitate, wondering how best to ask about Nina. I don’t want to be turned away again.
The girl strokes the wolf’s head as if she’s soothing a dangerous animal. ‘Are you here about the job?’ The ugly mask seems to eye me suspiciously and I’m about to say no, when something strange happens. A muscle twitches in the wolf’s cheek and its snout wrinkles. I can’t have seen right, it must have been the wind ruffling its fur.
‘Ruth interviewed the others in her tent. I’ll get her for you.’
A prickle of alarm makes my face flush. ‘No, don’t worry. It’s OK,’ I say without thinking, then glance towards the big top flapping in the breeze. I don’t know what the job is for, but I have my gift, so hopefully I can find out by touching this woman’s clothes. Sitting an interview could be the perfect opportunity – a chance to talk to someone about the circus and the people who work here. I turn back to the girl with a smile. ‘Actually, yes. If you could just point me in the right direction.’
Her face shows a hint of confusion, but her voice is full of warmth. ‘Sure. That’s her place there.’ She points to a tired-looking caravan with tatty pink curtains. ‘Ruth is expecting you?’
I nod and consider asking her what she knows about the job, when the wolf’s head turns and fixes me with an empty-eyed stare. The movement is slight and barely perceptible, yet undeniable. There’s something so unsettling about it that I take a quick step back. ‘Yes. Thanks for your help.’
The girl smiles and then leaves, and I go over to the caravan and raise my hand to knock when I hear voices inside. A man says something I can’t quite catch and then a woman speaks in an Irish accent. ‘I know you feel bad about what happened, we all do, but you can’t keep blaming yourself.’
A jungle of plants fills the caravan window and it takes me a moment to make out the occupants through the mass of leaves. The man looks to be in his seventies and has a shock of white hair, but I can’t see the woman. He speaks in a lilting sing-song way like all Norwegians. ‘You think I’m a superstitious old fool, but they are more than just stories.’ He rubs his chin. ‘I should never have agreed to change things. That poor girl, I should have known something terrible would happen.’
I step to one side, out of sight, and press my back against the caravan. Could they be talking about Nina? The woman raises her voice. ‘I’m the tarot reader, Karl, not you. You couldn’t have known, no one could.’
The door bangs opens and my heart jumps. I duck around the side of the caravan and it shifts slightly as Karl limps down the steps. Short and slightly built, he wears a camel-coloured duffle coat with big square pockets that only accentuate his diminutive frame. He has the look of someone who’s spent his entire life outdoors: his tanned and leathery skin is creviced with wrinkles and his hair is a wind-blasted bush.
The woman jumps down after him, her auburn locks flowing in the breeze. She wears a white crochet shawl around her shoulders, though she can’t be much older than thirty, and she’s almost a foot taller than Karl. When she lays a hand on his shoulder and smiles tenderly, I feel awkward about spying on them. ‘Why not let the new manager just get on with it? You’ve earned a rest after all these years.’
‘Oskar?’ Karl snorts with derision then limps away, and the woman chases after him. ‘The world doesn’t stop, you know. We need to move on!’
I follow them, determined to speak to Ruth. She said she’s a tarot reader. If she’s looking to hire a psychic, maybe I can do more than just sit the interview: perhaps I can actually get the job. My pulse races with anxiety at the prospect. I thought I’d only need to leave Mum for a few days, but if I start working here I may have to stay longer. But then I have to do something. I can’t go home and risk Nina following me. It breaks my heart to think of Mum sobbing in fear and cowering in a corner as doors slam and crockery flies at our heads. At least if Nina is here, hopefully it means she isn’t at the cabin.
A harsh caw sounds nearby. A raven sitting on the roof of the caravan opposite twitches its head this way and that, then caws again, more insistent this time. It flaps to a nearby branch where it watches me intently. Can I really do this? Part of me wishes I’d never had the idea, but it will be a good way to get to know the people here. If I’m one of them, they might talk to me about Nina. I have to do something to make her leave me alone, or Mum and I aren’t going to have any kind of future.
There’s another reason to work here too. If I make friends with people, maybe I can find out about Stig. Mum was right. I was naive to let a runaway I know nothing about stay in my grandma’s cabin, especially after he’d broken into the place. But after everything that’s happened, I’m not so naive any more.
I think back to the last few conversations we had before he left, and I’m convinced he was keeping something from me. Why else would he say Nina had recovered from the accident and was fine, and then change his mind the next day? When I asked about it he got defensive and changed the subject. I don’t know where he is or why he hasn’t contacted me for the past three weeks – maybe he had no intention of coming back to the island – but if he’s hiding something or lying about what happened to Nina, this is my chance to learn why. He’s either a good person or he isn’t – and I intend to find out.
2
MASKED CREATURES PARADE
I
hurry after the tarot reader and call out, ‘Excuse me, sorry, can I talk to you, please?’
She stops and raises her eyebrows. ‘Yes?’
‘I wanted to ask about the job . . . You’re looking for a psychic? I’m Martha.’
‘Ruth.’ She extends her arm and I notice that her wrist is covered with silver bracelets. They jangle as I shake her hand. ‘I don’t remember that name. Did you arrange an interview?’
‘No, a friend mentioned it to me. I thought I’d just come by.’
‘I see.’ She pulls her shawl tight then glances at the sky as if I might have blown in on the wind. ‘This friend of yours, is it anyone I know?’
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. ‘No. It was someone I met in town. I’m kind of travelling at the moment.’
She frowns. ‘Is that so?’
Most people see my cloudy white eye that stares in the wrong direction and the jagged scar on my cheek and quickly glance away, or they look at me with pity. Ruth does neither. I watch her expression, hoping it might soften, but it doesn’t. She has a determined face: a square jaw and lively hazel eyes, the kind that can see right into you. Something tells me this isn’t going to be as easy as I hoped. I look at my feet, worried she can tell I’m lying, but then hold my chin high and remind myself that I have an advantage. I have my gift.
We’re standing on the wooden walkway near the big top. Drumming sounds from inside: soft, steady and hypnotic. Two Chinese girls pass by wearing matching black ballgowns, the bottoms splattered with red as if they’ve been dipped in blood. One of them has red roses in her hair and the other wears a hat with a white-handled knife tucked into the band.