Circus of Thieves on the Rampage (11 page)

So breathtaking was her performance that some members of the audience literally forgot to breathe, leading to more faintings and emergency revivals.

The whole show was extraordinary, but since circuses are supposed to be extraordinary, you could say that the extraordinariness of the show was in fact rather ordinary. Apart from one thing. One
moment. A moment that for everyone in the audience except Billy was entirely ordinary (in the extraordinary/ordinary way I’ve just explained). It happened towards the end of the act, when
high up in the air above the stage, swinging to and fro with angelic grace, Queenie reached out and grabbed a dangling mirrorball. This was the only movement she made that wasn’t perfectly
smooth. Something about it seemed improvised, unrehearsed, slightly jerky. Queenie only held the mirrorball for a second, but while she had it in her grasp, she moved it into a spotlight and
positioned it at a very deliberate angle.

What was so deliberate about this angle? Well, it sent a shaft of reflected light downwards, towards one particular seat in the front row, where a girl was sitting. This girl blinked in the
glare and shielded her face, but not too quickly for Billy to recognise her.

This, Billy knew, was a message – a secret message – intended just for him. How he knew it, he didn’t know, but sometimes we all know things without knowing how we know them,
and this was one of those times.

‘Oh, my giddy aunt!’ yelled Billy, leaping to his feet. ‘It’s . . .’

Luckily, just as this moment of pure joy was on the brink of shattering all his inhibitions, Billy remembered who was sitting next to him. With enormous effort, just in time, he silenced
himself, wiped the grin from his features, and sat down.

‘It’s what?’ snapped Armitage.

Billy had to think fast. Armitage could not be allowed to know that Hannah was there. He was in the middle of a revenge rampage, and Hannah was right near the top of Armitage’s list of
People Who Need To Be Taken Down A Peg Or Two. She had diddled him, stitched him up, done him like a kipper, and Armitage did not enjoy being diddled, stitched or kippered, not one little bit. All
diddlers, stitchers and kipperers went straight onto Armitage’s list, and the only way to get off it was to be diddled, stitched or kippered back.

The last thing Billy wanted to do was to let Armitage know of Hannah’s presence.

‘It’s . . . cold,’ said Billy.

‘No it isn’t,’ replied Armitage.

‘I mean it’s hot.’

‘You’re right. Too stingy to put the air conditioning on, probably. Typical. That’s Queenie all over. All mouth and no trousers. All gong and no dinner. All frills and feathers
and fancy fripperies, but no ventilation to keep the punters comfortable. Am I right or am I right?’

‘You’re right,’ said Billy. ‘Typical.’

Billy tutted supportively, but inside he was very much not tutting. In his heart, he was skippling, zooping and jiggiemuffering
³³
for joy. Hannah, his
friend and saviour, was there! Right there!

Unfortunately, so were ten thousand other people. He’d seen her, but now he had to get to her, which might not be so simple.

‘Time to go,’ said Armitage, grabbing Billy’s arm and hauling him towards the exit.

‘But the show isn’t over!’

‘We’re not here to have fun! We’re working!’ said Armitage. ‘Anyway, it’s all hype if you ask me. Boring, in my opinion. Average at best.’

Together, they sneaked out of the auditorium and headed towards a vantage point concealed behind a thick pillar, from where they had an unobstructed view of the box office. It was from this spot
that Armitage watched, with particular interest, the moment when Reginald Clench left the ticket desk and locked up, before walking towards the stage carrying a tuba, for his part in the finale.
This was Clench’s only self-indulgence. He couldn’t resist claiming just a sliver of the limelight, by providing the
oompah
for the last tune of the show, dressed as a Hawaiian
maiden, floating across the stage on an inflatable palm tree.
³⁴

When Clench was on stage, who was in the box office, guarding the safe?

Armitage took out his binoculars. He was drooling.

Billy knew that look on his face. With a little less self-control, Armitage would have been cackling, too. This was the look of a dastardly scheme falling into place.

A
FTER THE SHOW,
Granny took Hannah backstage. The circus on its own was almost more excitement than Hannah
could take, so the idea of actually meeting the circussers afterwards was close to mind-blowing.

What a birthday! Even though she’d only been given two presents – a chunky tandem and a filing cabinet – this was still proving to be the best birthday of her life.

Hannah gripped Granny’s hand as they edged through the thick
³⁵
crowd of circus-watchers heading happily home. Granny’s hand was both
gnarled (because she was old) and sticky (because she’d been scoffing candy floss for the last two hours), but it felt to Hannah like the most comforting thing in the world. Granny had always
been an important person to Hannah, but now more than ever. She was her link to the past, to the mystery of her parentage and to her long-lost mother. Crowds usually scared Hannah, who preferred
fresh air, grassy meadows and the feel of cowpats squelching underfoot, but as long as she had a grip of her sticky, gnarled grandmother, she felt safe.

After several conversations with sour-faced security men who all sprouted curly wires out of their ears and down into the back of their suits (which made them look as if they had battery-powered
brains (which maybe they did)) Hannah and Granny were ushered into a long corridor with a thick
³⁶
red carpet.

Somehow, Granny knew where to go. The further they walked through the winding passageways of the Oh, Wow! backstage area, the tighter Granny gripped Hannah’s hand. There was a look on
Granny’s face Hannah had never seen before – a gleam in her eye, a flush to her cheeks, and a slight tremble in the loose flappy bits on her neck. Despite being old and gnarled and
sticky, her grandmother was clearly just as excited by circussiness as Hannah.

‘Granny?’ said Hannah.

Granny stopped walking and gave Hannah’s hand an extra squeeze. ‘I know,’ said Granny.

That was the end of the conversation – a conversation which perhaps appears totally meaningless – but which to Hannah and Granny made perfect sense. They were telling one another
this was almost too much excitement to bear, and checking the other one felt the same thing – a feeling like that of simultaneously skydiving, winning the lottery, and needing a pee really,
really badly.

After this exceptionally concise chat, they both felt reassured that the feeling was mutual.

Gripping hands tighter than ever, they arrived at a door with a large star on it and the thrilling words: ‘
QUEENIE BOMBAZINE
–
DO NOT DISTURB
’. Maybe the last three words
weren’t particularly exciting, but the first two more than made up for it. This was her dressing room! Queenie Bombazine! Living legend! Mermaid of the Skies! Etc.!

Granny knocked noisily with her gnarled knuckles.
³⁷

‘Mmm-hmmm?’ came the reply, which sounded like a ‘come in’, but with a hint of ‘though I’d prefer you to go away’.

They went in. The first thing that hit Hannah was the smell. Or, rather, the scent. This was the most perfumed room she had ever visited. Entering Queenie’s dressing room was like diving
into a swimming pool of rose petals; it was like smacking yourself in the face with a mallet of loveliness; it was a grenade of exquisite, wafty fabulosity exploding inside your nostrils.

One moment Queenie was sitting at her dressing table, the next she was on top of them, squealing with delight, hugging Granny, then hugging Hannah, then hugging both of them at once, so hard
that they both lifted off the floor. She may have looked dainty up on that trapeze, but this was a woman with serious muscles. Hannah had never been hugged like this in her whole life. Her
mother’s hugs were ticklish, dainty, fluttery things that felt like being delicately wrapped in a gauze curtain. This hug was more like a cross between a full body massage from two massive
silken cushions and how the last few moments of your life might feel before you were gobbled up by a wild bear.

If Hannah’s mother had been there, she would have no doubt tried to stop the whole thing, chipping in with an ‘Oooh! Goodness! Careful of her little bones.’ But Queenie was not
careful, and she clearly had scant regard for the supposed fragility of young skeletons.

Hannah prided herself on being independent and self-reliant, but in Queenie’s arms she felt an entirely new and strangely delicious sensation of being almost swallowed up by someone big
and strong and competent and generally overflowing with wonderfulness. Even though they were almost strangers, Hannah felt as if this was possibly the best hug she had ever been given.

Everybody needs hugs, just like everybody needs to drink. Hannah’s mother did hug her, and also gave her glasses of diluted juice whenever she asked for them, but hugging Queenie was like
leaping under a waterfall.

Sometimes, when you are overwhelmed by a situation, the strangest things come out of your mouth. This is what happened to Hannah. The first words she ever spoke to Queenie Bombazine were these:
‘Can I feel your muscles?’

This could have easily proved embarrassing. As I’m sure you know, ‘Can I feel your muscles?’ isn’t your average greeting. But Queenie wasn’t the kind of person who
cared for average greetings. In fact, she seemed rather pleased by Hannah’s question.

‘Of course,’ she said, clenching her bicep for Hannah.

Hannah had a good squeeze, with one hand, then two. It was like rock.

‘Can I feel yours?’ said Queenie.

‘OK,’ said Hannah. ‘They’re not very good yet. I’m only twelve.’

Hannah clenched. Queenie felt.

‘Not bad,’ said Queenie. ‘Your mother was a skinny thing, but she was strong, too.’

These words zapped at Hannah’s heart, sending an electric jolt through her whole body. Her mouth opened and shut, like a fish. This couldn’t be her home-mother Queenie was talking
about – the be-careful-don’t-forget-your-scarf mother – this was her
real
mother.