Page 31 of The Wonder of You
When the circus leaves.
No.
I can’t think about that.
I need to focus on the conversation again and distract myself from that heart-dropping, devastating idea.
“I didn’t see him.” I lie. “When did you see him?” I question, a feeling of jealously creeping up inside of me.
“When I first walked in. It’s not hard to spot the ringmaster when he’s wearing that foolish suit. The whole thing was absurd. I am glad we never spent money on it.”
“I liked it.” I admit.
“I feel like youlovedthe circus.” She stops, her hands on her hips as she pouts at me.
“Not really,” I lie again. “I just liked some of the people.”
She looks at me up and down, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Hm.” She clicks her tongue and I am wondering what on earth could be running through that mind of hers. Money? Men? It’s usually one of the two.
“You walk home, I forgot something.” She starts walking away quickly as if she’s on a mission.
“Wait, what did you forget?”
“Just go home,” she shouts back.
“It’s dark, what about me? What about you?”
“Bloody hell, Renée, are you a child? No. Grow up and walk home. You’ll be fine and so will I.” Her voice is high pitched and I feel a sudden rush of hate swim through me. Why is she always so hostile? I wonder if she forgot to ask for the name of the man she spent the night with.
I am sure it’s nothing important.
I trip and stumble as I finally get out of the woodland and onto the dirt path that leads to my house. I am relieved to see it in sight after walking home alone in the dark.
A rare feeling for me. The little house I’ve called home all my life has never felt like a safe place. I’ve never been relieved to see it after a long day out. Inside it belongs my bed, though, a very small space that is my own. Plus, it’s not a good idea to be out near the woodland alone at night. So many dangerous people and creatures live in these woods. It’s no place for a lone woman.
Looking at the tiny house which appears ready to collapse anytime soon, I think of the ones no longer here.
My mother and grandparents died shortly after the birth of Lydia. Flu got them, and it got them bad. The flu had never killed anyone before. It was a scary time for everyone in town.
My dad became a single father and he struggled. I understand he has it tough, of course I do. However, he has always treated Lydia as the favourite, as if he loved her so much more. I have always seemed to be some kind of frustrating burden. It was like he blamed me for the flu, like I caught it and threw it at my mother to kill her.
Without a mum, without my grandparents, I don’t really have anyone.
I spent most of my childhood farming and selling our goods in the town. My childhood was focused onearning money, and when I wasn’t doing that, I was in the library trying to learn.
I never had time to make friends. Dad worked too. Fixing houses in town and helping build new paths, mostly. Between us, we made enough money to live comfortably. We may not eat luxury foods, but wehavefood.
Lydia didn’t do anywhere near as much work as me. Dad refused to listen when I questioned him. How unfair it felt, how unfair it still feels, when I am making us dinner and she’s sitting relaxing with her friends. Friends which could have been mine too if I had the privilege of free time. It seems Lydia made friends with the richer folk in town, which makes her believe we are poor rather than comfortable. Her constant pleas for more made Dad believe this too. A bat of her eyelids and he’d be apologising that he didn’t have enough money to buy her the things she wanted.
I attended a town council meeting to see if there would be help for the less fortunate. The leader of our world even attended. It was a surprise to see him. He spoke so confidently. He told us the issue was overpopulation. Too many people to feed, too many families having more and more children. He said he’d focus on solving this issue in the years to come.
I take a deep breath as I finally push open the door. I am surprised to see Dad still awake, sitting on one of the chairs with a glass of water in his hand.
“Where is Lydia?” he asks quickly, as if disappointed the least favourite daughter walked through the door instead.
“She went back to the circus,” I shrug my shoulders to indicate I have no idea why.
