MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 34
‘You don’t have to do what he says,’ I put my hand over hers.
‘It’s not worth the hassle,’ Ellen sighs, ‘believe me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
'Mum died, and he wants to buy a house and convert it to apartments to rent out,’ Ellen
whispers.
‘I’m sorry about your Mum,’ I stroke her arm.
‘He needs my share of the inheritance to do it,’ she says.
‘E-L-L-E-N! I don’t have all day!’ Robert hollers.
‘Is he always this angry?’ I close the hall door; that's one good thing about this old
house; the doors are solid wood. 'There, now we won't hear him,’ I chuckle.
I flick the switch on the kettle, ‘come on, let’s have a cup of tea.’
'Oh, well, maybe….'
Ellen grips her upper arms in a self-hug and sighs. ‘How did you become a trapeze
artist?
‘I ran away to the circus.’
‘No!’ she raises her eyebrows.
‘My parents wanted me to become a doctor, like my father,’ I lean forward. ‘They’d
lock me in my room to study.’
'Brutal,’ Ellen says. ‘But why the circus?’
‘My grandmother took me once. I remember the musty smell of the faded marquee
and the reek of animal manure. The caramelised odour of burning sugar from the candy
floss machines, but most of all, the thrill I felt at watching the trapeze artists flying
above our heads,’ the memory makes me shiver with excitement. Ellen tilts her head and
maintains eye contact, ‘the circus captured your heart.’
‘That’s how I met Ernesto; he was our catcher,’ I trace my fingers along his shoulders
in the picture, ‘look at how his suit strains at his biceps. Every show, he would swing on
his bar, upside down, timing when to shout ‘hep,’ for one of us trapeze artists to take off
on our fly bar, let go and soar through the air to grasp his hands.’That must have been
exhilarating!’ Ellen’s eyes are moist with empathy.
‘I have some memorabilia in the study if you’re interested,’ I say.
‘I’d love to,’ Ellen presses her lips together, ‘what about him upstairs?’
The kettle's switch clicks up, a thin film of vapour spreads over the kitchen window,
'Oh the tea, I forgot.'
‘It’ll keep,’ Ellen says.
‘Won’t take a minute,’ I lead her through to the back of the house.
A dressmaker's mannequin wears my silver lamé leotard in the corner of the room, and a
photo album sits on the dresser. Circus posters decorate the walls.
‘What a glamorous costume,’ Ellen caresses the textile.
‘I was a bit thinner then.’
‘I wish I could do something so extraordinary,’ she pines.
‘You can, and you will,’ I assure her.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Ellen swallows hard. 'Self-belief, that’s the gift you have to give
yourself,’ I hold her hands in mine. ‘You can start by standing up to your brother and
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