The Trapeze Swinger

1.1

"It's harder to win than you'd think," Mr Pot said knowingly as he led us further towards the back of the carnival.

Returning to my place at the rear of our small party, I absentmindedly massaged the hot skin of my shoulder through my windbreaker. Under my fingers the red nylon felt worn and rough, the stitching coming loose on one of the three white stripes down the sleeve.

"Are you okay, Slo?"

Although it was soft and airy, the sound of Birdie's voice so suddenly close to my ear made my heart slam in my chest, violently shaking me my reverie. She looked concerned, all doe-eyed and expectant as she walked beside me through a maze food stalls at the end of the main walkway. I opened my mouth to say I was fine, only for the words to stick in my throat as I realised it would've been a lie. Unable to answer, I instead glanced left and right as Mr Pot led us between a barbecue hut and a fresh juice stand, eyes tracking the workers as they started heating the blackened grills.

"I just need a fag," I finally sighed, before noticing Birdie's stricken expression and laughing as I rushed to correct myself, "A cigarette, I mean. Sorry Birdie, but you know what I grew up hearing."

My laugh hiccuped and then faded at the thought of my mum, stealing the warmth from me for the second time that day. I felt the chill settle into the very marrow of my bones as the image of the woman flashed up all shaky and flickering inside my head, a projector displaying film footage very much out of date. The smoke from her cigarette coiling up towards the ceiling of the living room, her slender fingers tapping to ash into the overflowing tray perched on the arm of the sofa.
She'd had one between her lips the day they took her away. I couldn't remember the expression on her face, just the tremble of the glowing stick in her mouth.

As if sensing my thoughts, Birdie gently reached out to tuck a lock of ragged hair behind my ear, taking my hand in hers. I offered her a weak smile before tuning back in to Mr Pot's grand tour just as we reached a long wooden fence that had been painted brightly with carnival scenes. There was a hinged door marked "Employees Only", which squeaked as it opened under the pressure of the man's palm.

"... and here is where you'll be staying. Birdie explained to me you'd need accomodation while working here, so it was arranged that some of your wages would be retained as rent for you to live onsite," Mr Pot was explaining as we followed him through the doorway and into what could only be described as a small trailer park. Caravans sat slouched on either side of a winding driveway, washing flapping on makeshift clothes lines in the wind. It was deserted, all the employees already out for the day, yet something about the dark windows into each trailer made me feel watched.

"Isn't it great?" Birdie whispered to Lou and I, brown eyes lit up with excitement as she took in our reactions. Lou offered me a sheepish grin whilst I could only narrow my eyes in response, brow furrowing. When Lou had told me the plan for coming out here to Eastbourne, there had been no mention we'd be living in a fucking caravan. For some reason I'd assumed we'd be crashing with Birdie at her grandma's place, and the realisation that this was not the case left me scrambling to catch up with the situation at hand.

Walking up the dusty gravelled drive behind Mr Pot, I breathed deeply through my nose as I tried to crush back the tide of homesickness that threatened to engulf me. If I let myself be lost in that bitter swell I'd drown, with Lou choking in the salty water alongside me.

At the very top of the drive, before it curved back around to the entrance, Mr Pot stopped. With a flourish, he gestured to the 70s style curve-topped trailer sitting slightly crooked in front of us. It's two porthole windows looked like eyes, the spiderwebs which were crusted around the frames like silvery lashes.