The Sequin Star (3 page)

‘I'll get some toiletries from the bathroom cupboard,' Mum said. ‘Why don't you see if you can find some slippers and a dressing gown in the wardrobe?'

Claire found the articles and packed them in the bag. ‘Got them,' she called. ‘Anything else?'

‘No, that's great. I'll just be a moment,' replied Mum as she rummaged in the bathroom cupboards.

Claire wandered over to the window and looked out at the view of the harbour in the distance. On the window sill stood an old carved timber box. Impulsively, Claire lifted the lid.

Inside was a jumble of miscellaneous items. Claire recognised her grandfather's pipe, a scuffed cricket ball, some cufflinks, a few foreign coins, some string and a fountain pen. A wave of nostalgia washed over Claire. It was a collection of her grandfather's treasures.

At the very bottom of the box something silver glittered. Claire dug down to see what it was.

It was an old brooch, shaped like a star. The back was chipped so that brass showed through the silver plate. The front was made of tiny silver sequins and paste diamante ‘gems'. Several of the stones and sequins were missing. Claire turned the brooch over in her hand. She wondered what it was doing among her grandfather's things. She thought about the cheap piece of costume jewellery compared to the expensive gems in her grandmother's jewellery box. At that moment, Claire heard her mother coming in. Without thinking, she slammed the lid of the box and slipped the star brooch into her jeans pocket.

Mum smiled as she packed the toiletry bag into the suitcase. ‘I think that's everything,' she said, zipping the bag closed. ‘Shall we go?'

Claire felt her heart contract as she glanced around the room. She had a terrible foreboding that her grandmother may not come home again. ‘Do you think there's anything terribly wrong with Nanna?' asked Claire.

Mum hugged her. ‘I'm sure she'll be fine. Let's go and take these things to the hospital. You can help me choose some gorgeous flowers.'

In the hospital, Nanna was lying in bed with the guardrails up. She looked crumpled and bemused, and somehow much smaller than Claire remembered. Nanna stared at Claire, searching her face.

‘Claire?' asked Nanna, groping weakly for her hand. ‘Is it really you?'

‘Yes, Nanna,' replied Claire, squeezing the wrinkled hand lying on the coverlet.

‘I thought you were dead,' said Nanna, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Where have you been? I thought you were all gone. Why did you leave me for so long?'

‘We . . . we were here with you last night,' Claire stammered. ‘Remember, Nanna? We followed the ambulance to the hospital from the theatre.'

Nanna shook her head, frowning. ‘No, no you weren't.'

Claire pulled back, glancing at her mother for help. Mum leant over and hugged Nanna.

‘Mum, you've hit your head. The doctor says you may have a little concussion.'

‘Who are you?' demanded the suddenly querulous old woman. ‘Where's Kit? They haven't taken him again, have they? Or has his father forbidden him to come?'

Claire and her mother exchanged alarmed glances. Had Nanna forgotten that her husband had died? Kit's own father had been dead for decades.

‘I'm your daughter Libby,' Mum explained patiently. ‘Dad . . . Dad's not here right now . . .'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' Nanna snapped. ‘I don't know you . . . and I haven't seen my sister Claire here for years. I don't know why she let me think she was dead . . .'

‘Claire's not your sister, Mum . . .' Mum stood up, her lip trembling. She fought back the tears. ‘She's your granddaughter.'

A nurse bustled in, taking in the distress on everyone's faces. ‘How are you feeling, Mrs Hunter? Perhaps it's time for a little rest? Your family can come back and see you a little later.'

Claire rose shakily to her feet. She wanted to scream and break something.
How can this be happening? How can Nanna not know who we are? How can it be that yesterday Nanna was perfectly well, yet today she is like a muddled stranger? It's not fair.

Claire took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Bye, Nanna. I hope you feel better soon.'

Her grandmother looked at her strangely. ‘I'm not Nanna – I'm Vivien Blake – no, Vivien Hunter.'

Mum hugged Claire close and led her out of the room. ‘She's just a little confused,' Mum gabbled, trying to reassure them both. ‘She'll be better soon.'

Claire felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach. It was so unlike Nanna. She'd always been so articulate, so elegant. What if she didn't get better?

Memories crowded in from when she was younger, lovely recollections of cooking with her grandmother, snuggling up reading books, watching their favourite TV series together. Her grandparents had often looked after her, after school, on the days that Mum worked.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets and felt a sharp prick in her finger. Then she remembered the shabby star brooch she had found among her grandfather's things. A wave of guilt washed over her. She shouldn't have taken it. Well, she didn't mean to. She'd hid it almost by reflex.

As Claire and her mother were leaving the hospital ward, a doctor walked towards them wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard. She referred to her notes then looked up, smiling at them.

‘Hello. Are you Mrs Stanton?' she asked Claire's mother, who nodded. ‘I'm Doctor Costa. I was one of the doctors who examined your mother when she first arrived.'

‘Do you think she'll be all right, Dr Costa?' asked Mum. ‘She's very muddled and . . . a little forgetful.'

A
little
forgetful
, thought Claire.
She doesn't remember her own daughter!

The doctor smiled reassuringly. ‘Your mother sustained a concussion and is suffering memory loss,' confirmed Doctor Costa. ‘This is not unusual with people her age.'

Claire's mother took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

‘Have you noticed her having any problems with memory recall lately?' asked Dr Costa. ‘Or any other signs of behavioural changes?'

‘No, I don't think so, but then again I seem to have problems remembering things myself,' joked Mum.

The doctor laughed. ‘That's just being busy and tired.'

Mum nodded with a wry smile. ‘Tell me about it.'

‘With your mother, the confusion could also be caused by any one of several health issues, such as infection, illness or hormone deficiencies, so we will need to run a series of tests,' Doctor Costa explained. ‘She also seems fairly weak, so she may have been forgetting to eat properly.'

The doctor checked her notes then looked seriously at them both.

‘I have to warn you that her symptoms could also be caused by various types of dementia, such as Alzheimer's disease,' Dr Costa explained. ‘Alzheimer's is very common in people over the age of eighty-five.'

Please, not Alzheimer's disease
, thought Claire. She remembered seeing a program on Alzheimer's disease, which explained that as the brain cells died it caused increased memory loss and dramatic changes in behaviour.

‘When will we know?' asked Mum. ‘Will she be in hospital long? When can we take her home?'

The doctor frowned. ‘We will keep her in hospital for a few days while we run the tests and build up her strength. Her records show that, until now, she has been in excellent health for her age.' She referred back to her notes. ‘I believe she has been living by herself in a retirement unit.'

‘Yes,' said Mum. ‘She's usually very fit and independent. She does have a housekeeper who comes in to help her for a few hours.'

‘Well, we'll see how she goes, but you and your family might need to think about how you are going to care for her when she comes out. Clearly, she is in no state to live on her own at the moment.'

Mum nodded, gripping Claire's hand. ‘Thank you, Dr Costa.'

The doctor smiled again. ‘Good day, Mrs Stanton. I'll keep you up to date.'

She walked away down the corridor. On the verge of tears, Mum turned to Claire and gave her a big, shuddering hug. Claire felt her stomach twist with anxiety.

‘Do you think Nanna could really have Alzheimer's?' Claire asked. ‘Do you think she will remember who we are?'

Mum shook her head. ‘I don't know, darling, but Nanna is in the best hospital. The staff will look after her, and hopefully we'll find out more when they do those tests.'

Claire and her mother began to walk towards the exit.

‘I'd better get to work,' said Mum with a sigh. ‘If I drop you at the bus stop, do you think you can catch a bus home?'

Claire nodded. ‘I'll be fine, Mum. I have some homework I should do. I'll see you and Dad when you get home.'

On the bus ride home, Claire couldn't stop thinking about her grandmother, and she was still thinking about her when she jumped off the bus. She slipped her hand into her pocket and her fingers touched the silver star brooch.

Claire waited on the sidewalk, lost in her own world. When the bus roared off, she stepped out to cross the road – straight into the path of an oncoming bicycle.

Claire closed her eyes and felt the handlebars thud into her side, throwing her sideways. Her hand clutched the star brooch in her pocket. Something flew over the top of her. Her head slammed into the ground.

Pain. Nausea. Darkness.

3
The Circus Lot

‘What are you doing?' cried a voice. It was high-pitched with fright. ‘You shouldn't be here. You could get killed.'

Claire tried to open her eyes. Blinding light. Pain shot through her temple. She touched her head with her fingertips. It felt warm and sticky.

‘I say, are you all right?' came the voice again, a bit softer this time. It was a girl's voice. ‘You're bleeding. Can you hear me?'

Claire lay there, too dazed to speak. The ground beneath her cheek smelled of warm dirt and dried grass. She wriggled her toes and fingers. Everything seemed to be working.

‘Jem, Jem,' yelled the girl. ‘Come and help me. A girl ran out in front of Elsie. I think she's hurt. It's a miracle she wasn't trampled.'

Claire moaned and opened her eyes. A face peered down at her. Actually, there were two faces. One had fair skin and hazel eyes, and was surrounded by wavy, black hair. The other was tiny and wizened.

She closed her eyes again. It couldn't be. She opened them again. It looked like there was a monkey peering down at her.

The next time she opened her eyes there were three faces staring down at her. One was a boy's, about fourteen, with a thatch of messy blond hair and lots of freckles. The next was the dark-haired girl, about fifteen, and the third was definitely a monkey, wearing a little crimson fez and jacket.

Claire sat up gingerly. She looked around, expecting to see the busy street near her home and her usual bus stop. Instead, she was in a dusty field. Behind was a huge tent, with dozens of vintage trucks and caravans parked all around it. A circus. That would explain the monkey.

Right behind the girl was a wrinkly grey elephant with long, dark eyelashes, who was using its trunk to blow dust over its back. A golden dog sniffed around beside them.

Claire closed her eyes again. Her head pounded. She could taste blood in her mouth. Muddled thoughts raced through her brain.
This doesn't make any sense. I was on the bus, nearly home. Now I'm lying in a strange field. How did I get here? Where am I?

The girl bobbed down beside her. She was wearing a pair of baggy brown jodhpurs, knee-length black riding boots and a short-sleeved white shirt. Her outfit looked quaint and old-fashioned. The monkey chittered gently on her shoulder.

‘How are you feeling?' the girl asked. ‘Can you move?'

Claire fought back an overwhelming sense of panic.
There must be a logical explanation. Perhaps I'm hallucinating. Perhaps they moved me while I was unconscious. That must be it. They moved me into a park to get me off the road.

‘A bit groggy, but I don't think anything is broken,' admitted Claire, her voice croaky. She looked around. ‘Is the cyclist all right?'

‘Cyclist?' asked the boy. ‘The only cyclist around here is Lula the monkey, and she only rides in the circus ring.'

‘I stepped onto the road and was hit by a bicycle,' explained Claire. ‘He hit me hard so I thought he might be hurt too.'

The girl exchanged a concerned look with her companion.

‘There wasn't any bicycle,' said the girl. ‘You were knocked over by an elephant. I was riding her down for a swim in the creek, and suddenly you appeared right beneath her feet. I can't imagine what you were thinking, running in front of an elephant like that.'

‘An
elephant
?' Claire felt a wave of panic rise up through her.
What is happening? Where am I?
Tears welled up in her eyes. She rubbed them away.

‘There was a cycle – I saw it, just after I stepped off the bus . . .'

‘I think you might have hit your head harder than you know.' The girl spoke in a soothing voice. ‘We're in a field. There are no buses for miles. What's your name?'

‘Claire . . . Claire Stanton,' she replied. ‘Who . . . who are you?

The boy grinned. ‘This is Princess Rosina, or Rosina Sterling, the gypsy princess and bareback equestrienne extraordinaire. And that's Lula, the cycling, stilt-walking, pony-riding primate. Not to mention Elsie the elephant.'

The girl bowed. The monkey jumped up and down on her shoulder, chittering with excitement.

‘And this is Jeremy Bates, commonly known as Jem – the fiddle-playing, ice-cream-selling roustabout,' Rosina added, slapping Jem on the back. Jem, too, looked quaintly old-fashioned with a knitted vest over his blue shirt, grey trousers and a soft flat cap on his head. ‘And his faithful sidekick, Jaspar.'

Jaspar was obviously the big golden dog with its tongue hanging out. It was of some indeterminate breed, with its shaggy, wagging tail and long, white socks, speckled with tan.

Claire grinned, despite her headache. ‘Do you really live in the circus?' she asked. ‘That must be amazing.'

Rosina smiled warmly and stroked Lula's back. ‘It's hard work, but we love it.'

Jem shrugged. ‘More importantly, we get fed.'

Rosina glanced over towards the camp, then back at Claire.

‘Do you think you can stand?' she asked. ‘Perhaps we should take you over to see Malia. She treats most of the injuries in the show.'

Jem helped Claire struggle to her feet. She wiped her dusty hand on the side of her jeans and straightened her singlet top. She definitely felt a bit woozy. Rosina offered her arm for support. Claire suddenly remembered her bag, with her phone in it. She could ring her mum. Mum could come and pick her up.

For a moment relief swept through her, but looking around there was no sign of the bag anywhere.

‘Did you see my bag?' asked Claire. ‘I had it over my shoulder just a minute ago.'

Rosina looked around. ‘There's no bag here. Are you sure?'

Claire looked suspiciously at Jem and Rosina. Had they stolen it when she was knocked over? ‘It had my wallet and mobile in it. I need my phone.'

Jem flushed. ‘We didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking.' His voice rose in anger. ‘Townies always think circus people are thieves and riffraff. Whenever anything goes missing we always get the blame.'

‘I didn't mean that,' Claire said hurriedly, ‘but I need to ring my parents.'

‘Jem could go into town and telephone your parents from the post office if you like,' suggested Rosina. She gestured down the road. ‘We could lend you some money for the call.'

‘Don't you have a phone here? Don't you have a mobile?'

Rosina and Jem exchanged incredulous glances again. ‘This is a circus,' explained Rosina patiently. ‘The nearest telephone is the post office in town. Perhaps if you write the number down Jem can telephone them while Malia is checking your head.'

Claire swayed wearily. It was all too much to take in. Rosina caught her arm to stop her from falling.

‘Can you walk, or would you like to ride on Elsie?' Rosina asked.

Claire looked up at the big elephant and shook her head. ‘I think I'll stay on my own two feet.'

As they walked slowly towards the camp Claire stared around her, drinking in the sights.

Men were bustling about the camp, setting up the smaller tents and unpacking long bench seats from the trucks. Claire was struck again at how quaint everyone looked, as though she was on the set of a 1930s period film. Most of the men were unshaven and wore either trousers and braces or waistcoats and jackets.

The circus men stared at Claire, as she limped along. She felt very much out of place, wearing her modern clothes, with dirt and blood on her hands and face. Claire combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tidy herself.

A temporary fence was set up, forming a yard where horses grazed. A couple of trucks held large cages, their canvas sides rolled up to let in the breeze. One held three tawny lionesses, lying with their cubs in the straw. The other held a mother and baby bear, their tan faces stark against their glossy black fur. Several dogs ran around the camp.

‘Oi, Jem!' a man yelled. ‘Give us a hand, and look lively.'

‘I'd better go before Frank loses his hair,' said Jem. He turned and called out to the workmen, ‘I'm just helping Rosina put Elsie away.'

He patted Elsie on the shoulder. ‘Come on, girl. I have a nice bucket of potatoes for you.'

The elephant flapped her ears and trumpeted, as though she knew exactly what Jem had said. She plodded along behind him, swinging her trunk and swishing her tail.

Rosina led Claire to where the caravans were parked in two neat, double rows, forming a semicircle behind the circus tents. The caravans were painted in bright colours: red, green and yellow. At the very end, a little apart from the others, was a larger blue caravan. It was decorated with gold swirls and scrolls, with Sterling Brothers Circus written in large letters down the side.

A thin woman in a faded shift frock was sitting outside on a wooden chair peeling potatoes. A table held a mound of potato peelings on top of a newspaper and a large saucepan full of water. There were three young children – a boy and two girls, aged between four and seven – playing with a kitten on the ground nearby. A large pink galah was perched on a branch above their heads, screeching and squawking.

Galvanised iron washing tubs and buckets and crates filled with paraphernalia were stacked under the caravan. A rope hung between the van and a nearby tree, strung with washing. Claire noticed the washing included tiny tutus, miniature clown suits and harlequin hats.

‘Malia,' called Rosina. ‘Could you take a look at this girl? She was knocked over by Elsie. Claire, this is Malia Sterling, the owner's wife, and these are her children, Peggy, Stella and Leo.'

The children looked up at Claire with serious black eyes, then disappeared under the caravan.

Malia glanced at Claire then Rosina. ‘How did that happen? What were you doing walking under an elephant?'

Rosina shrugged. Claire decided not to repeat her story of stepping off a bus and being hit by a bicycle. It sounded more and more absurd, even to her own ears. She rubbed her forehead, trying to think clearly.

‘I'm not quite sure,' Claire replied hesitantly. ‘I can't quite remember.'

‘She seems to have hit her head. She's very confused,' added Rosina.

Malia stood up and gestured for Claire to sit down on the chair. She examined the wound on Claire's head then disappeared inside the caravan. Claire's eyes scanned the newspaper beside her; it looked odd. The banner along the top read
The Sydney Morning Herald
, Friday, March 11, 1932. Claire felt a sick lurch in her stomach.

There was a story about the upcoming opening of the Harbour Bridge, one about the latest outbreak of infantile paralysis and another about the Premier, Mr Lang, pushing a new law through State Parliament.

Claire took a deep breath. She fought back a surge of fear.
This is impossible
.
I must be dreaming
.
Why does the newspaper have a date that is more than eighty years ago? Who are these people? How on earth did I get here?

Her head was pounding, her mouth was dry and her heart was beating erratically. Claire thought she might throw up. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to quell the panic.

Malia fetched a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. She gently wiped away the congealed blood from Claire's forehead. Claire winced with the sting.

‘Is this a film set?' Claire asked suddenly. ‘Are you actors?'

Malia snorted. ‘You
have
gone soft in the head, although sometimes I'm sure Princess Rosina here thinks she's an actress.'

Rosina raised her eyebrows at Claire and smiled. Lula the monkey stroked her hair with soft gnarled paws.

‘Where are we?' asked Claire.

‘Orange,' replied Rosina. ‘The latest camp of Sterling Brothers Circus.'

‘Orange?' asked Claire. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Don't you know where we are?' asked Rosina ‘We're about one hundred and fifty miles west of Sydney.'

‘One hundred and fifty
miles
west of Sydney?' Claire felt sick. How did she get so far from home?