Stormyâs trouser pocket.
As Al pulled the ribbon, the circus flyer came out too and fell on the floor. Before Stormy could get it, Al had stamped his foot down on it.
âWhatâs this?â He bent to pick the handbill up and almost toppled over.
He
was
drunk.
âItâs just something about a circus,â Stormy said, putting out his hand for it.
âMy giddy aunt flipping Sally!â Al whispered. âWhere did you find this?â
He was smoothing the sheet out on the table and staring at it. For the first time dabs of colour emerged slowly in his cheeks, almost as if he was thawing.
âCosmoâs Circus.â Al was shaking his head slowly. âLook, look at him there!â He pointed to the young man with the moustache. âDonât you recognise him?â
Stormy shook his head. As if? How could
he
recognise a man in a circus when he knew no one and had been nowhere?
âItâs
me
, you lummuck. Me!â Al grinned at Stormyâs surprised expression. He rubbed his big hands over his face, feeling along his upper lip as if searching for his lost moustache. âIt was a long time ago,â he added.
â
You!
â Stormy grabbed the paper and stared at the young man. âYou were
death-defying
! The high spot of the show!
You
were the Great Renaldo?â
Al sighed. âAh ha,â he said.
Stormy waited for more and when Al didnât speak, he went on, âYou look amazing in the picture.â He sat down, encouraging Al to talk more. âAwesome.â
âHuh.â
âWhat happened? Why didnât you stay at the circus?â
âForget it, Stormy.â Alâs face suddenly went hard.
âPlease. Oh please!â Stormy fixed him with a pleading stare. âIâm really interested. Please tell me, Al.â
âIâm too drunk. Oh, what the heck, who cares? What does it matter? I was born into the circus,â he said, leaning back in his chair and staring into the distance. âMy father was a circus man; he worked with rare animals, seaquins, unicorns and serpents, that sort of thing. He was good.â Al smiled slowly; his look was dreamy. âI can see Pa now,â he said, âstroking those bad-tempered seaquins, never a thought for their evil beaks! They didnât interest me. But when the circus got a spitfyre, oh, then things were different. I loved it. I had a way with it too, though I didnât realise it at the time. The circus bought more of them; they were popular with the crowd. I became their friend; I could stroke their noses and pour ideas in their little ears and they understood me ââ
âA spitfyre whisperer!â
Al nodded. âThe spitfyre trainer was harsh and used a whip. Heâd had every finger burnt and was scorched almost bald! Cosmo was glad to replace him.â
He stopped and stared out of the window, his face settling back gloomily into its normal scowl. While Stormy waited for him to continue, he tried to see some of that young man, that spitfyre whisperer and lover, in Alâs stony face.
He couldnât.
âMy father died; it was a giant python that did it â wrapped itself too tightly round his neck. That left me on my own and in charge of all five spitfyres. It was like living on a tightrope; balancing on the edge of life and death all the time, but I wasnât scared. I lived and slept with my spitfyres, I tried to get right inside their heads to understand them . . . I thought I could do anything. You understand that, I know you do, Stormy. You love spitfyres in that way, in that special way . . .â
Stormy nodded.
âBut Cosmo was so demanding, he wanted so much from the spitfyres and me. Faster! Jump higher! More daring!â
âWhat did Cosmo make you do?â
But Al hadnât heard him. âSpitfyres are ancient beasts. Complicated. They have feelings and you can push them too hard. Push them back with the
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