Money For The Circus 6

Marcus has been awake all night. Gran was “squiffy” when he got back home. He thinks that's a silly word for someone who was vomming into a bucket and trying to swear at the same time. He’ll change the sheets, but not until Gran gets up later. Luckily it’s not a school day. Marcus decides to shower and go out. Seven on a Saturday morning, it will be quiet all over Welland. A place too small to be trapped between Hudderston and Wetherfax and be lively. Only the head-down people wearing going-out clothes will be on the streets. Marcus wonders what they’re ashamed of.

Hair still wet, he runs along the road down to the town centre. Welland’s centre is as hollow as an Easter Egg. There’s almost nothing but empty buildings, charity shops and fast food outlets. The Newsagent’s closed down last week. No-one reads a newspaper any more. Frowson’s Old-Fashioned Sweet Emporium is still doing business, though. Gran used to take Marcus there when he still had to reach up to hold her hand. It had shelves and shelves of those big jars. Gran would always buy him Kola Kubes, they didn’t taste anything like the real thing . The lights are on in Frowson’s, thought the sign still says closed. Old Man Frowson is carrying a rolled up sheet of paper, looking puzzled as he looks at the weird bubble like panes of the shop’s front window. Marcus knows what the problem is. You can’t put a poster in that kind of window.

He backs off, stands outside the Old Post Office, then sits down on the window ledge. 14 years old and he can still swing his legs. So he stops. Frowson comes out. He looks left and right down the street. He lets out a sigh that Marcus can hear from the other side of the street. He unrolls the paper. Marcus knows what it is, though it’s too far away to tell, really. No glue, no tacks, no nothing and Frowson sticks the poster to the Yorkshire Stone of the Emporium wall. Frowson does that thing with his hands as though brushing off the glue or whatever that he hasn’t used. He looks both ways down the street and gives a sharp nod at Marcus and walks off whistling a tune Marcus vaguely recognises from when Gran has that oldies station on the radio.

It’s another poster for the circus, what else? It’s different though. Marcus can see the two men he saw last night. There’s no sign of the BAME knife thrower. There’s a trapeze artist with a rope around her leg. And one around her neck. Marcus bursts out laughing. She looks like Cassandra from the Social.