Page 141 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘They told me the same about you!’ Her eyes are filling with tears.

‘But… why?’ Then I think of the poor Italian couple in our bunk – the same illness.

‘Is this really happening?’ she asks.

I lean over and stroke her cheek to check she is real. ‘I thought I saw you everywhere – all the time. In the street, in the supermarket.’

‘I saw you too.’

She leans away from me and looks at the child. ‘They took me to the hospital,’ she says. ‘I didn’t wake for a week.’ Then she turns back to me, a tear rolling down her cheek. ‘They told me that my husband had died.’

‘Where did you go? After the hospital?’ I ask, still wanting to touch her, to make sure this is not one of my mad dreams.

‘I had no papers, and because of my situation a convent in New Jersey took me in.’

‘Your situation?’

Frieda looks to the little girl on the chair once more, and my heart soars.

‘You have been here, in this city, the whole time?’

‘In Brooklyn.’

‘And now you are here.’

‘And now I am here.’

The bell rings above the door again and one of our elderly customers, Mrs Gregson, comes in.

‘Michel,’ she starts, ‘I have a banquet and I must, just must, wear this one.’ She hands me a red velvet dress. ‘It is a mess. Smells of mothballs. Tomorrow?’

I don’t answer and she looks at Frieda, then at me.

‘Tomorrow?’ she says again.

I nod.

‘A ticket?’ she reminds me.

I scribble down the basics, not caring what it says.

She shakes her head at me and leaves.

The child gets up from her chair. ‘Who is he?’ She points her finger at me, her eyes narrowed.

‘This is my friend, Michel,’ Frieda tells her.

‘I don’t like him.’ She takes Frieda’s hand and tugs at it.

‘She wants to go?’ I say; the girl is struggling to pull Frieda to the door.

‘She’s meant to be going to a ballet class,’ Frieda says, looking at the child, then at me.

‘Mamaaann!’ the child wails at her, then shoots me a look and sticks her tongue out at me like Kacper’s monkey, Gino.

‘I have to…’ Frieda says reluctantly.

‘That’s OK,’ I say, but I don’t mean it.