obscenity after obscenity.
‘Look at the mess he’s making,’ gasps the boy. ‘Shouldn’t we tell somebody?’
I shrug. I don’t care if he drags the whole tent around his ears. I don’t care if he pulps the puppets into glue and the children bawl their eyes out. Mayhem is my meat and drink.
‘Stop being such a little prig,’ I snap. ‘This is the most fun I’ve had in an age.’
It’s only when every infant is wailing that the drovers put down their pipes and pile in. They cart off the puppet-master, still yelling filth. This must be the best, most roisterous, boisterous night known to man or boy.
I am encircled by dirty faces, agog for the next game. I am so engaged with racking my brains that I do not notice the bigger lads until I’m surrounded. One by one my midget congregation melt away, leaving me alone with this new gang. At first they ignore me, busy punching each other in a comradely fashion, although one of them strikes with far more vicious intent than the others. I’m glad he’s not whacking me. Though not the tallest, he carries the mantle of king upon his shoulders. He also wears a black eye like a campaign medal.
‘That’s some shiner you’ve got there, Reg,’ says a lad with a face like a ferret and hair to match.
‘It is indeed, Wilfred,’ says Reg.
Quicker than a bolt of lightning, Reg thumps Wilfred in the guts. He doubles over, wheezing. No one dares go to their comrade’s aid, for fear they’ll be next in line for similar treatment.
Reg chuckles, the sound of a dog being strangled. ‘You should see the other fellow.’
The gang snigger timidly and I join in. It is a mistake. Reg twists his head in my direction.
‘Who are you, pipsqueak?’ he says, legs apart, hands deep in his pockets and pushing out the front of his trousers.
‘I’m Gnome, that’s who I am,’ I say with as much of a swagger as I can muster.
He grins, his teeth sharp and grimy. ‘Where did you crawl in from? Never seen you before.’
‘You have,’ I snort. ‘Here every night, so I am.’
‘Are you now?’ he replies. He turns to his companions, who form a circle. ‘He says he’s here every night.’ They snicker, sharing the joke I am not privy to. The ring of bodies tightens. ‘I’m in charge here,’ Reg declares. ‘Time for you to step away, and step lively.’
‘Don’t see why I should,’ I reply, fists in my britches. He’s not the only one who can thrust out his nackers.
Wilfred lurches forward. ‘How dare you talk to Reg like that,’ he snarls, still cringing from the blow he received from the man in question.
I wither him with a pitying glance. Poor sap, if he thinks having a pop at me will restore him to his master’s good books. His face reddens.
‘You little—’ he growls, aiming a punch. ‘Show some respect!’
I duck, quickly enough to avoid a broken nose, too slow to save my cap from being knocked off. Curls tumble as far as my shoulders. There’s a pause. I retrieve my hat from the cobbles, shove it back on my head.
‘My my,’ says Wilfred, whistling appreciatively. ‘What have we here?’
‘Don’t know what you mean,’ I grunt, tucking away hanks of hair.
‘You’re a girl!’ he hoots.
‘Don’t talk soft,’ I reply with a snort of derision. I turn to Reg. ‘Are all your lot this daft?’
It is another mistake.
‘Wilf’s got a point, for once,’ says Reg. Wilfred preens in the glow of approval. ‘Maybe you are a girl.’
‘I’m bloody not.’ I hawk and spit. My mouth is dry and I barely make a mark.
‘Let’s have a better look at you,’ Reg murmurs, stepping close. I smell gin, so strong and thick you could wring him like a dishcloth straight into the bottle. He grabs one of my ringlets and rubs it between his fingers. ‘I declare. You’re a proper Bubbles.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Bubbles!’ squawks Wilfred.
‘Shut up!’ I cry.
‘I’ll call you what I like,’ leers Reg. ‘You’re a genuine, certified Pears advertisement.’
He circles his thumb and forefinger and blows through the hole. Another chap cracks the brim of his boater, conjuring it into a makeshift bonnet and puckering his lips for a kiss. Another picks up the hem of an imaginary skirt and prances around me. One after the other, they join in the pantomime.
Bubbles!
Bubbles!
What a dainty little damsel, all sugar and spice.
Round and round they go, Reg chasing after and growling like a bear. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, so I clap and cheer, loud as the rest. I’ll show them I’m the kind of fellow who can laugh at himself. I’d be a welcome addition to their number. With the suddenness of a thunderclap, they stop. I stop also, but a second behind. They stare at me, chests heaving.
Reg draws his hand across his mouth. ‘Who said you could laugh?’
‘No one,’ I mumble.
A chill crawls down my thighs, right to my boots. Reg pokes me in the chest.
‘You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?’
‘No sir!’ I exclaim.
I stumble under the assault of his finger. Someone kicks my legs from under me and I drop to my knees, hard and heavy as a sack of turnips. Wilfred wrenches my arms behind my back and holds them tight. Reg presses his nose to mine. He has sharp eyes that see through me as easy as through a piece of glass, right to the other side.
‘You little shit. Asking for trouble, aren’t you, eh?’
‘You tell him, Reg,’ says Wilfred, his expression even more weasel-like, if that were possible. ‘How about a new game?’ he murmurs in Reg’s ear. ‘A man’s game.’
The world breathes in, like that moment before a storm begins. I hold particularly still.
‘There’s a thought,’ says Reg.
He unbuttons his fly with luxurious deliberation, licking his lips to ensure I am paying close attention, which I am. He slides his hand into the gap and draws out his porker. It’s near long enough to tie a knot in. The other lads grin, their eyes slick with knowing.
‘A proper man’s pipe, that’s what I’ve got. How’d you like to blow bubbles on this?’
I try not to breathe. I mustn’t show I’m spooked. If he smells fear who knows where this may end?
‘Even better, how about a ride on Jumbo?’ he purrs. He tugs his pocket linings inside out. They look uncommonly like elephant ears. ‘Little girls like a circus ride.’
His coven giggle, wheezing like witches. It takes every ounce of courage to affect an air of boredom. I roll my eyes lazily and shuffle away.
‘Not so fast,’ leers Wilfred.
He wraps his arm around my throat, shoving his nadger into my spine. It’s rigid and I’m damned if I can understand why. I have no leisure to solve the conundrum, for I am far too exercised by having the life crushed out of me. Reg swings his hips from side to side and his sausage swings too. He takes a lumbering step forward.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Only a penny a ride.’
‘That’s a bargain,’ says Wilfred.
‘Cheap at half the