Blake pulled me up and helped me into the truck. I sat next to the dog who was hidden under my coat, not making a sound. The crowd started to gather round again.
‘Let’s just go, Blake,’ said Laura. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
I put the dog on my lap as we drove away. He made a small huffing noise and settled.
When we got back, Colin took a look at him. He was malnourished and badly bruised. We fed him and he slept. I took him out briefly late in the evening, a short walk around the caravans. He peed and fell asleep where he was standing. I carried him back to my caravan and placed him in a box with a blanket at the end of my bed. The next morning he was hanging from a tent pole and I was being arrested for stealing and damaging property.
‘He’s not property,’ I said. ‘This is murder. Tell them, mum. Tell them it’s murder.’
But she didn’t translate.
‘Don’t make it worse than it is,’ she said.
‘Those murderous sonsofbitches,’ I said, when I saw the jeering men. They’d all come to watch, to point me out.
‘To ona,’ they said. ‘Ukradła psa starego mężczyzny i zabiła go dla zabawy.’
‘What are they saying?’ I asked mum.
‘They said you took the old man’s dog and killed it for fun.’
‘Those sonsofbitches.’
They spat on me as the police led me away.
‘Sześć miesięcy i grzywna,’ the police said. ‘Six months and a fine.’
‘When I get out,’ I said, ‘I’m gonna kill ’em. Every one of them. Tell them that.’
Mum didn’t translate.
The circus left to finish the tour and mum stayed. I told her I’d be fine, that six months wasn’t that long, but she insisted. Dad didn’t want to leave me either, but mum spoke some Polish so it made sense that she was the one to stay. Dad held me in his arms until the policemen pried us apart, barking at us, with mum translating that no touching was allowed. We ignored the policeman, as if coming out of the embrace was our choice, as if we couldn’t hear him.
‘I’ll miss you, G. I love you. I’ll write to you.’
Then he was gone.
It was a small town and the prison only had two cells, each with two beds. Both were empty when I arrived and mostly stayed that way apart from the regulars. Two men dressed in layers of ragged clothes were dragged in most nights, drunk, stinking and singing. I was sure they got themselves arrested just for a roof over their head. The only time we had any new prisoners was a couple of months into my stay and it seemed like they’d arrested all the men in the town. I could hear them before I saw them; it felt like the prison was under siege. They filed past me, all of them beaten up and bloody. Eight of them were squeezed into the cell next to mine and that still left half a dozen more. I searched their faces, looking for the men who killed the dog, but I didn’t recognise any of them. The police officer eyed me for a moment then opened the cell door, snatched up my blanket and pillow, shoved them into my arms and pushed me out. I spent that night on the main office floor, my wrist handcuffed to a desk despite my protest, not able to sleep for all the noise the new prisoners made.
Other than that night, prison wasn’t so bad and I settled into an imposed routine based around meal times and visiting hours. Mum took a room in the only hotel and came to see me every day. We’d sit across the table from each other, sometimes taking furtive moments to clasp hands. Until prison, I hadn’t realised how much I’d become used to touch. It was so easy, hugging mum and dad and my friends. I’d taken for granted the presence of Fish Boy or Angelina when we were going together. In prison, I’d think back on when I was with them and fantasise about the smallest things; running my fingers through Fish Boy’s hair, the way Angelina used to stroke my eyebrow and trace her finger down my cheek. I’d lie on my bed, arms by my side, eyes closed, and I’d think of Angel. I’d think of us holding hands, floating in the rock pool, watching the clouds coagulate and break apart. I’d float on those memories until I was back in London and dad had pressed those coins into my hand. I’d think of dad’s embrace and remember how lucky I was, looking forward to being back with my family.
When mum came to visit she’d read to me; letters from dad, Angelina, Horatiu and other circus folk, and books by Kafka, Dostoyevsky, De Beauvoir, my favourite Saki stories over and over. As she settled into her life in the town, she’d tell me about some of the people she met. One of the local shopkeepers had warmed to mum and always asked after her ‘córka kryminalistka’.
‘I told Aleksy your name many times, but he still insists on calling you my “criminal daughter”. You’d like him – mischievous, with a gift of the gab, just like you. He told me yesterday that the hotel owner is overcharging me just because he knows I have nowhere else to go. He said I should come stay with his family, said he wouldn’t charge me a penny. I told him I didn’t want to impose, but he was adamant, said I’d be doing him a favour because he has a long-running feud with the hotel owner and would get a lot of satisfaction to be taking away his custom. How can I resist an invitation like that?’
She was laughing, but I just stared at my hands.
‘G? You okay?’
‘Mum, I’m glad you have friends,’ I said, looking up at her, trying not to cry like some baby. ‘You’ve put your life on hold because of me.’
She didn’t respond for a moment, just stared at me, her lips pursed.
‘Goblin, my life isn’t on hold. You’re part of my life. And I choose to be here.’
‘I know, I just… I dunno. I just want you to know I’m sorry.’
‘G, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You did the right thing.’
She held my hand.
‘I’m still sorry—’
‘Nie!’ the policeman yelled and I jumped at the sudden intrusion, yanking my hand away like I’d been shocked. ‘Nie dotykać.’
Mum had a short talk with him before turning back to me and rolling her eyes.
‘What did he say?’
‘He said we have to obey the rules or visitor privileges will be taken away.’
‘Why can’t we touch?’
‘He said we could be exchanging contraband.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘It’s just power, that’s all. That’s all it’s ever about, isn’t it? Power and money.’
I fiddled with the edges of a book and said, ‘Mum?’
‘Mm-hm?’
‘I never thanked you and dad for taking me in.’
She huffed and said, ‘G, c’mon, you’re our family. Simple as that.’
She reached for my hand again, but stopped herself and glanced over at the policeman who was glowering at us. She smiled, shook her head and raised her hands in mock surrender. The policeman grunted.
She looked at me for a moment then said, ‘Goblin, what happened to your old family?’
It tripped off my tongue before I could even think how to reply, ‘Pa was killed by Nazis, ma became a mermaid, and David went to the sea to be a pirate.’
I stared back at her and blushed, realising how childish it sounded.
‘What really happened?’
‘Pa died in the war. I don’t know how. Ma drowned herself in the Thames. David disappeared. I think he went to the sea – that was his plan.’
Mum nodded.
‘What were they like?’
I shrugged and said, ‘Pa hardly spoke to me, but we fixed things together – neighbours always came to us with their wireless. I liked working with him.’ I picked at the cover of the book, peeling it away at the edge. ‘Ma hated me.’
‘What?’
‘She said I should never have been born.’
Mum put her hand over her mouth.
‘Why would she say that?’
‘She said I was born blue and I was so ugly I killed the midwife. She called me Goblin-runt. David looked out for me, though. I had him, my dog Devil and my friends Mac and Stevie.’