Father Unknown Read online

  ‘It’s my idea of heaven,’ he said dreamily. ‘No stink from animals, no mud, no shouting. I’d get a little boat and go out fishing all day, and at night I’d sit in front of a real fire and read.’

  ‘But what about your performing?’ she asked in surprise.

  He shrugged. ‘I can’t do that forever. My ambition is to make as much money as I can while I’m still good, then get out. The circus won’t be popular forever. Already television has made a difference; we don’t always play to packed houses like we used to. The real money today is in cabaret acts in casinos and places like that.’

  ‘Aren’t casinos where people go and gamble?’ She frowned.

  He laughed at her naivety. ‘Yes, but some of them are fabulous places, which put on fantastic shows. There’s one in Beirut that is spectacular. I met a couple who had just come back from a six-month contract there and they earned enough money to get married and buy themselves a house.’

  Ellen’s heart quickened. If that was the sort of ambition he had, she was all for it. ‘Would you like to be married then?’ she asked, and hoped she wasn’t blushing.

  He put his arms around her and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘If the right girl came along.’

  There were times that afternoon when Ellen had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, for everything was so perfect – the hot sun, the sparkling sea, and the thrill of being with such a handsome man. She noticed older people glancing at them walking hand in hand and for the first time in her life she felt as if she was truly beautiful and that the world was at her feet. Pierre was so interesting; he had a view of life quite unlike anyone she’d ever known. He’d been to all the big cities, both in England and on the Continent. He could speak French, Spanish and Italian, and he was well read. He told her he often spent the winter months doing other jobs, mending cars, bricklaying and painting and decorating, there seemed to be no end to his talents. But the thing she liked best about him was his openness. She was used to people who never expressed their feelings, who lived in a narrow world that they didn’t want any stranger prying into.

  One of her teachers at school had once said that Cornish people were by nature insular and suspicious. At the time Ellen had felt it was a sweeping statement, and hadn’t taken it seriously, but through Pierre she could see it was true.

  She told him about her conversation with her father that morning, and how she hadn’t known until then that he had two brothers. Pierre looked thoughtful for a moment, then said he expected that it was a can of worms her father was afraid to open in case he couldn’t get the lid back on it again.

  She didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, and wanted to ask him to explain, but then Pierre asked her what it was like living on a farm in winter, if she felt cut off and lonely, and if she resented her stepmother. It was good finally to be able to admit that she did resent Violet for causing so much unhappiness, and that she hoped she would never come back. She also told him her feelings about Josie.

  ‘She’s always been my best friend, and I miss her so much. I can’t bear to think of what it’s like for her to be stuck out in Helston with her mother pushing her around. I’d sooner have her mother back being mean to me and making Dad miserable, than Josie being unhappy.’

  ‘She might not be unhappy,’ Pierre said, cuddling her tightly ‘If she’s like you say she is, she’d have run away by now if that was the case. I see that kind of thing all the time in the circus, the kids that want a normal life, and the ones who love the oddness of it all. They sort themselves out eventually; nothing their parents do or say makes much difference. She’s fourteen, you say, that’s old enough to have a mind of her own. You said too she didn’t like the farm much, so all she’ll miss is you, Ellen. Neither of you will forget the good times you had together, so get on with your own life and let her get on with hers.’

  They walked up by the castle and sat on the grass looking at the view of Falmouth across the estuary. ‘I wish today could go on and on,’ Pierre sighed. ‘I don’t want to be in the ring again tonight, I’d like to just sit here with you and watch the sun set.’

  As they lay on the grass he kissed her long and hard, and the knowledge that they would soon have to go made it all the sweeter. Ellen felt as if she was on fire inside, each passionate kiss only serving to make her hotter still. When he cupped his hand around her breast she moved it away, yet she longed for it to creep back for the feeling was so divine.

  But at five they had to go and find somewhere to eat, for Pierre said if he left it any later he wouldn’t be able to do his act. He suggested that instead of watching the show yet again, she stayed in his caravan, so he could see more of her.

  Ellen smiled to herself when she heard the music for the Adolphus Brothers striking up, and imagined him running into the ring and removing his cape with a swirl.

  She was so comfortable, lying on his bunk in the caravan, and she closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how wonderful the afternoon had been: the ferry ride, the talking, kisses and the hand-holding. She had been ravenous when they got into the little café by the harbour, and egg, sausage and chips had never tasted so good. There weren’t many people on the return ferry, and he’d cuddled her all the way because the wind felt cold. Then they’d come here to the caravan and he’d made her a cup of tea.

  Jack had come in for a while, but he’d taken his costume and makeup and said he’d get dressed somewhere else. It was so companionable with Pierre washing and changing just behind a thin curtain, only a foot away from her head as she lay on the bunk – they carried on with their conversation as if they’d done this together a million times before. It was so strange to see a man putting on makeup. She giggled at what her father would have to say about that. But Pierre had explained that the lights in the Big Top made the performers look pale and ill and it wasn’t any different to actors on the stage who did the same.

  She could hear the gasps from the audience through the open caravan window, even above the snarling of the lions which were now back in their cages. Pierre had said earlier that he too felt like snarling and roaring sometimes when he had to come back to this caravan, knowing that he’d got to do the same show twice a day for weeks on end.

  Ellen dropped off to sleep and was suddenly woken by a noise close by her. She opened her eyes in fright to see Pierre completely naked.

  ‘It’s only me,’ he said, caressing her cheek. ‘I was trying to change quietly so I wouldn’t wake you, but I knocked a teaspoon off the shelf.’

  Ellen was perturbed at his nudity, but then he’d already told her he couldn’t wear anything under his costume, and he was changing to take her to the bus stop later. She averted her eyes and he wrapped a towel round his waist, then sat down on the bunk beside her to take off his makeup.

  ‘Frankie slipped tonight,’ he said. ‘He’s been drinking again. Rolf has taken him over to his caravan.’

  Frankie was the oldest man in the troupe; Pierre had told her earlier he drank too much and that none of the other men felt entirely safe when he was catching them.

  ‘Was anyone hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘No one but him, luckily it happened when he was solo. He’ll have a few bruises tomorrow; it hurts when you hit the net from that height. The trouble is he’s done it too many times now. We can’t rely on him, I think he’ll have to go.’

  ‘How will you manage without him?’ she asked.

  Pierre turned to her and bent over to kiss her. ‘I’m more concerned about how I’m going to manage without you when we have to move on,’ he whispered.

  Ellen quite forgot that he was naked but for the towel and put her arms round him to draw him closer. One kiss led to another and another and when his hand slid around her back to pull down the zipper on her dress she made no protest.

  ‘You are so lovely,’ he murmured as he pushed her dress down and removed her bra. ‘I never felt this way about anyone before.’

  The sensation of her naked breasts agains
t his bare chest was so thrilling that even though she’d told herself a hundred times today she wouldn’t allow him to take any liberties with her, that was forgotten in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t prepared for the mind-robbing bliss of him kissing and caressing her breasts, and any thought of protest flew out of the window. All at once her dress was removed entirely, his towel was gone and he was peeling off her knickers hungrily.

  ‘We mustn’t,’ she murmured, but he stopped her feeble protest with another long kiss. His fingers started probing inside her.

  ‘I love you, Ellen,’ he whispered against her neck. ‘Let me show you how much.’

  Those words removed all her last inhibitions. If he loved her it couldn’t be wrong, and if she loved him she must trust him. He guided her hand to his penis as he continued to play with her, and she could hear her own breathing becoming as heavy as his. There were noises from outside the caravan, the big cats still roaring, bursts of laughter and music, but somehow it all made it seem so right and safe. The feelings she’d had earlier in the day when he kissed her were intensified a hundred times over, and she knew now that the aching feeling in her belly had been the dawning of real desire. She marvelled that his fingers and kisses could make her feel so abandoned and beautiful, and as he slipped between her open legs and into her, her need was as great as his.

  It hurt a little, and at that moment she wanted to stop him, but his hands were on her buttocks, his mouth over her own. ‘You are everything I want,’ he whispered. ‘My beautiful, sweet Ellen, let yourself go and give yourself to me.’

  While it didn’t feel as blissful as it had earlier, his pleasure in her seemed more important, and she held on to him, wrapped her legs around his back and let herself be taken willingly.

  Suddenly he was still, and she could feel his perspiration already growing cool on his smooth back. She was surprised that was all there was, somehow she’d expected something far more dramatic to happen.

  ‘Do you really love me?’ she whispered, all at once aware that she shouldn’t have let things go this far.

  ‘Of course I do,’ he said sleepily, snuggling down until his head was between her breasts. ‘I wish you could stay with me here forever.’

  It was then she noticed it had grown dark outside – the light coming through the caravan window was that of a lantern. ‘What time is it?’ she asked. ‘The last bus!’

  He leaned up on his elbow and fumbled for an alarm clock. ‘Nearly quarter past ten,’ he said. ‘Oh shit, I clean forgot about the time.’

  In a panic Ellen leapt off the bed and rummaged for her clothes. She felt all sticky down below but she was too embarrassed to ask if she could wash. She couldn’t do up her bra, but Pierre did it for her, then zipped up her dress and found her shoes. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll catch it.’

  He was dressed in a trice, and taking her hand led her out of the caravan and through the parked lorries out on to the green.

  ‘Don’t come all the way with me,’ she gasped breathlessly as they ran together night, and I want to tell my father about you before he gets to hear from someone else.’

  He hastily kissed her once more before she ran off to the bus stop, and it wasn’t until Ellen was sitting down in the bus that she realized they hadn’t made any plans to see each other again.

  It was raining hard when she woke up on Sunday morning. Her father had still been out when she got home the previous night, which was lucky because her dress was all creased and her hair was wild, and he might have questioned her. She heard him come in just after she got into bed so she pretended she was asleep when he looked round her door. But she couldn’t sleep. She lay there listening to the owls hooting, the rustlings of nocturnal animals around the farm, her father snoring and the wind getting up that eventually brought the first rain in weeks.

  Sundays never varied. Her father never did any work other than milking the cows – as soon as that was done he put on his best clothes, took the family to church, then home for a big dinner. In the afternoon he usually dozed in an armchair. This tradition hadn’t changed since Violet went away, and even if it had been fine today, Ellen knew her father would never let her go into Falmouth in the afternoon. So she would have to wait until Monday. But that seemed such an age away.

  At the morning service in church, Ellen drifted off into thinking about Pierre and her father had to nudge her several times when she forgot responses or remained sitting while everyone else was kneeling.

  Had she been wrong to let Pierre make love to her? Did he really love her? Would they get married and live happily ever after? She didn’t feel as if she’d done anything bad, just the thought of him made her want to smile. Yet she could see big problems ahead – a circus performer wasn’t the kind of husband her father had in mind for her. Albert would be prejudiced before he even met him, and he wasn’t going to want her following Pierre around the country like a nomad.

  Yet for all that Ellen felt optimistic. Pierre had said himself he wanted to live somewhere quiet, he could do so many things which would be useful on the farm. Maybe once she’d convinced her father she loved this man he’d be prepared to give him a chance.

  ‘You seem in a dream today,’ Albert said as they ate their dinner later. ‘You’ve hardly said a word.’

  Ellen looked at him and opened her mouth to blurt out that she’d met someone, but the suspicious expression in his eyes stopped her. It was too soon to tell him, he might very well fly off the handle and refuse to let her go out again. She would wait for a few weeks.

  ‘I was thinking about the potatoes,’ she lied. ‘I’ve got to work tomorrow, will you be able to pick them on your own?’

  ‘I picked all the ones I’d dug up,’ he said. ‘It won’t hurt the rest to stay in the ground another few days. I think this rain will be gone by tonight anyway.’

  Ellen had never minded the quietness of the farm before, but that Sunday afternoon it seemed unbearable. Once her father had dozed off in his chair she went up to her room and sat on the windowsill staring out at the driving rain. Normally the view cheered her, whatever the weather or the season. The woods to either side of the farmhouse were so many different shades of green, the pasture land was usually a mass of wild flowers, and she loved to look at the progress of the crops and welcomed the rain that made them grow more vigorously, But today it just looked miserable. The grazing cows and sheep and the low rainfall had turned the pasture into brown stubble, the section of the potato field which had been turned over by the tractor looked messy. The cove down at the bottom of their land made a sort of V-shape, but today the rocks, sea and sky were all a sullen dark grey.

  She turned her back on the view but looking into her room did nothing to cheer her either, for it looked as forlorn as she felt. The window was low down and quite small so except in bright sunshine the room was always a bit gloomy The furniture was sparse, just the two beds, each covered with a faded pale blue bedspread, a battered old chest of drawers and a few hooks on the wall where she hung her clothes. The bare boards had been painted many years ago, but the paint was peeling off now, the whitewashed walls were dingy, and the posters of the Beatles and Elvis Presley which Josie had pinned up some time ago were crooked.

  When Josie was here, Ellen had never given a thought to how shabby and comfortless the room was, but then she hadn’t ever felt lonely either when she had Josie for company. All at once the thought of living alone with her father for two more years of school filled her with absolute dread. If she had a record-player, or if there’d been a television downstairs, it might not be quite so bad, but even the radio in the kitchen didn’t work very well. In her heart she knew Dad wasn’t going to approve of anything about Pierre, not his name, his profession or his age. What on earth was she going to do?

  The rain had gone by the following morning and Ellen set off for work in the kiosk feeling optimistic. But although the sun was shining again, it was much cooler than of late, and there weren’t anyw
here near so many people on the beach. As there weren’t many customers Ellen busied herself cleaning all the shelves in the kiosk, but her mind was still on Pierre.

  She relived each wonderful moment of their date on Saturday, reminding herself how he’d said he’d never felt this way about any other girl. It would work out, she knew it. Maybe for the time being she would have to keep him secret and just go to see him when he was in another town nearby, but she could live with that.

  On the other hand Pierre had said he often spent the winter working in London, so maybe she could go there and get a job. A couple of girls from school had found places in a girls’ hostel there; she could go and ask their parents for their address in London. She didn’t think her father would object to that, not if she had somewhere safe to move to.

  At four-thirty the kiosk owners came to cash up and close down for the day, and still Pierre hadn’t come. She was just about to leave, intending to walk over to the circus ground and find Pierre, when her father turned up in his old truck.

  ‘I had to order some seed,’ he called out as he walked towards her. ‘So I thought I’d time it to give you a lift home. Want an ice-cream?’

  Ellen knew by her father’s warm smile that this was his idea of a treat for her, and she couldn’t hurt his feelings by looking less than delighted. He bought two cornets and he suggested that instead of getting back into the truck they sat on the wall in the sunshine to eat them.

  There were more people around now than there had been all day, many couples with young children. Some were laying a picnic on the sand.

  ‘I met your mother here,’ Albert said suddenly. ‘The beach was fenced off with barbed wire then because it was wartime, but she was sitting on a stool, painting. I stopped to look and we got talking.’

  It was very ironic that he should choose today of all days to start telling her things she’d always wanted to know, right here. Yet instead of being pleased, she was frightened Pierre might come along and see them together. She had never before been embarrassed or ashamed of her father, but she was prickling with it now, for in his rough working clothes he didn’t look much better than a tramp.