Hotel Ambrose

Chapter 5.1

His first memory was of the circus. He lived far enough from the sea to get just a glimpse of it through his bedroom window on clear days, but near enough for his mother to take him there for the day – not that she often did – and after what happened that day she never took him again.

His name was James. He was four years old. He had never been to a circus before. He called it The Surface, and had strange and wondrous ideas about what it might be.

There were still many circuses touring the countryside in the 1920s: small circuses, big circuses, rolling along the muddy lanes in ancient coaches and setting up in the middle of the night as the wind swept in off the moors. This one was called Garnett's Grand Oriental Circus. It was at the seaside for a week in July. Children swam there in the sheltered bay within earshot of roaring lions and trumpeting elephants. Clowns sat on the sand smoking their pipes and watching the children play in the water. Little grey waves curled against the shore. James had seen the beach from the train as it pulled up to the station.

"I want to go to the sea," James said as they left the platform.

"We're here to see the circus," said his mother.

"The Surface," James murmured. A big animal bellowed somewhere from within the cluster of tents and he laughed out loud.

His mother drew her coat close around her neck. "What time does the show start?" she said to a man passing with a thick coil of greasy rope slung over his shoulder, his boots thick with mud.

"Twenny minutes."

"Very well."

The rope-man tramped away towards the tents, looking back at her once before disappearing.

The boy looked from his mother to the beach, then back at her. She took his hand and led him briskly away in the opposite direction.

"I want to see the liars," James said.

"There are no lions."

"I heared one." Had the bellowing thing been a lion? He wasn't sure.

"No you didn't," his mother said. She let go of his hand and wiped her hand on her dress.

They entered the grounds of the circus. They passed a cage. There was a man inside scrubbing the floor.

"Liars," the boy whispered.

They came to another cage. A crowd was gathered around it.

"Oh, look how ugly he is," a young woman said.

The young man beside her walked up and shook the bars with both hands, but whatever was inside didn't make a sound. The boy couldn't see it through the crowd.

"You there," said a tall man in a top-hat, who was emerging from a nearby caravan. "Please step back. That is a dangerous species for those uh – for those untrained in uh – please step back sir."

"Who're you?" the young man said, turning around and looking up at him. The top of his head was level with the top-hat man's chin.

"Me?"

"The Great Lucio," the young woman said, pointing to the sign on the side of the caravan. "Says so right here." She smirked.

The young man's gaze returned to the thing in the cage. "Looks pretty bloody harmless to me. Look at him, sitting there in his own muck."

"He's unwell."

"Oh, unwell is he? Poor monkey."

"He is an Ape, Sir. Of the Orient."