Animal People by Charlotte Wood Read Free Book Online

up.
    He reached up and grasped hold of a My Little Pony Cheeri-Lee Ponyville Supermarket Store Playset.

    At the Mexican sandwich shop the tanned, muscle-bound young Vietnamese man—his tag said his name was Irving—twitched his hips as he frothed milk for coffee, head to toe in snug black fabric like a dancer, shimmying along to the music grinding out. ‘ Woohooo! ’ he shouted now, wiggling his bum in time to a Michael Jackson drumbeat.
    Two Chinese women who ran the cut-price linen outlet nearby were putting out displays of towels and pillows; the optometrist opening his glass door chatted with his neighbour at the Mr Minit stand. A Muslim woman in a pastel blue headscarf and leopard-print gown pushed a supermarket trolley with a garden rake sticking out of it. Across the food court, beyond Sushi Magic and the Gourmet Pizza Haven ( Friday special: Madras curry pizza ), Stephen saw the Plaza security guard watching her. The guard made his rounds of the shopping centre on one of those strange, two-wheeled vehicles with the low platform and a long vertical pole with handlebars. It made him look as if he were standing at a lectern, ready to deliver a speech. Stephen could walk the length of the whole centre in five minutes, but the security guard zoomed between duties—whatever they were—standing on his ridiculous vehicle with its giant wheels, spine rod-straight, staring unflinchingly ahead. The guard began to follow the Muslim lady at a distance on his little machine. Did the guard have duties in case of a terrorist attack, Stephen wondered? The only memorable attack—last year’s ram raid—took place in the middle of the night. The next morning a giant red Pajero sat in the middle of the food court, broken glass everywhere. Stephen delighted in the brashness of it, the automatic teller machines on their sides, tyre marks on the lino. The guard had patrolled the perimeter of the police-taped food court on his Segway all day long. Now he followed the Muslim lady and her rake until she reached the exit, then swivelled on his machine, looking about for another disturbance.
    Sticky-taped to the drinks cabinet behind Irving was a photocopied flyer advertising a circus. African lions Monkeys Llamas, camels, geese liberty horses and performing bears . There were also trapeze artists, acrobats and clowns. Tickets here .
    Stephen’s family had once driven all the way to Sydney to see the famous Moscow Circus. He and Cathy and Mandy boasted to their school friends for what felt like months in advance; to Stephen it seemed the whole town of Rundle thrilled at the idea. The Connolly children would be taken out of school for two days, be driven the nine hours to the city to see this miraculous show, would stay in a hotel , and be driven home again the next day.
    He remembered only a few fragments of the actual circus: some swollen bears lumbering about, the sweet smell of fried food, the unfamiliar warmth of the air. He recalled spotlights and a feeling of risk, fearing the matted-overcoat bears even though they were far below in the dusty ring, waddling about on their hind legs in silly ruffs and hats, skipping rope and dancing waltzes with clowns in dinner suits.
    But he remembered the occasion of it, the specialness of being taken. His parents’ awe at their own profligacy; the inordinate, reckless pleasure they could not afford.
    Forget the stupid Little Pony. He would take Ella to the circus. It would be her birthday gift; his last gift. He would take them both, sit with them on a hard wooden bench in a circus tent in the middle of a suburban sports oval, their soft weights pressing on either side of him, the smell of popcorn in the air, the dusty floodlit spectacle of lions, llamas, camels and geese before them. The girls would remember it—remember him —when they were grown. Fiona would have to let them come. Surely.
    Irving pressed down the plastic lid on Stephen’s coffee,