“Well, I’m only really starting out,” Matilda added shyly. “I’ve designed stuff for Jay for a while, so some of the acts are letting me try my hand at creating some designs for them, too.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I work in the industry myself. Well, not in design, but I run a small modelling agency.”

Matilda’s eyes lit up with interest. “Yes, that’s right. Lille told me.”

We chatted for a while about fashion, but the whole time I never really felt at ease. I could sense King watching me intently. I didn’t have the courage to look at him. His fingers were clasped tight around his beer bottle, and I wondered if he felt weird about me being there, trying to fit in with all these strangers who seemed to know him so much better than I did. Well, they knew the man he was now better than I did anyway.

My participation in the conversation died away as I became more and more aware of his attention and presence.

“Hey, Watson, did you get around to mending that shirt for tonight? I need it for the second part of my act,” Jay asked his wife.

“Yep,” Matilda replied. “It’s all done. I left it in the closet for you.”

“Good, I don’t wanna go giving the ladies in the audience another eyeful,” he said, and shot me a playful smile. “Last night I was doing a costume-change skit, and I had a wardrobe malfunction. Cheeky slip of the nip doesn’t even cover it.”

“You definitely gave Janet Jackson a run for her money,” Matilda put in, chuckling.

I laughed and knew Jay had sensed my unease when he sent me a warm expression. That’s why he’d made the joke. I was grateful to him. Lille laughed, too, while Jack smirked and seemed to be supressing another eye roll. I chanced a surreptitious glance at King to find he wasn’t smiling at all. It made my skin prickle. Maybe he didn’t want me there. The thought jolted me, and I suddenly wanted to flee. I picked my bag up off the floor and slung it over my shoulder.

“Well, it’s getting late. I should probably be going. Maybe I could come visit again tomorrow?” The insecurity in my voice was palpable, and I hated how it sounded.

The second I made a move to stand, King’s hand clamped on my wrist. It shocked me, since he’d barely registered my presence, and now he was touching me. The feel of his skin on mine sent a tremor through me, and I looked down at him, seeing a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Don’t go yet,” he said, voice low and pleading.

All of a sudden I realised what had really been going on. He wanted me there; he was just embarrassed and ashamed of how he was, of how I had to leave so quickly earlier so that I wouldn’t witness him throwing up.

I lowered myself back onto the stool, and he let go of my wrist. “Okay, I can stay for another while,” I said quietly.

My eyes remained on King as Lille announced, “We should all start getting ready for tonight’s show. It was great seeing you again, Alexis.”

I nodded to her, smiling, and everybody rose from the table to leave. A few moments later it was just King and me, sitting alone while the circus workers chattered and ate around us. My pores tingled as I felt King’s close attention, his warmth right next to me. All it would take was for me to reach out a few centimetres, and I’d be touching him again. But I didn’t do that because he was still wary, still feral in a way.

“Does my mother know you’ve found me?” he asked, a vulnerability in his voice.

My eyes softened as I whispered, “Not yet,” then spoke a little louder as I cleared my throat. “Do you want me to tell her?”

Some kind of turmoil passed over his features, and he shook his head fervently. “No. I…I don’t want her to see me. Not like this.”

And there it was again, the shame. I hated it so much.

Out of instinct, I reached forward and tried to take his hand in mine, but he flinched away. He’s feral, Alexis, try to remember. I had to keep reminding myself to treat him with care, like he was a wild animal not used to touch. It was hard, because I was so tactile these days, especially at home with Oliver. We were always cuddling or play fighting, or just generally goofing around.

“I have to tell her eventually,” I said gently.

He just stared at me then, and it was too much. I had to look away.

“Am I so awful to you now?” he asked with chagrin.

Immediately, I brought my gaze back his. “Never. You’ve always been beautiful to me.” I let my eyes wander over his features, older, kind of distinguished. His mane of golden hair and his full beard. No, he wasn’t awful at all. In fact, he might have been more beautiful now that he was flawed, more human. He seemed to grimace in something close to discomfort, or maybe it was embarrassment. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable with people looking at him. It was also clear that it had been a long time since anyone had used the word “beautiful” to describe him.

“Why did you never contact me?” I whispered. I thought I knew the answer already, but I wanted to hear him say it.

It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, the ferocity in his voice startled me. “After you saw what I’d done, the violence I was capable of, I thought you wouldn’t want me. And I didn’t want to know anything about my old life because it wasn’t mine anymore. I’d destroyed it with my own two hands. All of that potential, gone in an instant. Mum was dead, and to you I was a killer. There was nothing left for me in that world.” He held his hands up as though in pain.

“But what about Marina?” I went on. “Why had she never looked into Bruce or your mother?”

“Marina doesn’t live like most people. This circus is her everything. The nomadic lifestyle is what makes her happy. She’s never really embraced technology, doesn’t use the Internet, doesn’t even really read the papers. It’s how she lives.”

“I don’t understand….”

King rubbed a hand over his mouth, like he didn’t really want to talk, but was forcing himself for me. So that I wouldn’t leave yet. I tried my hardest not to lose the run of my emotions. Every time I looked at him, I didn’t know whether I wanted to cry and kiss every inch of him, or shake him in anger for mistreating himself so badly. It was a strange sensation to love somebody so completely yet fiercely hate their actions. His words broke me out of my thoughts.

“Marina was our father’s first child, born when he was still a teenager. She bore the brunt of his cruelty because he was in her life more than he’d been in mine. And he was a brutish, violent parent. She wanted to get away from him, and she made it happen by disappearing. The circus was the perfect escape, the perfect way to vanish.

“It was only through the small contact she had with her mother, who was still married to Bruce, that she found out about me and how he’d been blackmailing me. So she got in touch. She wanted to help me because she’d never had a sibling, but also because she knew how awful Bruce’s treatment could be. We became friends. She’d visit me whenever she was near London. I even helped her out with money when the circus wasn’t doing so well. And then, when I thought I’d” — he stopped, his voice growing strained — “when I thought I’d killed Bruce, when I thought I’d lost everything, this was where I went. If Marina had managed to fashion a life of obscurity here, then maybe I could, too. I neglected to foresee that it didn’t matter where I went. My own mind would become a prison.”

I sat there, absorbing his words, for some reason feeling like this was the most he’d spoken to anybody in a really long time. I wanted to touch him, but again reminded myself that I shouldn’t.

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning.

He started to cough and it sounded terrible, heavy and wheezing. “The mind becomes a prison as it replays its images, and all you want to do is drown them out. Dull the repetition. Alcohol is such an easy way to do it, to quiet everything down. It becomes a basic need, like water or air. Suddenly, you can barely go an hour without having it in your system.”