Page 35 of Role Model
“Historically, they’ve been hunted for their tusks and even used as instruments of war,” I go on. “But the thing that kills me the most is the circus.”
“The circus?”
“They were used in the circus. As objects of attraction. The ringmaster would make them perform for crowds.”
“That’s so sad.”
“It is,” I say and I don’t know why I’m so overwhelmed. “Because they’resosmart. They’re so smart, Fizz, I promise! Some people don’t think so but they are and they’re wise and they’re kind. They’re these amazingly smart, emotional animals and yet we put them in a circus. Whipped them if they didn’t do what they were told. I was looking at old pictures of elephants in a circus and I don’t know why on earth anyone would ever want to see that. And I also didn’t understand why the elephant was letting it happen. Letting this man in a red coat and133black hat threaten it with a riding crop. Don’t they know they’re strong enough to break free? Don’t they know that they don’t have to accept that? And I could cry. Thinking about this great, big, beautiful animal, an animal so smart and so emotional, being hurt and told that it’s not supposed to be free. Did they trust us when we put the chain around their foot? Did they think we were doing it to help them? It would never occur to them to put us or their own kind in a circus.”
I’m crying again. Trembling and overcome. It’s been such a big night, a bigger night than I ever wanted or asked for.
“They trusted us and we put them in the circus,” I repeat between sobs.
Fizz is staring at me but it’s like she can see me. See what it is that I’m feeling. She moves to wrap an arm around me, but I flinch away. I’m still weird around her, we still feel like two acquaintances rather than sisters, but I instantly regret the flinch.
We walk. We talk about other things. She wins me a stuffed blue elephant by knocking all of the cans off a barrel. I carry the elephant as we walk home.
As Downing Street is so close to Hyde Park.
134
Chapter Seventeen
I realise, as we arrive home, that it is not going to be a nice evening.
Mum is sitting in the living room with Dad and Keren. She’s been waiting for us to get home. She looks exhausted. Her eyes are slightly bloodshot and her dark circles are visible from the other side of the room. Fizz and I both deflate as we realise that we are about to be confronted and I slowly lower my giant elephant toy to the ground.
“So tonight was actually a party?” Mum says bluntly.
I see no use or merit in lying anymore. “Yes.”
Dad makes a noise of defeat and looks down at his shoes. Keren releases a performative sound of disappointment, one that makes me want to fight her. Mum just stares at me.
“What’s gotten into you?” she finally says and she135sounds so silly to me. Like a character on a television show. She wouldn’t know the first thing about me. The only thing she’s parented in the last year is her career. That’s what she truly cares about nurturing. The fruits of her ambition are what she talks about at parties, not us. Never us. I’ve fooled myself, these last few weeks, letting them put me on every show, every paper. She doesn’t see any of it.
“I knew if I told you the truth, you wouldn’t let me go,” I say.
“Your father called Sable’s mother to check in and she told us everything,” Keren says and I’m instantly fuming at her, acting like she’s a family member when she’s nothing. “Did anyone see your fallout?”
“My what?” I spit.
“Your, you know… what happened. Did anyone see?”
“Are you asking if I embarrassed the family with my stupid little autistic meltdown?” I ask her, and I’ve never heard myself sound like this before. All venom. “No, Keren. I was locked in the bathroom.”
“All right, enough,” Mum interjects, addressing both of us. Perhaps she has finally grown tired of how Keren speaks to me, I certainly have. “Aeriel, I’m disappointed in you.”
I fling up a mask of indifference before her words136can land. I pretend they’re rain and I’m underneath an umbrella of experience. I’m used to her disappointment, so there is no need to be hurt by it.
“You’re unbelievable.”
The words come from behind me. I turn to look at Fizz. She’s glaring at Mum with an expression I’ve never seen her wear before. Fizz is like her name, always vibrant and alive. Now she looks pale, her hair wet from the snow that fell as we started walking home tonight. She looks like a ghost in our living room, her fun and fashionable clothes so at odds with the sensible brown and sage green colours all around us.
“Felicity, you can go home,” Mum says. Her words remind all of us that Fizz doesn’t live here. She’s in her twenties and a possible liability to Mum’s image. Keren has certainly encouraged distance, Fizz is never in any of the family pictures that are sent to the press.
I’m reminded of the edited photograph in Ana’s house.
“Oh, trust me. This soulless dump is the last place I want to be,” Fizz says, with a voice full of equal ice and flame. “But I just want you to know that you’re missing everything.”
