COVER PAGE

DEDICATION

For Amelia

PROLOGUE

The day my mother disappears, the sky is the most dazzling blue I’ve ever seen it. Our circus has just arrived in Millimba, and our convoy of trucks chugs down the wide main street, making sure everyone knows we’re in town.

Dad and I sit up high in the front truck. Cartwheeling down the road ahead of us is my best friend, Kit. His arms and legs trace great circles through the air before he presses up into a handstand and flick-flacks along as if he has springs in his hands. Today, he’s wearing his favourite luminescent blue tights and singlet, and he beams at the townsfolk who watch from the footpaths.

Our clown Jerry zigzags about on his unicycle, squirting a water pistol at the crowd, while my uncle Vincent – the circus ringmaster – strides along in his shiny black top hat, arms flung wide, shouting an invitation to our show. We need a big crowd tonight. The big top’s been less than half full for weeks.

I’ve always liked Millimba, with its sprouting palm trees and noisy, chattering rainbow lorikeets. Our circus comes here for three weeks every January and we set up at the showground, in the shade of the giant fig trees. They have smooth grey bark and roots that bunch up above the ground, like strange curved elephants’ trunks. When it’s almost dark or just light, the roots look like prehistoric animals crouched under the trees. I don’t need Mum to tell me that those trees hold serious amounts of big magic.

Life is good, I think as Dad turns our truck off the main street towards the showground. Things have been tense lately, with all the talk about not making enough money and everyone missing Mr Potts. But today, everything seems to radiate hope: the hot sun shining down on us from that glittering, impossibly blue sky; the green pointy mountains in the distance; the townies clapping and laughing on the side of the road; even the half-eaten bag of jelly snakes on the seat between me and Dad. Life seems so rosy, without even the tiniest hint of how badly this day will end.

CHAPTER 1

‘Good evening …’ Mum’s voice booms from the big top speakers. ‘My daughter, Tulsi, will climb into this box, and before your very eyes … I will saw her in half!’

A few nervous laughs come from the audience as Mum waves her hand over the wooden Dad-made box, which unfortunately ended up looking a little too much like a coffin.

I unzip my boots and smile out at the audience in their rising tiers of seats. There are only thirty people here – a few local families and a handful of hippies down from the hills – but Mum and I will still give our performance one hundred per cent. Because this is our act; it’s what we do together every single evening.