Peter Potts pulls up in his fancy car, half an hour late, and joins Mum and I under the tree by our van.

He sits on an upturned milk crate and loosens his tie. I feel so much more friendly towards him now that I know Pete. I hand him the letter Pete wrote.

He opens it. ‘It’s my writing!’ he says, and looks up at Mum. ‘But I didn’t write this.’

‘It’s from the other Peter Potts,’ says Mum. ‘The one in the parallel universe where I found myself.’

‘I see.’ He rubs a hand over his forehead. Apparently, Mum had to remind him what a parallel universe was when they spoke on the phone last night.

He reads it slowly. Mum reckons Pete’s letter will encourage Peter to be generous and to follow his dreams.

Peter carefully folds the letter and looks at me. ‘What’s the Peter over there like?’

‘Well,’ I start, wondering what I could say that would make him lend us the money for a new big top. Then I remember Dad’s advice to follow your heart – and my heart wants to tell him the truth. ‘Over there, you’re a bit scruffy and you’re kind and funny. And a pretty good juggler and a really good cook.’

‘And what’s my job there?’

‘You make fancy wooden chairs and sell them for heaps of money.’

He gives a small smile and says, ‘Ah,’ as if that makes sense. He turns to Mum. ‘So you want me to lend you the money to buy a new big top?’

Mum nods. ‘A hundred and fifty thousand.’

‘Dollars,’ I say, just so we’re totally clear. Mum winks at me.

He looks into the distance and fingers the letter.

‘The night the tent collapsed, they had a full house,’ says Mum. ‘All the hard work was starting to pay off.’

He re-reads the letter. Then stands and walks to a nearby tree, where he reads the letter yet again. Finally, he returns and says, ‘All right. I’ll pay for a new big top – and I’ll give you six months to prove you can pull bigger audiences.’

I grin at Mum, my heart soaring.

Peter Potts shakes his head like he can’t understand why he’s doing this. ‘Only because we were such good friends, Merry.’

‘We still could be,’ she says, and he gives a tiny smile.

We’re still thanking him as he drives away. Then Mum and I run to the big camphor laurel tree, where everyone is waiting, to tell them the news.

Their cheers could be heard all the way to London, I think.

CHAPTER 29

Three weeks later, flags flutter high over our new blue-and-white big top, and the first cars are streaming into the showground for the evening’s show. Word has spread far beyond Canmore and some people have driven for hours to see our new acts.