Salvi has a lighter in his hand and is up on the unicycle, lighting the third of three charcoal-grey fire sticks, two of which he holds in his mouth by the unlit ends. Their flames, caught in a heightening breeze, lick up towards his face, which he angles away. When they are all aflame, he takes each out of his mouth in turn and begins to juggle them, to another slow hand clap from the audience that gets louder and louder and quicker and quicker as the skies darken and darken. There’s another loud police siren – it segues into a distant rumbling of thunder. Faster, faster, louder, louder. The orange flames leap and tumble; the sticks fly. Dad is joining in with the clapping and so am I. The rhythm of it is infectious. There’s a louder, rather ominous clap of thunder and the crowd ‘oohs’ in mock horror, like we’re at a firework display.

And then comes the rain. A sudden sheet of it, from nowhere; there were no fat warning-drops darkening stone slabs or plopping on bare forearms. It sweeps over the heads and the hats and the caps of the spectators and the tourists. Salvi jumps down from the unicycle. People clamber up with their backpacks and their carrier bags and their bottles of water and dash for shelter. We clamber up, too, and Dad grabs for the back of my left arm, at the elbow. We head for the covered market along with a hundred other people. We are swept along in a colourful sea of squeals and horrified laughter. A man presses against me. I feel Dad’s hand release from my arm. I am pushed sideways, by a different man. He is wearing an orange T-shirt and has an American accent. He is yelling at some woman about ‘fish and chips’. Where is Dad? I feel I’m about six people away from him now, maybe more – is he counting how many steps he has been pulled away from me?

I try to turn against the tide but the tide is strong; people weren’t expecting to get rained on today, they are not dressed for it and they want shelter. Where is Dad? I can’t see him. All I can see is bags and shoulders and arms and shorts and jeans and hair and people’s backs. I trip on something, oh shit, how ridiculous – I’m falling! I hold out my arms to break my fall, see a flash of someone’s ankles in bright red socks and then there is blackness.

CHAPTER 14