‘Is there a doctor in the village? A trapeze artist fell and broke her wrist.’

Half an hour later the circus was off the road, the caravans parked and Zamfir had helped the young girl into the back of the blacksmith’s cart. He climbed in with her and, as the cart set off for the village, he watched the priest pulling his trunk behind him down the mountain road.

‘Was it the butcher you buried?’ he asked.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The First Step

Edith knew if she didn’t leave tomorrow, she never would. There must, she thought, be an unspoken order to the ritual of breaking free; actions that had to be performed in the right sequence before the cage door opened wide enough to release her. Instinctively she understood that just to walk away would mean that she would be trailing the past behind her and in that there would be no freedom. She’d told Misha she would stay until his wedding, but by then all her courage would have vanished, her feet glued to the ground.

She counted the thunder that morning as a sign. In a village riddled with superstition, thunder on the day of a burial meant the devil attended the butcher’s funeral. The counterbalance to the end of a life must be the celebration of something new.

‘I’m going to give you a betrothal supper,’ said Edith to Lena. ‘Tonight. And it won’t involve fish,’ she added. The idea wasn’t met with enthusiasm. ‘You do want to be married to Misha?’

‘Yes of course. Yes,’ said Lena who was already worried about what the village gossips were saying about her living in the cabinet maker’s house. ‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘But I think it should be done properly. Your father is still missing and…’

‘Don’t be a goose. He’s dead and it’s not a valid excuse. Look at you. You want to marry Misha, you’re having his baby, he loves you, and I hope you feel the same.’

‘I do.’

‘It’s Thursday – a lucky day.’

‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Lena. ‘Though all the days of the week are full of perils. Anyway, no one would come. And we haven’t a lot of food. It’s kind of you but it isn’t practical.’

‘It is,’ said Edith firmly. ‘And it will happen tonight. If no one else comes then I’ll drink your health alone. But they will come.’

‘How many?’

‘Eleven or twelve – I don’t know. I’m not inviting the elders.’

‘Oh dear. But… perhaps, if you told one of your grandmother’s stories…’

‘Why would that make a difference?’

‘People will always come to hear a story and the elders wouldn’t be so offended.’

Edith shook her head. This is why I can’t stay, she thought. This endless petty superstition that makes everybody scared to look on the world outside.