Yo-yo's Weekend Page 5

She is tall with blonde, buttock-brushing hair. Black, silky, fishnets cling to long, slim legs. Black, polished boots reach to mid-thigh. A black riding-jacket is closely contoured. A riding-crop swishes erect in her hand. She wears a black top-hat. She is Mistress Thyme and she is as fragrant as the herb after which she is named.

  Who is Thyme? A fantasy woman of this writer's fevered imaginings? Undoubtedly yes, but she is also a very real figure in this story, for Mistress Thyme is the Ring-Mistress of

  The Wildcat Circus

  and quite simply the most gob-smackingly beautiful, sexy and alluring woman Yo-yo has ever seen. She is every single fantasy he has ever had rolled into one live, warm, real body. And he's not the only one. Most males are equally gob-smacked.

  The Big Top is full. Some two hundred people stare into the brightly lit sawdust-strewn ring. Somewhere near the front, Yo-yo sits in the centre of a row of five reading Left to Right:

  Katze, Lily Gusset, Yo-yo, Aunty Latch, Uncle Reefer

  Despite the promising posters pasted on billboards, buses and buskers, they had not really intended to come to the circus. What had tipped them into taking the plunge had been Lily's revelations that a) the bear staying at the COZEE NOOK was a juggler in the circus (''You won't belieeeeeve the things he can do with his balls,'' s/he'd squealed) and b) they were in the area with nothing else to do except watch yet another brain-numbing edition of Britain's Great Celebrity Brother's Jungle Talent Factor on TV and then discuss it on Twatter and/or Facespace.

  Ring-Mistress Thyme slaps the riding-crop against her black leather boot. There is a crack like a gun shot. Several dozen men and boys gulp.

  ''My lords, ladies and gentlemen!'' she cries, ''Welcome to the Wildcat Circus!'' She follows this with a pussy-cat miaow that makes the several dozen men and boys break into a sweat. ''Tonight you are on a promise.'' Mistress Thyme struts round the ring. She reaches a middle-aged man in the front row, puts her boot-sole on the hoarding and tickles him under the chin with the tip of her crop. His face turns heart-attack crimson. ''We promise you ... thrills ... oh, yes, I'll thrill you, big man.…'' As he seems to melt, she hurls her arms into the air and strides to the centre. ''And.…'' She picks out another young man. ''.... Spills! Maybe later, you naugh-ty boy.'' Several dozen men and boys want to cry. ''My name is Thyme and I AM the Mistress of your Ring.'' She smacks the riding-crop against her boot once again. Several dozen men and boys shield their heads under their arms and whimper. Their accompanying women mutter ''Trollop'' and glare viciously, lips tightening into invisibility.

  ''First tonight, in the Wildcat Ring, we present for you a little.... ANIMAAAL MAGIC! Grrrrrr!'' Several dozen men and boys become suddenly quite damp.

  'Animal Magic' involves Jungle-Juiced Jake, a red-faced, raddled old soak in an off-the-shoulder leopard-skin number trying to coax a rather reluctant, mangy-maned lion on to a pedestal in the saw-dusted centre with the aid of a chair.

  ''Now, kiddies,'' Jake wheezes, ''See me lion here? 'Is name's Brian, Brian the Lion. 'E's very old 'n' not very fit. 'E sleeps a lot an' eats 'n' drinks too much but 'e can still boite yer wiv 'is great big teef. But 'is teef moight stick in yer arm, vey ain't very good. In fact I fink vey might be false. Loike moine.''

  Yo-yo is not impressed. Brian the Lion seems rather pathetic and Jungle-Juiced Jake on the edge of collapse. After a few token growls, Jake gives up and Brian slinks back to his cage. Yo-yo eagerly rubs his hands. Like everyone else, he wants Mistress Thyme to return.

  ''The Amazing Jungle-Juiced Jake and Brian the Lion,'' says the Ring Mistress. ''But now, more thrills. Have you ever played tricks with your balls? I have for you right here, right now, tricks with balls to amaze and delight, tricks with balls you'll never experience again.'' Several dozen men and boys start crying. Yo-yo feels incredibly hot.

  But

  in the next piece of Animal Magic, Ruff the bear juggles five orange balls whilst riding a unicycle. This he does with impressive dexterity despite his dapper black jacket being a little tight under the armpits. He wheels his unicycle backwards and forwards, the oranges moving round his head in perpetual motion whilst the Band of The Wildcat Circus plays 'Yakety Sax' frenetically. Ruff concludes his act by tossing one orange ball high in the air and positioning the unicycle under it so he can catch it in his mouth whilst slipping the other balls into his pockets. The applause is generous.

  Mistress Thyme trumpets ''RRRRRuff the Ball-Bouncing Bear, ladies and gentlemen!'' and runs her crop-tip languidly through her long blonde hair. ''You have already seen skills but I promised you thrills, and this is thrilling, oh sooooo thrilling…. the Czech-Mates are taking us higher, higher, higher ... oh, take me higher and thrill me, boys!''

  The Czech-Mates are Triplets. They are dressed in thigh-hugging, bicep-gripping, nipple-showing, flame-coloured Spandex. They are named Jezdec, Strelec and Vez. They are the Trapeze Artists. Several dozen women and girls whimper, dampen and moan, along with a dozen or so men and boys.

  ''Ladiss unt gennlmen,'' says Jezdec. ''Ve haff a great show for you. I unt my bruzzers vill attempt ze doob-lah backtvist unt pike.''

  The high-up hi-jinks get under way. The Trapezing Triplets scurry up the ladders to tumble and twist, wrist-clasp and ankle-grasp, their flame-coloured costumes flickering like fire-flies. After some breathtakingly close calls, they somersault smoothly to crash-land in the net.

  ''And there,'' cries Thyme, ''Are the spills!'' She waves her riding-crop, the band strikes up with the 'Thunder and Blazes' theme and someone somewhere sends in the Clowns. Everyone claps enthusiastically. It's a sure-fire formula-

  big floppy shoes

  red noses

  ludicrous wigs

  baggy checked trousers

  rickety cars+

  success=

  They drive round the ring in their rickety car, parping the great bulb of the horn until the car backfires and collapses in a heap of yellow metal. The four clowns struggle free. They all wear checked jackets and differently coloured bowler-hats. Their mouths are bright-red paint on chalk-white faces and their hair is scarecrow-like and green, orange, violet or blue. They all have plastic flowers in their buttonholes which they use to squirt water at each other. Custard pies abound. Water is poured from jugs into trousers. There are kicks up backsides and running around in floppy-flappy shoes. Mayhem ensues.

  ''Orl roight?'' One clown, the one with violet hair, takes another, the one with green hair, to one side.

  ''Yeah, I'm orl roight. Are you orl roight?''

  ''I'm orl roight, are you orl roight?''

  ''Yeah I'm orl roight, are you orl roight?''

  And so on until Blue-Hair Clown and Orange-Hair Clown creep round behind them, tug at their waistbands and shove custard pies down their pants.

  Everyone laughs. The clown with the blue hair runs round the ring with his arms raised and his hands clasped in a gesture of triumph. He has to raise his floppy-flappy shoes quite far from the ground. He looks at the applauding audience as he runs smack into a custard pie held up by the orange-haired clown. Cream flies everywhere. Orange-hair is delighted and turns to the audience with a huge bucket of water. The audience screams as he pretends to hurl the contents at them. He threatens

  once ..... TWICE ... THRICE ...

  and flings ....

  shredded yellow paper

  all over the front three rows to squeals of delight.

  ''Nothing beats a golden shower.'' Mistress Thyme is back and running her tongue-tip over her lips. The long golden waterfall of her hair bounces on her tight buttocks. Someone wolf-whistles. Someone else howls. Mistress Thyme simply smiles. ''Now, now. What would your wives and mothers think? You naugh-ty men.'' She wags the riding-crop at the audience. ''You've had thrills, you've had spills,'' She points at a wet patch under someone's chair, ''You've seen some skills. Now have your fill, with Catkin Silver, the Human Cannonball!''

  A curtain is released to reveal the four-foot-wide muzzle of a large cannon an
d, sitting astride it, Catkin Silver. He is a smallish boy and he is silver. He has silver wings attached to his shoulder-blades and a winged silver helmet on his silver head. Silver boots are on his feet and silver gloves are on his hands. His face is silver and his hair is silver. He is Silver.

  ''My name is Catkin Silver!'' his treble voice declares. ''I am the Yuman Cannonball. In a moment you will see me streak across the night-sky in a silver blur and return to Earth like a falling star. Ladies, gentlemen, boys and girls, prepare for the Grand Finale of our little Show…'' Drum roll. ''Open the Tent-Top please!'' The lights in the marquee are dramatically cut. The night-sky, complete with stars and a crescent moon, is projected through gobos and coloured gels against the canvas roof. Only a slight, silver form stands out against the blackness. The drum-roll continues as Catkin climbs into the mouth of the cannon and crawls down the muzzle. The drum-roll intensifies as the cannon is cranked to an angle of sixty degrees. Drumming

  Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

  rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

  rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

  BANG

  BANG

  BA BANG!!

  There is a flash of fire, a stream of smoke, a sharp report and Catkin Silver streaks out of the cannon into the night-sky where he seems to hang for an instant before going into a diver's pike, hips twisting sharply, plunging to earth in a blur of starlight to bounce in the net and somersault with the grace and control of Strelec, Jezdec or Vez on to the sawdust with his feet together and a sharp, crisp bow.

  The band TA RAs and the audience rises to its feet. 'Thunder and Blazes' strikes up again and Mistress Thyme leads the performers round the ring to acknowledge the applause. Yo-yo is on his feet, cheering enthusiastically as various hats are thrown.

  ''Did you enjoy that?'' Aunty Latch asks.

  ''It was all right,'' he says, meaning, in that teenage way, 'quite outstanding'.

  ''Well,'' says Uncle Reefer, ''The manager, Truss, is an old supporter of ours from way back when. How about we go backstage and say hello?''

  Within minutes, Yo-yo finds himself among the trucks and trailers shaking hands with Truss.

  ''Eh up, Latch,'' he says. ''You're looking fat.''

  ''Why, thank you,'' twitters Aunty Latch, plumping her bust.

  ''And who's this pretty young thing?'' Truss continues.

  ''My nephew,'' says Uncle Reefer.

  ''Oh, the famous Yo-yo,'' oils Truss. ''How's your mother?''

  ''Sleeping with the fishes,'' Yo-yo replies. ''I chained her ankles to a concrete block and shoved her off the pier. She waved goodbye as she sank to the bottom.''

  ''Well,'' slimes Truss, ''She must be missing an angel in heaven since you're on the earth.''

  Yo-yo tries not to spew as Truss turns to Lily Gusset and switches on his most charming and seductive smile. It looks as though he's being electrocuted.

  ''And you, my pretty. What vision of perfection are you?''

  Lily Gusset blushes, bobs and shifts her balloon boobs with the crook of her elbow. ''Miss Gusset,'' s/he giggles. ''But you can call me Lily.'' S/he scratches her stubble.

  ''Lily. As fragrant as the flower after which you are named.''

  Yo-yo wants to barf.

  ''Did it hurt when you fell out of heaven?''

  Barf.

  ''Welcome to our world,'' says Truss. He is sweating profusely and keeps mopping his brow with a red and white spotted handkerchief. He's on the skinny side, thinning brown hair combed over a pinkish scalp. He is also as nervous as a cat held by the tail over a bath of boiling water. ''Just wander round and see who you can find,'' he tells Yo-yo. ''I have some business with your uncle and this delightful young lady. I hope, my dear, you have a map, because I keep getting lost in your eyes.''

  Lily giggles, blushes again and bats her eyelids shyly at Truss. Yo-yo just wants to puke. After several months of Stins, the one-legged window cleaner, saying pretty much the same thing to Yo-yo's mother, it was time to clear off and leave the grown-ups to their mysterious vomit-inducing-but-often-knicker-removing verbal dance. He approaches a white caravan with Wildcat Circus stencilled on the side and opens the door. Inside are -

  the Trapezing Triplets, the Czech Mates, playing Chess. They are not identical. Jezdec is much taller than the others, Strelec has a mole on his cheek and Vez has blond rather than mousy hair. Strelec, playing white, moves a pawn. Jezdec, playing black, moves a knight. Strelec moves his queen. Jezdec fiddles with his bishop before nudging his rook into a square.

  ''Checkmate,'' he says.

  Strelec points a Walther PPK at the board. ''I don't zink so,'' he says, and shoots the rook dead. It squawks as it falls.

  Vez glares at Yo-yo. ''Get lost,'' he says. Yo-yo closes the door.

  He approaches a pale green caravan with Wildcat Circus stencilled on the side and opens the door. Inside-

  the Clowns, relaxing. Make-up cakes the towels that are scattered over the floor. Wigs lie forgotten on a table. Big floppy shoes lurk under beds. Big floppy feet soak in plastic bowls of mustard and water. Each clown has a fistful of playing cards and a mouthful of cigarette. A hazy curtain of steel-shaded smoke hangs inside the caravan.

  ''Hey, come in, kid,'' growls one. ''We're the clowns,'' he adds, ''The Lettuce Brothers. I'm Chicory. Orange-hair's Endive, Blue-Hair's Rocket and Violet-Hair's Kos. Or is it the other way round? I can't remember.''

  ''Are you really brothers?'' asks Yo-yo timidly

  '' 'Course we are,'' says the Lettuce Brother known as Rocket. ''Why do you think we're all clowns?''

  ''An' why?'' says the Lettuce Brother known as Kos, ''Do you think we all have the same surname if we ain't brothers?''

  ''An' why?'' says the Lettuce Brother known as Endive, ''Do we all have the same big fat nose?''

  ''We don't,'' chorus the others.

  ''That's just you, you fat-nosed twat.'' Kos slaps down a card.

  ''What are you playing?'' asks Yo-yo.

  ''Shit-head,'' says Rocket, ''An' Chicory's the shit-head.''

  ''But that's nowt to do wi' t'game,'' adds Kos, narrowing his eyes against the blue smoke rising from his cigarette. The Lettuce Brothers cackle. Yo-yo closes the door. He approaches a pale blue caravan with Wildcat Circus stencilled on the side and opens the door. Inside-

  Catkin, scrubbed clean of Silver. He is wearing just a pair of white Y-fronts. Traces of silver paint remain on his pale skin, hidden in lines and creases, between toes and behind ears. His hair sticks out in a variety of directions from the rough towelling he has given it. From somewhere inside the trailer a sultry female voice coos ''Catkin ... Catty ... come back to the shower. My bits need scrubbing.''

  Catkin Silver crosses the trailer floor in a single stride and, with one gruff ''Bugger off'', slams the door shut.

  Yo-yo approaches a pale grey caravan with Wildcat Circus stencilled on the side and opens the door. Inside-

  Jungle-Juiced Jake is lying on a couch under the heaving form of Brian the Lion who is slobbering over his face. Jake is shouting ''Yes, yes, lick me, lick me ...…'' Yo-yo quietly closes the door.

  ''Why, hello there, my little pikelet.'' Mister Vanilla has appeared from nowhere. ''Would you like a sugared forget-me-not?'' He takes out his tin.

  ''AAAAAAHH!'' shouts Yo-yo.

  ''Settle down, my little cupcake,'' Mister Vanilla says, ''I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you about your ring. I'm a collector, you see, and your piece, I think, is rare and possibly valuable. It's certainly of value to me.''

  ''AAAAAAAHHH!'' shouts Yo-yo.

  ''There's no need to be silly.'' Mister Vanilla takes a step forward. ''Are you sure you don't want a sugared forget-me-not? They give the breath a most delightful scent.''

  ''AAAAAAHHHH!'' shouts Yo-yo.

  ''Nobody can hear you, my little croquemboche,'' says Mister Vanilla,
''Not in the Circus. Just let me examine it and I'll let you know what it's worth.'' Mister Vanilla takes another step forward. The waxy moustache, the several chins, the baby face, the forty-stone bulk, the thinning hair

  move

  towards

  him.

  ''Do have a sugared forget-me-not. You'll feel so much better, especially after it's over. It'll certainly help.''

  A trailer door opens, a hand snakes out and yanks Yo-yo inside. He turns round in surprise. It's a woman. It's a naked woman. It's a beautiful, naked woman. It's a beautiful, naked, coolly curvaceous woman in her mid-twenties. Yo-yo's jaw falls. Is this every dream he's ever had about to come true?

  ''Quick,'' she hisses, ''Squeeze yourself into my box.''

  Yo-yo just has time to register that her body is covered with pictures in red, blue and green ink, dragons and butterflies ...

  ''My magic box.''

  which is gold and black and fairly large. It's also the only thing in the trailer except an armchair, a small card-table and a standard lamp. The woman tosses her waist-length blonde hair. ''I'm Rue,'' she says.

  ..cottages, fields and streams ...

  ''Yo-yo,'' the boy answers breathlessly.

  ''Hide yourself in my box,'' says Rue urgently.

  .... a steam train, a traction engine ...

  The caravan door rattles.

  ''It's too small,'' says Yo-yo. ''I won't fit inside.''

  ''My box has hidden dozens of boys,'' says Rue impatiently. ''It's bigger on the inside than on the outside. Like the TARDIS. Now get inside.''

  The caravan door rattles again. Mister Vanilla coos ''Come to Daddy, my little pavlova.''

  Yo-yo clambers in. It's a tight fit and a little musty.

  .... a horse with a rider ....

  Rue shoves him down, closes the lid and sits on the box.

  The caravan door bursts open.