open, struggling with a single lever that controlled heat, cold, and the force of the jet. At last he lay full-length on the bed, naked, his feet hanging over the end and his head touching the bedhead.
He had slept for hours on the plane, yet his eyes felt gritty the way they did after a long day of riding in the sun, his body jumpy and tense from lack of exercise. He couldn’t remember when he had done so little yet felt so tired. He needed to walk, he decided.
He was walking through the fields at dusk, and he saw that there was a pool of light on the horizon where there ought to have been nothing but more night.
‘What’s that, Dad?’ he asked and discovered from the sound of his voice that he was a boy again.
‘Circus has come to town,’ his father said, squinting his eyes and peering towards the light. He glanced down at Daniel. ‘Want to go, son? Don’t suppose it’ll be anything special, a couple of clowns and a mangy lion with no teeth. A lot of rigged sideshows to draw your money. But we could take a look-see if you want.’ That slow, kind smile.
Daniel felt an aching burst of love for his father that made him realise that he was dreaming, and he woke to find the room dark and stiflingly hot, the bedclothes wrapping his limbs like bandages. He padded over to open a window, but it was as if he had merely opened it into a larger room.
Leaning out into the still, hot night air, he stared down into the narrow street below and wondered what time it was. The thought brought him a vivid image of the dead man’s watch; the wide silver band and face had matched the overturned silver car and the silvery grey suit the man had worn, which might have been sleek before the crash had hurled him onto the side of the road. The man had seemed as exotic as a metal spaceman, lying there. His eyes had been a light silvery grey too, when they opened.
‘Help me,’ the man said. His accent was thick and heavy, but part of the heaviness was pain.
There were visible head injuries and Daniel knew it could be fatal to move him. ‘There’s a property back about thirty clicks. The Watleys. Tim’ll radio the Flying Doctor.’
The man made a strange rattling noise. Was he laughing? ‘I fear there is only one creature with wings that will come for me in time.’
Daniel began to shake his head, but the man’s blood was puddling in the red dust beneath him, darkening it to black. It looked as if his shadow was swelling around him.
Daniel knelt, but the man’s nearest hand twitched in agitation, the silver watch throwing a knife of light into his eyes with accidental, painful precision.
‘There is a woman,’ he rasped, and Daniel half turned to the crumpled car before he continued. ‘You must tell her what has happened.’
‘The police . . .’ Daniel began.
‘Ssst,’ the man hissed like a snake. ‘Will you help me?’ The pale eyes held Daniel’s with a strength that seemed hypnotic and he found himself nodding.
‘I have . . . have the ticket in my . . . wallet. You must go and meet her in my place. Tell her I was coming. That she was right.’
‘Ticket to where?’ Daniel had asked.
‘Paris,’ gasped the man.
How strange the word had sounded, spoken in the hot air, the end of it caught by the harsh flat arc of a crow’s cry rising in the spare distance. ‘Paris?’ Daniel echoed, relieved, because of course no one could expect him to go to Paris.
‘I was to meet her on July seven.’
‘But you must have a friend who could call to tell her you have had an accident . . .’ Again the rattling laugh, this time with a bleak edge. ‘I could . . . call her,’ Daniel offered at last.
The light eyes fixed on his face. For a moment, Daniel thought there was a radiance behind them, something struggling to blaze out. But perhaps it was no more than a matter of contrasts: the white-hot light and the tanned skin. Even so, he felt the touch of those eyes like a cold draught moving across his face.
When the man answered, the grain of his voice was rougher, as if the smooth surface of it were being sanded away by pain. ‘I do not have a telephone number