Swears and curses to terrible to describe rang out throughout the quiet green valley in the countryside causing birds to take flight from the tree tops in fright. They eventually settled in another group of trees just out of reach and glared at the source of the disruption peevishly. The foul temper belonged to a small figure in the middle of a meadow who was currently stamping her foot and kicking out at a small black bundle. Rose glowered at the obstinate tent pole which was sticking out of the rucksack at an awkward determined angle. The tent's canvas had fitted neatly in the bottom of the bag with little fuss; she had simply folded it up and popped it in but the poles refused to conform. The first one had been all right, she had slotted the two ends together and folded it in half without a problem but since that second one had snapped accidently, Rose felt certain the others were being stubborn on purpose as if to avenge the broken pole. She threw the rucksack on the floor again and stamped on it feverishly.
"Fit!" she shrieked wringing her hands in frustration but the bag simply lay there. If bags had expressions, this one was smirking. Rose kicked as far as she could across the field to teach it a lesson and then begrudgingly set out after it.
The tent was the only thing she had managed to grab before the angry mob had headed in her direction. Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups. Not that the freaks were stupid, just angry and upset and Rose didn't blame them. Feelings of guilt and shame gathered in the pit of her stomach as she remembered the night she had drank one of their kind's blood the night the Vampaneze had attacked. She had wanted to go back and apologise somehow but the Cirque felt closed off from her now. She had intended to accept Mr Tall's offer of joining their family but she had broken his only condition and thus cut herself off from anything like a family forever. Rose hastily wiped her eyes as she stumbled over the tatty rucksack, worn from several days' worth of travelling. She had no idea where she was; after leaving in such a hurry, she had run as far away as possible and now lacked the energy to even flit. Beneath her, her legs buckled and she collapsed in a heap, sobbing and occasionally pummelling the bag in frustration.
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" She bawled into the pack's damp, smelly material. Eventually time passed, carrying the pathetic bundle of Rose with it. The girl looked up through tears to see the sun trying to hide behind the hill in front of her as though it had been caught spying on a private moment. Rose wished night would hurry up and take over; it was easier to travel in the dark. There were less people around and therefore less temptation to indulge in a midnight snack. Finally Rose admitted defeat and acknowledged that the stars wouldn't come out early just by hoping they would so she heaved herself onto her feet, slung the bag onto her back, carefully ignoring the inflexible poles, and set off at a fast pace across the valley. Now and then, like a trail of breadcrumbs, bits of broken pole landed on the grass noiselessly, tracing her path.
A few hours later, Rose had recovered her strength by hitching a lift off a passing truck. She hadn't bothered asking, that would have only stirred up more trouble, instead she'd lightly landed in the back and wriggled under the sack with covered his goods. The warm, purring engine and the gentle rocking sent her to sleep quite quickly. She had woken up to slurred shouts and insults and had lifted the sheet to discover it was finally dark. The van had been parked around the back of a road side pub under a streetlamp and by its faint, flickering glow, Rose could just make out a bunch of drunks staggering around throwing punches bathed in orange light. None noticed her climb carefully out of the truck, shoulder her backpack and sidle off. The pub was far from friendly and inviting but to Rose it looked like the perfect place to sit for a while in the warm and gather her thoughts. Pausing for a moment to observe the building's exterior, she took note of the missing letters on the pub's sign so that it now spelt out a rather rude word. Chuckling, Rose stepped around the resident drunk who was busy being sick into a flowerpot that Rose doubted had ever had a flower in it a stepped inside.
Unlike those clichéd movies, so often set in the Wild West, no one turned to face Rose as she wandered through the doors. No one looked up from their drink or bothered to acknowledge her which the girl was thankful for. None of the pub's occupants looked at her closely enough to notice her red eyes and slightly purple skin and the few that did blamed it on the bad light or the fact that they had drunk too much. Rose shuffled easily through the crowd searching for a corner to lurk in. Unfortunately each booth she approached seemed to be host to either a card game or a drinking game so she was forced to move towards the bar. The lights were stronger here so Rose shielded her face with her hair. From behind her fringe, kohl rimmed eyes glowered at anyone who dared risk a glance at her, even the bartender was nervous as he approached her. The man was large and scarred and had a nose that looked as though it had suffered several fractures but even he gripped the baseball bat with a nail in it kept under the bar for special occasions as he asked the stranger what she'd like to drink.
"Just some salted peanuts," came the reply. The bartender hurried off gratefully in search of the snack but a gruff voice called him back.
"Nah, no mate, get her what I've got. She looks like she could need it!" Rose turned to face a gaunt looking man hunched over a nearly empty pint glass. He didn't raise his eyes from his drink as he talked but smiled dreamily.
"No thank you," said Rose primly choosing not to add that she wasn't old enough in case the barman decided to try his luck at throwing her out. The man to her right shrugged.
"Suit yourself," he slurred, downing his drink. After studying the bottom of the dirty glass for several minutes as if he was trying to locate something he'd lost in there, he slammed it down on the counter and demanded another. The bartender was more at home dealing with regulars like the weedy man beside Rose and thought nothing of denying him another drink.
"I think you've had enough sir," he said sternly. Rose expected the man to shrug again and slope off into a corner somewhere but to her surprise he pushed back his stool, leant across the bar and grabbed the barman's apron in sudden fury.
"Enough? Enough! It's never enough! He's still dead isn't he? And I'm still here! He shouldn't be... he can't be... so young..." the man released his grip as he broke down in floods of tears and allowed himself to be pushed back across the bar by the burly man. The bartender patted the sobbing man's shoulder somewhat awkwardly and spoke to him in a soft voice which didn't suit him.
"I'm sorry Mr Shan. I think you should go home now. Should I call you a cab?"
Mr Shan shook his head and buried himself in his arms, his shoulders still shaking. Rose took pity on the weak, balding man and offered him a peanut. Sympathy wasn't her strong point. Sniffing several times, the man eventually raised his watery eyes and met Rose's red ones.
"Are you alright mister?" asked Rose uneasily. The man wiped his nose on his sleeve and sighed heavily; tears leaked from his eyes and dropped off his chin.
"Shan. Mr Shan." He said, "And no. No, I'm not."
"Mr Shan?" Rose repeated slowly as her memory struggled to connect the evidence in front of her.
"He's gone," said the man simply. The smell emanating off the man was overpowering. There was no denying he was drunk though Rose reasoned that sometimes too much to drink, isn't enough.
"The anshwers not at the bottom of the glassh, my girl. You were right to deny a pint. My boy's gone an nuthinks gonna bring him back!" The man dissolved into tears again giving Rose time to digest this new information.
"Your son?" she ventured.
"S'right," wailed Mr Shan, "my boy, my little boy. He had a future... gone... s'all gone now..." Rose reached over and laid a hand on the man's arm. He barely noticed her act of sympathy, too lost in his thoughts. Rose felt her throat tighten as she witnessed the man's sadness.
"What was his name?" she whispered though she already knew it.
"Darren. My Darren," sobbed Mr Shan. He sat up in an effort to regain some dignity but lost it again as he saw Rose's hand resting on his sleeve.
"About your own age, he was. So young...too young..." He patted Rose's cold hand with his own before turning gently away from her to stare back into his empty glass.
"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal but love leaves a memory no can steal, right?" he quoted. For the first time since she'd met him, Rose saw the ghost of a smile appear on his lips.
"Right," she agreed, "and time heals all wounds." But the man beside her shook his head heavily, still smiling.
"No," he whispered, "no it doesn't. Time just gives you...time. How you spend that time is up to you. Some folks'll use it to give them more space to heal. Me? I'll use it to grieve. I'll not let myself heal."
"Why?" said Rose, shocked.
"Why should I get to heal when he's dead? Why should I or anyone else move on when he can't?" At this, Mr Shan began to raise his shaky voice and glare around the dark room accusingly. Few caught his eye, others looked sympathetic.
"I don't think Darren would have wanted to see you like this sir. Do you think he would have wanted to see you drinking yourself to death? You talk about the value of life but -"
"Value? There's no value anymore," interrupted Mr Shan, "You're born with a return ticket to wherever you came from though no one knows its expiry date. Life's just wasting time before you die." He closed his eyes and rambled bitterly for a few moments before trailing off and choking back another sob. Rose stared.
"If you could see him... speak to him even. What would you say?"
"Tell him I loved him o'course, what else? Maybe tell him I was proud... sho proud of him. He was sho good." Rose listened to the man's sad slurs and made up her mind. She needed to help Mr Shan somehow. He needed to heal and it was clear he wasn't about to let time do it.
"He loved you too sir," whispered Rose but the man had his eyes closed and was snoring gently into his chest.