The Night Rainbow (15 page)

What happened?

You’re limping too, I say, what happened to you?

You first, says Claude.

I was stung by a scorpion, I say.

Truly?

Truly.

Where?

On the kitchen stairs. It got out of the jar.

Oh, Pea, why did you have a scorpion in a jar?

I don’t want him to tell me off.

Margot put it there, I say.

I did not! says Margot.

Yes she did, I say. Margot scowls hard at me but I think she knows why I don’t want to make Claude cross and she shuts up, scuffing the grass with the toes of her pink sandals.

And why did Margot put the scorpion in the jar? says Claude.

I can’t remember.

Where is it now?

Maman killed it with Papa’s boots and a shampoo bottle.

Did she? Claude’s eyebrows are up.

So what happened to you? I say. It wasn’t really a tiger, was it?

I was hit by a car, says Claude.

You should Stop, Look and Listen, says Margot.

Were you crossing the road? I say. Didn’t you look?

Well, actually no, I was driving a car, and another car hit our car. It was going too fast.

Did you have to go to hospital?

Oh yes, for a long time.

For injections?

Claude laughs. Lots of injections, yes. And also they had to mend the broken parts of me.

But now you’re mended.

Mostly.

Where are your still-broken parts?

Claude looks miserable.

Stop asking questions, whispers Margot, loudly.

Sorry, I say.

It’s OK, says Claude, it’s not your fault. It’s just a sad question for me.

Is it because your leg still walks funny? I say.

No, that doesn’t make me sad, says Claude.

Is it because you have got the funny bald bit on your head? says Margot.

Is it because you can only hear us when we shout? I say.

Are you keeping a list of all my broken parts? says Claude with a twisty smile.

I shake my head. No, I say, I’m not very good at writing. The letters always come out inside out.

We stop walking, we have got to the clover patch, and we all sit down in the green.

I can’t hear very well at all, says Claude, that’s true, but Merlin does a lot of my listening for me.

Can he answer the telephone? says Margot.

My heart still hurts too, says Claude, to the grass.

How does Merlin pick up the telephone with his paws? I ask.

Claude frowns; he looks confused. We don’t talk to people on the telephone, he says.

Does Merlin speak French?

Well, he doesn’t speak, he just listens. Like when he hears you coming he barks so I know you’re there, or if we are crossing the road, or if there is a knock at my door – although usually there isn’t.

And now, when I’m talking? I ask.

I can hear you a little, but mostly I’m watching your mouth make the words.

Margot sticks her fingers in her ears and says, Go on then, say something! I put my hands over my ears too, and we watch Claude’s mouth, waiting to see what the words look like when you can’t hear.

His mouth moves but there are no letter shapes or word shapes just opens and closeds.

It doesn’t work, I say, disappointed.

You have to get used to it, says Claude.

I look at his ear, shiny and bent. Wouldn’t it be easier to just mend your ear? I say.

You can’t mend everything that gets broken, says Claude.

Like a broken heart, says Margot, who has been reading about Rapunzel, who lived in a tower but before that she was a baby and her maman gave her away to a wicked witch to pay for some lettuces, but it gave her a broken heart.

Is your heart broken? I ask.

It was, says Claude. Hospitals don’t have anything for that. But some things get better by themselves eventually.

Claude rummages in his bag and offers me a drink of water from his bottle. I drink in big gulps.

Margot? he asks.

Margot shakes her head.

Margot likes milk, not water, I say. And sometimes lemonade. But thank you.

Claude looks down into the clover then reaches and picks one stem with four perfect leaves. He hands it to me.

Here, he says, you can make a wish on this.

He reaches down again. I’ll get one for you too, Margot, he says.

I stare at the clover. I wish tha . . .

Shhh! says Claude. If you tell me it won’t come true.

Claude, I say, will my foot stay limpy like yours now, for ever, until I am old like you?

Definitely not. You’ll be all mended ready for school. Have you got any new school shoes yet?

I shake my head.

Probably after the baby is born, says Claude.

Margot is standing on one leg.

What are you doing? I say. There’s nothing wrong with your leg!

That’s right, says Margot. My legs are better than yours.

But what are you doing?

I’m a flamingo, she says. And I could stand like this for a hundred years.

Chapter 12

I wake up hungry, thirsty and already sweating. I can tell it is very early because the sky is just waking up but it’s already too hot to stay in bed. My bed sheet is on the floor where I kicked it off in the night, my pyjamas on top of it. I open the window to let a little bit of air in before the sun gets too high.

It’s still little dog, I say to Margot.

Hot dogs, she replies, and we laugh at her joke. I go on to my hands and knees and start panting and yapping, but then I remember Maman asleep in bed and get up again.

We should do some more cleaning today, I say.

OK, says Margot. Get dressed then.

But I hear Sylvie’s car outside and run straight downstairs to say hello and get the bread.

Good morning! I say.

Good morning, Pivoine, says Sylvie. Her mouth is pink with lipstick, which makes it look jagged at the edges like a monster because the lipstick has gone into all the wrinkles. She hands me the two baguettes and I bite the end off one.

Did you forget something? she says.

Thank you, I say.

Well yes, thank you, she says but also . . .

Do we have to pay you today? I ask. I wonder if there is some of the money from the peachman somewhere in the kitchen.

No, not today. But, Pivoine, where are your clothes?

Oh, I haven’t got dressed yet. I’ll do it after breakfast, I say.

I turn on the tap and crouch beside it, cupping my hands and drinking from the cold-water lake, already overflowing.

Pivoine, that’s not very well mannered, says Sylvie.

You’re a lady, I say. So it doesn’t matter if I haven’t got my clothes on.

I mean drinking from the tap. We drink from cups.

So do we, I say, but I can’t reach the kitchen tap.

Where’s your maman?

She’s in bed, I say. Why do people keep asking the same questions? I wonder. Maman is tired, I say, because the baby does exercises all night and . . .

Sylvie interrupts. What did you do to your foot? she says, squatting down next to my big red ankle.

A scorpion did it.

A scorpion?

It was my fault; I had it in a jar.

Your maman let you put a scorpion in a jar?

Maman didn’t know, she was in bed.

Does your maman ever get out of bed? Could you go and get her, please?

No, I can’t wake her up.

Sylvie looks surprised. You can’t wake her up? Did you try?

No. But she will wake up later. When the baby wakes up.

The baby?

I think Sylvie is a little bit stupid, whispers Margot.

Shhh! I say. And to Sylvie, The baby in her tummy.

Oh, says Sylvie.

The new one, I tell her, just in case she hasn’t understood. Not the dead one.

Sylvie’s lipstick mouth opens but no words come out for a long time. Eventually she says, Are you OK?

We’re fine, thank you, I say. How are you?

I mean just you? I’m sure your maman can take care of herself.

We’re fine.

Are you hungry?

I was, I say, but I have the bread now.

Maybe I should knock on the door, speak to your maman?

No! I shout it, and then am sorry. Sorry, I say. But please don’t. Maman doesn’t like being woken up.

Then can you take a message?

Sylvie puts down a third baguette.

It’s TOO MANY, says Margot.

In case you’re hungry later, says Sylvie. Now, why don’t you go and put on some clothes? And tell your maman . . . actually never mind.

OK, I say. Bye!

Good morning, Maman says, walking out barefoot into the courtyard.

I’m sorry, I say. Did we wake you up?

No, that’s OK. I think the baby liked the seaside. We didn’t have a lot of gymnastics last night.

Say something nice. Margot is right behind me, hissing into my ear.

I liked the seaside too, Maman, I say. Thank you for taking us.

You’re welcome, Pea. Now I have a job for you.

Really?

Yes, really. I am going to make a salad, so you have two jobs to do.

What are they?

The first job is to go and find me some mint, about two handfuls. You know what mint looks like, don’t you?

Yes, of course I do!

Good. Next, if you look in the pantry you will find the big bag of peas that we bought at the market. I need you to pop all the pods and put the peas into the colander. You can give the pod parts to the chickens. Can you do all that?

Yes I can, I say.

But first, she says, go and put some clothes on, and a hat.

Yes, Maman.

And, Pea?

Yes?

Don’t eat all the peas, Pea.

Maman is smiling as she goes back into the house to get her coffee.

The picked mint is on the table and the colander is half full of fresh, sweet little peas. We were just getting to the end of the paper bag of pea pods when Mami Lafont’s car came up the path.

Maman doesn’t speak the right language for here, at least not very much of it. Now she stands at the kitchen door, blocking it like a sentry and being cross in funny French. She is shouting at Mami Lafont. They both stand with their arms folded over their chests and I half expect them to run at each other any minute now and bump tummies. Mami Lafont’s doesn’t have a baby in it, but it is still quite fat. Margot and I have been sent inside, so we are sitting on the stairs, watching them argue.

You cannot just walk into my house! says Maman in her cross voice.

Your house? says Mami Lafont. This has never been your house.

I was Amaury’s wife, says Maman, in everything but name. Don’t you try and take that from me.

He deserved better than you, says Mami Lafont. It comes spitting out of her mouth like sour apple.

Leave me alone. Don’t you think I have enough to think about right now? Maman is shouting now.

Better now, Mami Lafont says, than trying to move when you’ve got a newborn. Why don’t you just go back home? You don’t belong here, can’t you see?

What do you know about where I belong? This is my home, you stupid woman, says Maman. This is our home.

Let’s go upstairs, Margot says to me.

This is a good idea for two reasons. Firstly Maman seems really angry, and it will be better if we are not there to get under her feet when she has finished having her argument, and secondly because if we lean out of the window we can see better. We hurry upstairs and open the shutters.

You can’t even look after yourself, Mami is saying. And what’s that mess in the barn? The place is full of rotten fruit, wasps and ants everywhere, Amaury’s tractor covered in the stuff. Are you crazy?

I want you to leave, now. Maman’s voice is flat.

Brigitte is getting married. We will need the farm, Mami Lafont carries on. It’s much too big for you. All those empty rooms going to waste.

And where am I supposed to go? I know you don’t care about Peony and me, but do you want to make your grandchild homeless?

I don’t have a grandchild. Mami is smiling the smile of someone who doesn’t want her photo taken.

What do you think this is? Maman is pointing at her belly.

Well, says Mami Lafont, that’s to be seen. But what are you going to do with the farm? You can’t farm it. When the money in the bank runs out then what?