The Night Rainbow (16 page)

We will find a way, says Maman. It’s none of your business.

Joanna, says Mami Lafont, what kind of mother are you anyway? That child is running wild. She drinks from the tap outside like a savage. She hasn’t had a haircut in months. You’re not even feeding her properly.

How would you know how I bring up my daughter? says Maman. You’re never around to see.

There are eyes and ears everywhere in this village, says Mami.

Eyes and ears everywhere! says Margot.

In the trees! I say.

On the walls! says Margot.

In the sky, I say. Flying around with the birds. Then I hear Maman say, Ow! And I lean a little further to check that she’s OK, but then Mami Lafont notices me and looks up. She waggles her bony finger at me.

And just to prove my point, says Mami, that child is going to fall out of the window if you are not careful.

Maman steps out into the courtyard, making Mami Lafont move backwards. She is holding her belly again, bent over a bit, and her face is white. She cricks her neck to see me.

Peony!

Sorry, I say, and slither backwards off the window ledge and back into my room. I stand by the window, trying to stretch my hearing so I don’t miss anything. Maman has started shouting in English now, which is very strange because Mami Lafont doesn’t speak English at all.

I can’t do this, she says. Get away from me. Get away!

It goes quiet. After a minute I hear the engine rattle on Mami Lafont’s car, and the front door slams. My heart thumps. Whump, whump inside my T-shirt. I hear bare feet slap slowly up the stairs and another door bang shut. Then there is no noise in the house at all, but the argument words are still bouncing around in my head.

Well, fancy that, says Margot.

What? I say.

Tante Brigitte is getting married! says Margot. We are going to be bridesmaids.

There are shouted words and lots of questions heavy on my insides like pebbles in my tummy. But every step away from the house I feel lighter, and we walk straight down the path to make it go faster. Margot is not interested in the argument, only in weddings.

What sort of dresses shall we have? asks Margot.

Why are they cross with each other? I say.

I think we should have flowers too, lots of different colours.

Why did Mami say she has no grandchildren? Has she forgotten about us?

Sometimes when you are a bridesmaid you get a present, says Margot.

Present? What kind of a present?

It depends what you wish for, she says. So come on, we have got to find some more lucky leaves. We need to do our wishes quickly before the grownups do all their wrong decisions. We can get one for every wish we have to have. Come on, hurry up.

We go as fast as we can with my still-sore foot, down past the donkeys, and tumble down into the patch of clover where we fall on to our tummies, nose to nose with the flowers. Margot checks every stalk. She runs her fingers through the patch of clover, one by one by one. She is very delicate with the leaves, skimming her fingertips through them; they hardly move. Margot is good at this game. But today she is not doing a good job. It’s like a needle in a haystack, she says.

We look for a long time but don’t find a single wish. I am starting to worry that my bridesmaid’s dress will be blue or another awful colour, or that my present will be something I don’t like, like socks, or exercise books with lined pages.

OK, come on, Pea, says Margot, it’s not our day for wishes. But I’ve got something to show you.

What is it? I say.

You’ll have to wait and see.

Tell me!

I haven’t decided yet, but it’s good . . .

So we skip further down towards the stream.

Here! she shouts at last.

What is it?

This, says Margot, holding her head up high and sweeping her hand around, showing me a tree stump and a fallen silver birch tree, some grass and a patch of dandelions. This is where the fairies live.

Really? Fairies? What are they like?

Come and have a look, says Margot. The fairies are small, like small daisies. They have yellow dresses or green dresses so you can’t see them so well. That is called camouflage and it is to stop them getting eaten by bigger creatures like spiders and lizards. But also it means you have to be careful where you tread here. It would be best not to walk on this part at all. Also, she says, they are extremely beautiful. They have red hair that falls like a curtain down their backs and they have eyes like mini-kaleidoscopes, blue and green and sparkling. They are kind and they cook good things and they are always smiling.

Do they sing? I ask.

They sing all the time, says Margot. Can’t you hear them?

I can hear cuckoos and doves and sparrows. There is even a golden oriole. I have never seen one of those, because they are shy, but I know what song they sing because Maman told me. I can’t hear any fairies, though.

OK, says Margot, hold out your hands. She has her hands closed together like a box, like she has something inside for me.

I hold mine out, together, so she can give it to me.

Here, says Margot, as she empties her hands into mine. A fairy. Be gentle!

I close my hands. I can feel the fairy against my palms, light and ticklish and white.

She wants to come and stay in the girl-nest, says Margot.

Really?

Yes, she’s a nest-fairy. She’s been waiting for it for a long time.

It is very hard to cross the stepping stones with my hands cupped together, even though my hands haven’t got anything to do with my feet.

Can’t she ride on my shoulders? I ask, but Margot says no. So I decide to walk through the stream like Claude does and get my sandals soaked in the cold water. I will have to hide them from Maman until they are all dried out. It feels so good on my hot feet, though, and I now wonder why we bother with stepping stones at all.

I am very busy organising the girl-nest. The fairy has got a new bed in the biscuit tin, which is where she would like to live, and I have made room for it by moving around some of the specimens and treasures. Also we have done some wiping and tidying up of leaves, so the nest is spick and span, now that we have a visitor. I am sitting doing some thinking about the argument at our house this morning, when there is a rustling below and I peep out over the top. Merlin is sitting in the shade, wagging his tail. Every wag makes a swooshing noise; he would be no good at hide and seek.

Hello, Merlin! I shout. There’s a fairy come to live in our nest! I can’t see Claude. Claude! I shout down.

Yes, Pea? he answers and he wiggles his feet, which were camouflaged in the grass. He must have snuck up very quietly. Claude would be very good at hide and seek. Have you got a mami? I say, to his feet.

Claude laughs. Merlin turns three times, like a magic spell, then flops down on to the grass by Claude’s feet with a sigh.

A mami? says Claude, Not any more, my little flea. She died a long time ago. But I had two once upon a time.

How do you know if you have a real mami? I shout.

A real one? Well, she is the maman of your maman, or the maman of your papa. Often she makes jam, and wears an apron. Claude shifts so I can see all of him properly. He is smiling. And usually they like to give you lots of kisses. Why do you ask?

Oh, I say. I have only got one mami and I’m not even sure if she is a real one.

Claude sucks hard on his cigarette and drops it on to the grass. The last of the smoke sails up to the girl-nest and I breathe it in. I have started to like the smell of Claude’s smoke.

Does she make jam? he says.

Yes, I say. Because she definitely does; I have seen it in her kitchen in pots with the wrong labels on. But she doesn’t give me lots of kisses.

Would you like her to give you more kisses?

I think about it, and shake my head. No, I say. Because her hands are quite witchy and she doesn’t have any good biscuits.

Well then it’s OK, says Claude. She is definitely a mami and the kissing thing doesn’t matter. I’m sure she has an apron, because they all do.

Why do we kiss people? I say.

Claude laughs.
Ooh-la!
he says.

Yes, why? says Margot.

Well, we kiss people when we like them, says Claude, and to say hello and goodbye.

So why doesn’t Mami kiss us?

Maybe she doesn’t like kissing?

What about you? Do you like kissing?

Claude’s eyes go big and he opens his mouth but no sound comes out, just like Sylvie. It looks funny so I practise doing it too, but my face doesn’t feel comfortable that way.

So, Claude says, tell me more about this fairy you have?

He hasn’t heard you, says Margot. It’s his funny head.

Yes, I say, and I climb out of the girl-nest because I want an answer to my important question.

Claude is watching my sandals slip on the ladder coming down.

How did your shoes get wet? he says.

She was carrying the fairy, says Margot, so she couldn’t balance on the stepping stones.

I didn’t want to drop the fairy in the river, I say.

Claude nods, as though he understands, but I’m not sure if he thinks that collecting fairies and walking through rivers in sandals is naughty or not.

I only collected one, I say, and I show Claude how you have to walk with your hands closed up like a box, and how if you try to do that on stepping stones – I pretend there are stepping stones in the long grass – it makes you more wobbly.

Well, says Claude, you take care in that river. It’s slippery. The stepping stones are best. Maybe you should put the fairy in a bag next time.

That is a very good idea, says Margot.

I didn’t think of that, I say.

Anyway, says Margot, we came down to ask you about the kissing.

Oh yes, I say. I sit down and lean against Merlin, who is very hot. So why don’t you kiss us to say hello or goodbye or that you like us?

Don’t you like us? says Margot.

We like you, I say.

Claude pulls his knees up and shuffles his back against the tree, like an itchy bear.

I do like you, he says. I think you are very clever and funny and kind and nice. But it is not nice for a grownup to kiss children when their parents are not there. It is a rule.

But Maman is never here.

No, he says, and that is why.

What about if we blow kisses? I say.

Yes, says Claude, we can do that.

But even though it was my idea this doesn’t make me happy. A blown kiss is not like a proper kiss. Hugs and kisses should be hugs and kisses, not breaths of air. I am tired of breaths of air and not enough hugs and kisses. It surprises me, my crossness, blowing up inside me like a black balloon until I want to shout out loud. But I don’t want to upset Claude and Merlin. So I decide to disappear myself.

Did you know, if you wave your hands really, really fast, they stop being seen? They are going so fast they are invisible. I wonder if this would work with a whole person. I stand up and I start to wave my hands, my arms, jiggle my head, faster and faster. I start to run, faster, faster through the long grass away from Claude and back towards Maman but I hope that I can just disappear somewhere along the way.

Margot and I sit at the kitchen table. I didn’t disappear on the way home, and eventually I got out of puff from the fast running so we stopped to pick flowers. We have brought back pockets full of daisies and clover for Maman, and we are arranging them around the edge of a plate. She can eat her supper off it when she wakes up. We are too hungry to wait, though, so we sit at the table eating the bread, which is quite hard, but we have put both kinds of jam on it and so it’s sort of crunchy-sticky good. I am spooning on some more jam – because that is the best part – but not looking what I am doing. I am just letting my eyes move around the kitchen, through the dusty light and the cool dark shadows, over the dirty floors at the bottom and the spotty tomato clothes above our heads. It is because I am doing this instead of looking at the jam that I see the little checked curtain twitch. The curtain is drawn across the part under the sink where Maman keeps cleaning things. We are not supposed to touch them, but sometimes, if I have spilled something, I can get a cloth and something which has flowers on the front but makes my eyes water and I can clean it up before she knows. But cleaning products are not supposed to move and make curtains twitch. I jump up, scraping the bench on the tiles, and the curtain twitches again. Something small and dark rushes fast as lightning along the wall.

It makes me jump, but then I see it properly just as it slips through the crack between the wall and the pantry door. A little brown mouse, with whiskers and a tail and everything.

Let’s catch it! says Margot. We can keep it as a pet.

Do you remember the scorpion? I say. Sometimes, Margot, you can be very irresponsible.