The Night Rainbow (29 page)
Don’t move, says Claude. You don’t want those thorns to get in your eye.
His rough fingers go into my hair, untangling the brambles. You have to be careful, he says. It’s just like the jungle here!
Except not so many elephants, says Margot.
Not so many elephants, I agree. Still, you could bring your elephant knife, I tell Claude.
You know what, says Claude, that’s a very good idea. He ruffles my untangled hair, and opens his other hand, which is getting purple skin because he has filled it with surprising blackberries. I reach out and pop one into my mouth. Claude tips the rest into my hands. There are so many I have to use both.
Really, says Claude. Why didn’t I think of that?
Maman is cleaning everything.
The laundry basket from the bathroom is empty. All the clothes are clean and wet and hanging out on the spinning dryer in the courtyard, turning white in the sun. In the house, the floor is swept and still shiny-wet from the mop. The mop and bucket stand drying by the door. The windows are all open, letting the house breathe all the warm afternoon smells of sage and jasmine, and pushing out the old smells of suppers and sadness.
Maman is in the baby’s room. There is a big heap of clothes and she is sitting there, taking up all the space on the floor, making piles.
Can I help? I ask.
She looks up at me, her eyes doing most of the lifting. Her cheeks are pink.
No thanks, she says. Why don’t you go and play?
Maman has earrings in that look just like pomegranate seeds.
Maybe I could just sit with you, I say, or do folding?
Maman shakes her head. I won’t be long, she says. I just want to get this over with. Off you go.
We wander into Maman’s room. There on the bed is a suitcase, half full on one side and half empty on the other. I peer in. Slippers, pyjamas, a book, shampoo, a toothbrush and toothpaste, dresses, knickers, a hairbrush . . .
She’s leaving us, I say to Margot. The darkness fills me up and I climb on to the bed with the suitcase and curl around it. The bed sheets are soft and pressed into a shape of Maman and my tears fall into her smell. I close my eyes.
She can’t be, says Margot quietly. There must be an explanation.
She’s packed all her knickers, I say. And she is busy getting all the baby clothes ready too. She’s going to leave us and live with the new baby.
Don’t be silly, says Margot. She takes me by the hand. Come on, we’ll go and ask her.
No! I yell. We can’t do that, she’ll get furious.
Well what does it matter if she’s leaving anyway?
What would we do? Claude could come and look after us?
He could but not if he kept smoking; it stinks.
I want Maman, that’s all, I say.
Come on, says Margot, and drags me off the bed.
Maman is still sitting in the big pile of clothes. Her face has been crying.
Please don’t leave us, I blurt out.
Peony, I to – What? she says.
Please don’t leave us. Please can you stay?
Pea, sweetheart, Maman says, I would never leave you. Never, ever. Why do you think I would leave you?
Because you’ve made a suitcase, I say. It’s going to be for you and Pablo. But I want you to stay here, I could look after you better. I can teach the baby to climb trees.
Maman smiles a sad smile. A breeze blows in through the half-open shutters, fluffing up her hair.
We need to pack you a suitcase too, Pea, she says.
Where are we going?
Nowhere yet, but one day soon we will have to go to town, to the hospital.
For the baby?
For the baby.
Maman, I say.
Don’t say it! whispers Margot, poking me.
How do you know . . .?
Don’t say anything about the dead one!
Why?
What? says Maman.
Nothing, I say, and I bend over and wrap my arms around her shoulders.
When we go to the hospital we will have beds. One for me and one for Maman. Margot will be there too. It is going to be soon, but we don’t know when. We will go in an ambulance because Maman says you can’t drive a car when the baby is trying to get out.
I have a suitcase now. Well, it is a plastic bag because we didn’t have another suitcase. It is packed with clean knickers and my cow. My blue bear has to stay in my bed because if I pack him then who would I sleep with?
I am thinking about this and working out the answers. It is nearly supper time but I am too busy thinking and looking to go home yet. I am lying on the bruisy ground on Windy Hill. I am watching the small white clouds, the ones you draw in pictures, get pushed along by the wind, and the angel arms turning fast, white against the blue, upside down over my head, looking big.
I am feeling better and dizzy at the same time.
Yuck! says Margot.
What?
This.
Margot holds out her arm. She has got a tick on her. I know what ticks look like because the cats that visit our house sometimes get them, and once Maman got one on her too. This tick is near Margot’s shoulder and it is like an old yellow pea. It has got eight wiggly red legs near her skin. We do like insects normally, but I think it is rude that ticks want to drink your blood and I don’t like the way their bodies look when they are stuck on.
Maman doesn’t either. When she got the tick on her she screamed. I found her in the bathroom, looking back at herself over her shoulder. She was holding up her hair with one hand. The tick was on the back of her shoulder.
What is it? I asked her.
Don’t worry, Sweet Pea, she said. It’s just a tick.
It looks like a fat insect, I said. But it has eight legs, I’ve counted them. Does it hurt?
No, it doesn’t hurt. I didn’t mean to scream, sorry. I was just surprised.
Do you want me to brush it off? I said.
It won’t come off, she said, we have to do it carefully. We have to get Papa.
But Papa was out at work, so we had to go and fetch him. She couldn’t wait until he got home. We went together, quite slowly. She wasn’t as fat as she is now, but she still had a round belly. It was the other baby was in there. The girl baby. The not-good-enough one that we didn’t get to keep. As we went, Maman was shouting. Amaury? Amaury! It didn’t take us long to find him. He was only in the peaches and he hurried over when he saw us. Maman went soft against him and he kissed her forehead. Papa wanted to pinch the tick off with his fingernails, but Maman had brought tweezers with her.
When the tick was off, Papa put it on the floor and trod on it. That killed it, and then Papa showed us what was left. There was hardly any tick at all, just a splat of Maman’s blood on the ground. I crouched down to look at it and Papa came down next to me.
Make sure Maman puts some antiseptic on when you get her home, he said.
I promise, I said. Then I got a head-kiss too.
OK, I say to Margot, I will be Papa and I will get it off you.
Margot holds her arm out. Use the tweezers, she says, not just your fingers.
Of course, I say, I have the tweezers. There is nothing to worry about.
And there isn’t. I get it off first time and drop it on the floor. It is too fat with Margot to run away, so together we stomp on the tick. Like a stompy dance.
Ooh, says Margot, look at the blood!
Yes, lots of blood. That tick must have drunk nearly all of you up. It’s a good job I got it off.
Thank you for looking after me, Pea, she says.
You’re welcome, I say.
We have fed the chickens and brought the bread up to the house. We have had our breakfast and waited for Maman for a long time, but it got very boring and I want to go and see Claude, so I have tidied away our breakfast things and left the table set for Maman.
We are trotting down through the peach trees on our horses, jumping over logs and winding through the trees. The edges of the teardrop leaves are already turning orange. Margot looks back at me over her shoulder.
My horse is dappled grey and it is called Bolter. What’s yours called?
Saskia, I say. And she is black like Black Beauty.
As we get down towards the road I hear a strange noise. It sounds like someone calling my name and I stop to listen.
Come on, says Margot, giddy up!
Don’t you hear that? I say. Isn’t that Maman shouting?
I doubt it, says Margot. We did all the jobs. What else would she want you for?
Maybe she got another tick?
Could be. Margot gets off her horse and pats his neck. I do the same. Let’s leave our horses here, she says, so they don’t fight with the donkeys. We can go and see Claude and not take long. Then we will go back up and check if Maman has a tick.
Yes, I say, that’s a good idea, because I really want to see Claude and check again about him being our papa.
We cross the road and climb the gate into the low meadow. I can see Claude, right down at the bottom of the path.
Look! says Margot. He brought his elephant-tracking knife!
Claude is slicing at the brambles, cutting away the loops and trailing parts. As he swishes them, the bushes are getting flat edges, and thorny bits, blackberries and little brown
punaises
patter on to the path. Even the ripe blackberries are getting chopped.
Oh no! I say.
Let’s go and save the blackberries! says Margot.
Definitely! I say, and we run down the hill. Claude hasn’t heard us yet.
Peony!
I stop running and turn. It really is Maman. She is by the gate and she is waving her arms over her head.
Peony!
I must be in big trouble for something, although I can’t think what it is. Unless Maman really has got a tick too. But even if she has I don’t know how to help her. My tweezers are only pretend ones and I’m still only five years old.
Maman walks slowly down the path. I stand still and watch her coming.
Peony, come here! she shouts. But I’m scared. After only a few steps she stops and leans against an oak tree. She presses her head against the trunk and her shoulders go up and down.
Is she cross or sad? I ask Margot.
She looks sad, maybe, says Margot. Or else sick.
We’d better go and see.
Yes, Margot agrees.
We turn around and start back up the path towards her. We don’t run.
As we get closer I can see there really is something wrong with Maman; she has walked a few more steps but has stopped again. Tears are running down her face and she is roaring like a lion. It is worse than the day she attacked the tractor with the peaches.
Margot grabs at my arm. Don’t, she says.
Margot, is Maman after us?
I don’t know, says Margot. We should ask Claude; he will know what to do.
Margot takes my hand and we pelt back down the path to get Claude. He is still cutting the brambles.
Claude! I shout.
Swish, chop.
He seems cross with the brambles.
Claude! Margot shouts.
Chop, swish.
They scratched him a lot, it’s true.
Claude!
If Merlin had been here he would have been barking by now.
Swish, chop.
We are really close now, my breath is puffing. I reach out my arms so I can stop myself against his legs.
Chop, swish.
Claude! I shout.
At the same time, behind us, Maman shouts, Peony! Peony!
We are so loud that even Claude can hear us now, and he looks up from the brambles, turning to see where the noise is coming from. But his knife is still swinging.
Swish.
And we are still running.
And it is too late to stop.
I see the knife coming straight towards my face.
Blood is pouring from my forehead like rain. It falls into my mouth, sticky and surprising. Maman is running towards me. Her face has opened so wide it looks as though the sunlight is coming right out of her. Her eyes are saying, Sorry, sorry, sorry, and she is still screaming my name. Beside me, Claude is shouting Oh! Oh! Oh! The noises swirl together and behind my eyes it bangs.
Maman’s arms are stretched forward as though she is trying to catch me. I open my mouth to say something, but my breath is sucked out of me like a slamming door. Margot lets go of my hand and I feel myself fall away from her, backwards on to the path.
I am caught by gentle hands. There is a lot of quiet. I am in a beautiful white place, it is smiling at me. The air is happy and cool. I’m so comfy, maybe I am on a cloud, or tucked in under a cloud. It’s hard to say. It doesn’t really matter. I feel dozy and light and that is good enough.
