The Night Rainbow A Novel

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?

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.

But mice don’t sting, she says.

What would we feed it on?

We could try bread, says Margot.

So I break off a piece of my bread and jam and put it down next to the pantry. I hope Maman won’t notice, I say.

Just then, Maman starts to scream. My insides turn somersaults. I think that perhaps this is what it feels like for Maman when the baby is doing exercises. I think this very quickly because mostly I am scared that Maman is screaming. Then I think she is in the kitchen watching me and is cross that I am feeding the mouse. But then she screams again.

Amaury! Amaury! Her voice is upstairs and loud and frightened.

My heart thuds. She’s shouting for Papa, I whisper.

I know, says Margot.

Do you think she’s forgotten that he’s dead? I say.

I doubt that, says Margot.

Maybe it’s a different Amaury she wants, I say.

Or a nightmare, says Margot.

Yes, that could be it, I say.

Amaury! Maman shouts again.

We should go and help her, says Margot.

I’m scared.

We’ll hold hands, come on.

So we climb the stairs, holding hands, and tiptoe down the corridor. We go over the creak, and quietly push open the bedroom door.

Maman is curled on her side in a pile of pillows, her hair is sweaty and pushed back off her face. Her face is wet but I don’t know if it is crying or sweat. The fan is turned off and the air feels wet like bath-time in winter. Maman’s eyes are screwed tight, one fist pressed up against her forehead and the other arm wrapped round her belly.

Amaury! she shouts again, making us jump.

I want to run away, but Margot pulls me by the hand close to the bed. Maman’s belly is rolling in waves like the sea.

Maman, I whisper.

No! she groans.

Maman, it’s me, Pea. Papa’s dead.

No!

Maman?

You need to speak up, says Margot.

Maman! I say in my loudest voice that is not shouting, and I grab her hand and squeeze it tight.

Then the wail comes. It is like the wolf-wail she did the day she threw peaches at the tractor.

Maman, I scream. Wake up!

Maman’s body jerks. Her arms fly up into the air and she cries out as though she is falling. But then her eyes open. At first they are black, but then black shrinks away and the colour comes back and she looks at me as though she wonders what I am doing in her house.

I . . . she says.

I don’t say anything.

It’s . . .

We stand side by side, waiting to know if it was good or bad, what we did.

Maman puts her legs over the side of the bed and makes her body sit up. Her belly is nearly touching her knees. She looks around the bedroom. Her clothes are mostly on the floor. There are some coffee cups and some plates with toast crumbs on.

If you would like, I say, there is a special plate for your supper. It has daisies on.

Maman stares at me and now she doesn’t say anything. Her face is screwed into a question mark, but I don’t know the answer. She looks around her room again.

Are you looking for Papa I say, because . . .

Can you turn the fan on for me on the way out, she says.