The Night Rainbow A Novel

CHAPTER 15




My room is in the blue half-dark. The frogs are still calling and the crickets too, but there is also the sound of swallows and a cockerel crowing. Papa is melting.

I tighten my eyes as closed as I can make them. Stay, stay! I say out loud as he mushes up into grey, his smile, his smell. It had been perfect. The dream had gone on for so long. I kept waking up then falling back asleep and dreaming the same dream. Papa, smelling of outdoors, of rain and hay and tractor oil. Papa standing in the doorway at the foot of the stairs, his arms open for me, bending as I ran into them. His arms wrapping me tight and lifting me up high for a kiss, to smell his skin, to put my head on his shoulder. I try to stretch my dream, to pull it into the morning, to keep the smells. But trying so hard to keep the dream is making me wake up even more.

Wait, Papa! I haven’t told you about the girl-nest and Claude and, Papa, your tractor is all peachy . . .

Where are my tractor boots? Papa’s voice is saying. Where are my tractor boots?

Maman had them to kill the scorpion.

Where’s Maman?

She’s sleeping.

Where is your maman?

I don’t know.

I think we’ve gone and lost her, Pea. Papa’s voice dissolves into the colours behind my eyes.

I’m sorry, Papa. I don’t know how to find her, I say.

Papa has gone. He didn’t even say goodbye. I open my eyes, but there is just the room and I feel ashamed.

I roll back over to face the wall and screw my eyes shut again. I want to go back to sleep but the cockerel is crowing and the swallows are chattering and right now I am angry with them. They are taking away the cool, empty dark with their noise and their hot whiteness. They are taking away my papa and he will not come back.

I feel the darkness inside me, heavy like I swallowed a big cold rock and it scraped my insides on the way down. I start shaking, the sobs come in through my stomach and out through my mouth and I curl tight into a ball and let the sobs shake me wide awake.

After a while, Margot wakes up. Although my back is to the room I can feel when she is awake and I turn over to see. Margot is sitting up with her legs crossed.

Don’t worry, my little flea, she says, and I smile. She sounds like Claude and that makes me feel better.

I dreamt about Papa, I say.

Did you? says Margot. What did he say?

I can’t remember.

I dreamt about playing tennis at the beach, says Margot. We had orange tennis rackets, but no ball, so it was very funny.

That does sound funny, I say.

Where shall we go today?

Low meadow, I say. Let’s go to the girl-nest and see what Claude has left for us.

Just then Maman pokes her head around the door. Her hair is all down over her face and her eyes are still half asleep.

What’s all the screaming? she says.

Sorry, I say, it was a nightmare.

Maman sits on the edge of my bed, making it creak. She puts a hand on my leg and looks down at me. What were you dreaming about? she says.

Nothing.

It can’t have been nothing.

It was a nice dream, I say. I was scared when it stopped.

Maman’s face is waking up. She is looking right at me.

I have those dreams too, she says. Right. The bed creaks as she hoicks herself up again. Her belly is so big now she is definitely going to fall over backwards. If she does I’m not sure what I could do to help, which is worrying.

Get dressed, says Maman. Breakfast.

Be careful, I say.

She smiles with half her mouth and says, OK, Pea, I will. What do you want to wear?

I shrug. I have run out of clean clothes. Maman looks in my wardrobe and pulls out the lilac dress that was my favourite last summer.

This is your favourite, right? You can wear this.

I smile and take the dress. It is a dress for the four-year-old me. When I put it on it is much too tight, but somehow I like how it makes me feel.

While we are having our breakfast, the mouse skitters out from behind the curtain, right behind Maman. I hold my breath. Margot pouts. We like the mouse. But grownups don’t like mice and Maman probably is going to want to kill it.

We’re right. Maman sees the mouse out of the corner of her eye and leaves the table to fetch a mousetrap from the pantry. She takes down a sausage from its pointy hook and a sharp knife from the sink. She gives it a wipe. Then she chops off the end of the sausage, leaving on the metal clip and the dangling string, and loads it on to the mousetrap. The mice in our house like sausage.

Maman draws back the curtain so she can put down the trap, but straight away there is a funny smell. It doesn’t smell like mice, which actually don’t smell much at all. It smells more like our basket of dirty laundry, full of damp towels and dirty clothes still waiting to be washed.

Oh I don’t believe it, she says.

What is it, Maman?

A leak, she says. The kitchen sink is leaking.

We are watching her face to see what to do. It hasn’t decided yet if it is a fighting face or a face for tears.

Peony, could you bring me a spanner from the barn, please?

OK, I say, hopping down.

Do you know what a spanner looks like?

A big metal dog bone?

More or less.

The barn door is open and we step around the sticky mess, all covered in ants and flies. Inside the barn is shady and cool and in the corner are Papa’s tool drawers, where all his tools are put away neat and tidy.

Top, middle or bottom? I say to Margot.

Middle.

I open it and she is right.

Good guess! I say.

I find a spanner quickly. In fact I find three, one small, one medium and one big, but as I am shutting the drawer, the smallest one slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor. When I pick it up I notice something lying nearby in a white crack of light. It looks like a hand.

Agh! I make a little scream and jump back.

That’s not a hand, says Margot.

What is it?

That’s a glove.

I stare at the fingers and along the back of the hand to where it stops, with the scratchy fastener around the wrist.

A glove. Papa’s glove. I pick it up and hold it in my fingers as though I were holding Papa’s hand. It is too soft and floppy, but it smells right.

I am going to keep it, I say. I hide the glove under a rock by the barn; it can go and live in the girl-nest later.

When I get back to the kitchen Maman is kneeling on the floor, getting her dress all dirty. But her belly is too big. She cannot get under the sink to fix the leak.

Her face makes up its mind and she starts to cry.

We could phone somebody to come and fix it, I say.

And pay them with what?

I don’t know, I say. I’m sorry.

She drops the spanner down by the sink and pulls the curtain back across. She leaves the mousetrap by the side.

Don’t touch it, she says, and she goes heavily back upstairs.

We sit at the table for quite a long time, thinking that Maman is going to be back soon. I stare at the mousetrap hoping that the mouse isn’t. For a long time, nothing happens. The clock ticks to eight o’clock and goes ting.

I’ve had a very good idea, says Margot. She has something very important to say, you can tell. An announcement. She is waiting until she has got my full attention.

OK, I say, what is your good idea?

I know how to win the challenge, says Margot. What we need is a new papa, and Claude can be it. She smiles proudly. It is a very big announcement.

A new papa? Can you get those?

I think anyone can be a papa. We need someone who can fix things in the house, and who can make Maman smile. If we had a papa she would have to do proper cooking again to make his dinners.

Every day, I say.

Yes, every day.

And you think Claude could be it?

I think he would be perfect.



The birds are very noisy this morning. Some are even in the tree near our heads, chatting and chittering. A woodpecker is drilling holes. It is probably too early for Claude, so while we wait for him we play shops.

I’m the shopkeeper, says Margot, and you are the customer.

OK, I say. Hello, shopkeeper.

Hello. What would you like to buy today?

I would like some cheese please.

Margot shakes her head. I’m afraid we don’t have any cheese.

OK, then I would like some coloured pencils.

We don’t sell those.

Have you got any eggs? I say.

Eggs? says Margot. What are they? And we both start to laugh.

What do you sell in this shop? I ask.

Lots of things, says Margot. Almost everything you could want.

Have you got carrots?

No carrots. Margot sticks out her tongue and I laugh some more.

What do you have?

We have octopus, clothes pegs, olives and onions, says Margot. She waves her hand across the front of her shop. See, here they are, right here in front of your eyes.

I’ll have an octopus and some clothes pegs then please.

Ninety-nine euros, says Margot. She knows big numbers; she is showing off.

We play shop for quite a long time, until the sun is halfway up the sky and even the air in the tree shade is heating up.

Let’s go paddling, says Margot. Then she doesn’t even wait for me to reply, just slips out of the tree and starts running back through the tall grass towards the stream. By the time I get there, Margot is already on the other side, sitting on a root on the bank.

Slowcoach! she says.

I am not interested in being bossed about today, so I decide to dilly and dally a bit more. I have spotted the evening primroses that I thought had been put there by witches before I knew about Claude. Today I am going to pick them for Maman. Even though the flowers are delicate, the stems are thick and hard to snap. But when I have finished tugging and twisting I have five long stems and there are more than ten flowers and lots of long green leaves.

Beautiful, says Margot. Now come on!

I smile at her and walk straight into the stream in my sandals. It is quite high today and the water sloshes around the bottom of my legs, cold and lovely. For a while I just stand in the same spot, kicking one foot after the other, splashing about. I stare down into the water. I can’t see my feet, only my pinky-purple reflection and the yellow reflection of the flowers. I wonder if they will make Maman smile. This makes me think about our leaky sink, and the mousetrap with the sausage, and having no money and needing a papa.

It’s getting to be a very big challenge, I say.

Maybe we don’t have to fix everything.

But if we don’t fix everything, Maman will still be unhappy.

Margot makes her thinking face. If we fix the papa, and maybe the cleaning, she says, I think that will be enough.

OK, I say, then we have to find Claude right now.

Come on, then!

I stop kicking and start to cross the stream. But the floor is slippy and rocky and I nearly fall over.

Oh!

Use the stepping stones, silly!

I put my arms out like an acrobat and take tiny slow steps to get me over to the stepping stones. Yey! I say. I did it! And I am climbing up on to the greeny brown of the first stone and stepping on to the second.

At last, says Margot.

I don’t really know what happens next. My feet are slipping off the stones. I am scrambling with both feet and trying to get my balance. And then both of my feet are in the water and so is my bottom and I am wet. That’s what’s important first, that my four-years-old memory dress and my knickers are wet and cold. But only for a very short time because then I feel the hurt in my foot. Not the scorpion foot, the other one. And when I try to move it to stand up, it hurts more. I feel down in the water. My foot is stuck under a stone. I try to push it, lift it, rock it, but nothing happens.

Margot! I say. But when I look up, she has gone.

The coldness of the water soon starts hurting even more than the rock-squash so I find a way to stand up by twisting my ankle and cricking my knee. The dark purple wetness of my dress is spreading up to my waist, into the lilac parts. I am very alone now. The banks of the stream have shadowy bushes, and I am sure I can see monsters hiding in them. I think about crying, but instead I begin to shout. I shout for Claude and for Merlin and for Josette. I shout as loud as I can and then I stop to listen if anyone is coming. Then I shout again. I am starting to get worried that no one will ever come.

I think I hear a rustling in the grass. When I look up, Margot is back, perched like a frog on the bank.

Don’t worry, she says. It will be OK.

Margot, I say, you don’t know anything.

It will be OK.

Claude! Merlin! My shouts are becoming quite screamy now. Claude!



Merlin comes first; I hear his bark from far away and then he runs down to the river. He is not galloping as usual, just trotting. He is not in a hurry even though I am stuck. He paddles into the water and I stop screaming so as not to frighten him. Merlin lies down in the water on his belly and looks at me with sad eyes.

Don’t be sad, Merlin, I say. I’m not dead, I’m just hurt.

Soon after Merlin comes Claude. His arms and legs are very scratched and bleedy. Even his face has dotted red lines on, welling with blood. He must have hurried fast through the brambles without taking care. He steps straight into the water without saying a word. He leans over and grabs around my waist with one hand, and then his other hand goes down into the water. Suddenly the stone is off my foot and I am being lifted up out of the stream. Claude carries me all the way out and sits me on the bank of the low meadow. I am still holding the flowers. Merlin comes over too and sniffs my face, pressing his head up against my neck. I ruffle his fur. Claude sits down next to me and takes my foot in his hands. He takes off the shoe and presses his hands against the skin. His hands are so hot they feel as though they are burning me.

You’re frozen, he says. What happened?

I don’t know, I say.

My foot feels like it is being pricked with about a hundred little needles; I don’t like it at all.

Claude stands up.

Can you walk? he says.

I don’t know about walking. But I am shivering hard. I really want him to hug me. I cling to his legs and wrap my arms tight around them. I look up at him. I wish he would hug me. He tries to unpeel me but I hold on like a monkey.

Claude looks unhappy. Let go, Pea, he says. Claude does not want to hug me even when I am hurt, because he is not my papa. Margot is right.

Claude, I say, I have something important to ask you.

Extremely important, says Margot.

OK, says Claude, sitting down again. Go ahead.

Will you be our new papa?

I’m not your papa, says Claude.

But we NEED a new papa, says Margot.

And you would be the best new papa for us. You don’t have to live with us if you want to stay in your house.

How would I be your papa, then?

Well you would have to do the papa things, I say.

Here is our list, says Margot, and she pretends to be unrolling a long piece of paper to read off. There isn’t really any paper.

Number One! says Margot.

Papa has to make Maman smile and sing, I say.

Number Two! says Margot.

Papa has to make Maman get out of bed and cook us good food like she used to.

Number Three! says Margot.

Papa has to hug us and read us bedtime stories.

Number Four! says Margot.

Papa has to fix the kitchen sink that is leaking, because otherwise our kitchen will fill up with water and we could possibly drown.

Number Five! says Margot.

Papa has to . . .

Drown in your kitchen? says Claude. How long is this list anyway? He looks impatient, and his face is already saying no.

It’s not easy being a papa, says Margot, you have lots of jobs.

The first one is the most important one, I say. I don’t want Claude to think that being our papa is too much work.

And the hugs, says Margot.

And the hugs would be nice, I say.

You miss your papa, don’t you? says Claude.

I nod.

Claude leans over and gives me a hug, but it is a stiff one, as though he is folded flat like clothes in a drawer.

You’re getting too skinny! he says. We’ll need to fatten you up.

Like in Hansel and Gretel? So you can eat me?

If I ate you, who would I have to chat to down here? says Claude.

No one, so you can never eat me, and that’s that, I say.

Claude smiles and gives me another hug. A bit softer but not much.

When you are our papa, I say, you will have to practise hugging. That was quite good for the first time but you can get better.

Merlin is better than I am at all that, says Claude. Hey Merlin, come and give Pea and Margot a cuddle! Merlin gets up and comes over. He flops down beside me with a groan and puts his head in my lap. Margot and I ruffle his tummy and stroke the red fur on his floppy head and ears. His flappy tail whumps softly on the damp grass.

Do you like sausages? says Claude.

We love sausages! says Margot.

We love them! I say.

Well then, it’s a deal, says Claude. You come round later and help me eat some sausages, and I promise not to eat you up.

Merlin’s tail bangs on the floor.

Yes, OK, says Claude. There’ll be one for you too.



When we get home I leave my sandals outside in the sunshine and carry the flowers in for Maman. But the yellow petals are already hanging their heads sadly. I put them flat on the table and try to think how to make them look nice. The phone rings, but I am too tired to answer it. I think I know what Maman means by that now. It’s not that my hand is too tired to pick the phone up, it’s that my ears are too tired to listen. So the telephone rings and it rings. Eventually there is a bed-creak upstairs, and Maman’s door swings open, banging against the wall.

Why don’t you answer the telephone, she says, stomping down the stairs, instead of just letting it ring until it wakes me up? Is it because you think I’ve had enough sleep for today?

No, I say. I’m sorry, I say. I look at Margot, who is kicking her sandals on the kitchen floor, staring at her toes.

I thought it would just be Mami Lafont again, so we should just ignore it.

Maman looks at the unhappy flowers on the table.

Maybe if we put them in some water? I say.

They’re dead, she says. Put them in the dustbin.

Maybe I could plant them outside?

Peony, they’re dead. Just throw them away.

I grab the flowers from the table and go back outside, letting the door bang hard behind me. Maman does not follow.

Around the back of the barn we sit in the shade with our backs to the cool hard stones. I hold the flowers against my body but the yellow petals are already falling from the heads. I am crying even though there is nobody to see and ask me what is wrong.

What is wrong? asks Margot. She sits next to me, scooching up until our bottoms touch, her hand on my knee.

Maman wants me to throw them away because they’re dead.

They’re like poppies, says Margot. We shouldn’t pick those ones; they just go floppy and die.

I didn’t know, I say. I didn’t mean to kill them.

Shall we bury them? Margot says.

That is a good idea. Margot is only four but she really has some very good ideas. I nod.

Under the pomegranate tree, we press the flowers down so they fit into the hole that we scraped with our fingers. Then we sprinkle the soil back on top.

Ashes to dust, I say.

It’s such a tragedy, says Margot.

I’m sorry, I say. It was my fault. Then I cry some more, until the tears run out. Margot waits.

When I have finished my crying, Margot says, What about the sausages, then?



As we cross the peach orchard I can already taste the barbecue. Smoky wood smells are winding through the trees, pulling us towards Claude’s house. My belly bubbles and my mouth begins to water. I’m hungry. Really, really hungry. We start to run. Faster, faster through the trees. When we get to the canal we jump over and through the gap in the hedge. Claude is facing the hole and sees us straight away.

Just in time, he says, pinching the cigarette out from between his lips so that he can smile at us properly.

Claude has laid the table. There are tomatoes cut into slices like wheels, and radishes, and butter and a big loaf of bread. He sees us looking.

Maybe you’d like some bread, he says, just while the sausages cook?

Yes please! we say together, and hold out our hands. Claude breaks off the two crusty ends and passes them over. We sit ourselves down on the grass near the barbecue.

Now don’t touch!

I know, it’s hot.

Good girl.

The sausages are still cooking a long time later. The more cooked they get the more sausagey smells float to my nose, the smoke stinging my eyes a little bit. Merlin isn’t near the sausages. He’s lying under the tree in the shade. Claude has put some water down for him to drink. But Merlin just lies on the grass, dozing and watching us with one eye. His waggy tail isn’t wagging today either. He looks so sad that I have to leave the sausage air to go and give him a hug.

OK, says Claude at last. I think they’re done. And he brings the first sausage over for Merlin, waving it in the air on a fork and blowing on it to cool it down.

Merlin lifts his head up and looks at the sausage. His tail wags a little happiness, tap, tap, tap, in the dust, but he does not get up and take his lunch.

Claude frowns. He crouches down by Merlin. Here, take it, he says. But Merlin just says, Owwww, and lays his head back down. Claude puts the sausage by his nose and we all stare.

Maybe it’s the heat, says Claude quietly.