The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,10
The leaves and the apples are in my way and I can’t see where to put my foot. I am reaching up with my hands when I feel my foot rest against something firm at just the right height, and I push off against it. But when I try to move my foot on to the next spot it feels stuck. I look down to find that I am standing on Claude’s big hand, his fingers still curled around my shoe.
You can let go now, I say.
From there it is easy and soon I am sitting on the branch, holding on tight and dangling my legs. My face is about the same height as Claude’s, it’s like being a grownup.
Don’t fall! says Margot.
I hadn’t thought about falling, but now I do, and I wobble. Oh!
Don’t worry, says Claude, you’re not going to fall. He peers at me. How is your maman? he asks.
Maman is sad, I say.
Because of your papa, says Claude. It isn’t a question, but it’s not the right answer either.
I think for a minute, twisting my fingers round in the leaves.
Maman is sad because the baby died, I say, because it wasn’t good enough. She didn’t want it to have to make way for the new one. I think she wanted to keep that one. And she is sad because the new one kicks her and keeps her awake and won’t let her walk properly. And she’s sad because there was a fly stuck to her foot and because her belly knocked over the juice and because she couldn’t bend down to clean it up and because Papa isn’t there to help her. And also she wanted to keep Papa, but he died.
It was a disaster, says Margot. Down near my feet, she is being a ballerina, twirling and jumping. Maybe she wants Claude to ask her about Maman, but he is asking me.
Stop interrupting me! I say. We are trying to make Maman happy but we have about a thousand things on our list so it is taking a long time, I tell Claude. But she likes it best when she is at home and we are not.
I’m sure that’s not true, says Claude.
It is, definitely, I say. So we come here, or otherwise we go to Windy Hill. That way we are helping.
And it’s fun, says Margot.
It’s lots of fun, I say.
Do you know where we could get a new papa? asks Margot.
Windy Hill, says Claude, where’s that?
Over the high pasture, I say, where you can see the wing turbines and the sea.
Ah, says Claude. He twists his mouth so it looks half sad and half happy. He has a very ugly face, but his eyes are kind. His hand comes out towards the branch, and I think he is going to touch my shoulder. Not to push me, but a sort of a pat, or a tiny hug. Probably it would be quite nice. But that’s not what he does. He puts his hand on the tree branch and leans in a little bit. I can smell coffee on his lips.
Come on, he says, I’ve got something to show you.
Claude has led us down to the stream. He wants us to cross the stepping stones.
Do you know what is on the other side? I say.
Claude nods. I do, he says.
Do you know who put these stepping stones here?
Yes, says Claude, I do.
Was it witches?
No.
Was it you?
Claude smiles and looks up. Margot has already set off across the stones, holding her hands out like a tightrope walker. Merlin goes next, splashing through the pools of tadpoles.
Come on! says Margot.
I start to cross, wobbling as I go. By the third stone I am far from both sides, but the fourth one is not very flat and I’m not sure where to put my next foot.
I can’t do it! I say.
Here, let me help, says Claude. He walks down into the water and holds out his hand.
You’re getting your feet wet!
That’s OK, says Claude, I have my waterproof shoes on, and anyway the water feels nice!
I put my small hand in his big one and soon my feet are safe on the other bank.
The low pasture is mostly field and not so many trees. The field is wide and tall, a sea of grass up over my head, coloured-in with flower-fish. There are no cows or sheep here now; they have gone on their summer holidays up the mountain. Only their poo is left behind.