The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,20

is an ugly big plum. Stay away from there, he says in his rumble-voice. You could drown.

Sorry, I say quietly. Is it where the elephants drink?

Elephants? says Claude.

The elephants you hunt. With your banana knife.

Ah. Claude breathes a big breath. No, there aren’t any elephants here. No tigers either. But sometimes in summer my garden does look like a jungle, so the knife is still useful. Claude scratches at the cuts on his legs. I’m sorry I shouted at you. Now, he says, before you get into any more trouble today, I think it’s time you got home. If you go back up that path it will take you up to where I found you earlier, and the tree which may or may not still be there now . . .

Margot starts to jump on the spot and I know what she is thinking.

No, Margot, I say, we cannot go and check.

Huh. Margot folds her arms.

If you go this way, Claude says, pointing down through a patchwork of grass, marigolds and roses, you will get to the road, and over to the meadow.

And if you go this way – he points up behind the well to a high hedge – on the other side you will find the irrigation canal, which I think you are big enough to jump across, and on the other side is your papa’s peach orchard. You can get home fastest that way.

It looks quite spiky, I say.

Here. Claude shows us a perfect, girl-sized gap. Go on, he says.

Goodbye, we shout, and jump over the stream of water, laughing as we run back up through the orchard.

The kitchen table is tidy, everything put away, washed and wiped.

I forgot about the challenge, didn’t I? I say. Maman will definitely not be happy. I’m going to be punished for the mess.

Shall we play in our room? says Margot.

I’d rather get told off quickly, I say.

We’d better find her then. Guess where she is? Margot is grinning.

I put up my finger. Me! Me!

Yes, Peony?

In her bedroom! I say.

Not a bad guess, says Margot. Let’s go and see.

We still walk quietly upstairs, in case she is asleep. Maman’s bedroom door is ajar, so I push it a little bit and peep around into the room. It is shady, with just a straight of light coming through a crack in the shutters. Fairies are flying around in the glow.

Maman is in her bed with her dress on. She is lying on her side facing me. She is fast asleep and so beautiful, like a queen. It makes me think of Papa. He used to call her ‘the queen of my heart’ which sounds like a song, and sometimes they called me Princess. Looking at Maman on her bed, I wonder if it is true. This could be our hilltop castle, built of gold and stone, looking out over our kingdom, away from everybody else. Kings and queens and princesses don’t have to speak to normal people, only to fairies and talking cats.

Are you a queen? I whisper.

Is this your tower? says Margot.

Did a witch put a spell on you? I say.

Maman does not answer, just snores a little bit. The fan blows ripples in her yellow dress. The fan is brown, but has three turning blades, just like the white wing turbines. I imagine how wonderful it would be to fall asleep watching it turn, turn, turn.

The telephone rings. Once. Twice. I wonder, should I answer it? Maman will not be pleased. Or should I leave it (it will wake her up and she will not be pleased)?

Answer the phone, says Margot. It’s giving me a headache.

Or you could answer it! I snap. But then I run fast to pick it up.

Hello?

Hello, says Mami Lafont, is your mother there?

I make my yucky-food face at Margot and she makes one back. I try not to giggle. Mami Lafont is my grandma. She lives on the other side of the village with Tante Brigitte. Before Papa died, if she phoned, she would always want to talk to Papa. Now she calls for Maman but it’s usually me that answers the phone. Mami Lafont is not very friendly and she does not like to chat. Her hands are thin and bony like a witch’s, and usually cold even in the summer. She doesn’t seem to like children much. Whenever we used to go to her house with Papa, there was nothing to play with and she never had any good biscuits. I am not