The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,21

pleased that Papa is dead, but it is good that we never go there any more.

Papa told me that when he was little, he and Tante Brigitte and Mami Lafont and Papi Lafont, who died a long time ago, used to all live up here in our house. Then it was Papi who rode on the tractor and Papa helping him out. But that was a very long time ago, in the olden days. I wonder if Mami Lafont was nicer then, and if Papi called her the queen of his heart. Maybe she had a dead baby too, or maybe all the mamans turn cross one day.

Hello, Mami Lafont, I say. Maman’s asleep at the moment.

And so who is looking after you? Mami Lafont asks.

Margot’s here, I say.

What? Mami Lafont sounds cross.

We’re fine, I say.

Fine? Well could you tell your mother to call me? Tell her it can’t wait. Tell her I won’t go away.

I ponder for a moment because this is confusing. Where would Mami Lafont be going away to, and why has she decided not to? Holidays, perhaps? I will ask Margot later.

Pardon? I say.

Just tell her to call me, please, she says.

I imagine saying this to Maman. I imagine Maman’s face. Yuckier than mine and Margot’s.

I’ll try, I say.

Right, she says. Goodbye. Then she says, in a new voice, sing-song and soft, Oh, have you had lunch?

Mami Lafont, I say, it was market day. We bought olives and cheese and bread and . . .

OK, OK, says Mami Lafont. That’s enough.

I blow her a kiss down the phone, but she has already hung up.

Maman appears at the top of the stairs looking bleary and crumpled.

Who was that? she says.

It was Mami Lafont, I say. She wants you to . . .

Peony, where have you been? Maman sounds like a dog barking. She is scowling at my dress. I look down and realise that although Margot skipped her dress dry, I fell asleep and mine is still wet.

Margot smiles and sticks out her tongue at me.

There was a storm, I say to Maman. It’s OK, we got out of it quickly. And we didn’t go under any trees and get burned up by lightning. I’m sorry about making a mess and not tidying it up. Mami Lafont says can you call her and please can I go and get changed?

After I stop talking there is a long wait. Then Maman sighs. Why don’t you change straight into your pyjamas? she says. It’s nearly bedtime anyway. I’ll make us some supper.

When I come back downstairs, Maman has laid out a picnic, not in the kitchen but the living room, on the coffee table. There is green salad, cold sausages, crisps and soft cheese, and Maman has put a grownups film on to watch. Maman will watch the film until it makes her cry, then some more until her eyelids start to slip. I won’t understand the film and I won’t cry. Instead I will watch Maman out of the side of my eye, counting her freckles. Margot will sit in a corner and pretend to read a book. She knows the stories by heart from when Maman and Papa used to read to us. But she can’t really read. Except for a few words like peony and lait and stop.

Maman sits on the sofa, with her feet up on a stool and her plate balanced on top of her belly like a hat. I sit beside her, just the tiniest amount of cool space between our warmnesses. It feels like nothing and everything.

Chapter 6

I wake with a shout, because I thought someone had just turned on the lights. But it is black night in my room. So I must have dreamt it. I am snuggling back down when a huge boom makes my door rattle. I am afraid of the dark and I am afraid of thunder so I am very afraid of thunder at night. The rain is pattering hard on the roof. I try to think about the rain. It is like people clapping, as though the clouds have done something clever. Or maybe for me and Margot after one of our shows. Or maybe the swallows have put shoes on and are dancing on our roof. I can see them in little blue clogs, tap-dancing on the tiles, and it makes me smile. I get under the sheet and try to fall back asleep again, but every time I do I start to dream bad