The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,23
can’t hold it any longer. I do this until the puddle in the bed goes cold and my spotty pyjamas stick to my legs.
Margot’s voice is soft in the dark. Pea? Are you OK?
I need a wee, I tell her.
Go to the loo, she says.
Is the floor still there? I ask. Can you check?
Of course the floor is still there, Margot says.
Just in case?
Margot tuts, but I see her shadow move and her legs come out until she is standing by her bed. She does not fall down into the kitchen.
There, she says.
Thank you, I whisper. I look around the room carefully. I take some deep breaths, and then jump out of bed as fast as I can and run to the door and into the corridor. I am breathing hard but it is OK. The corridor is strange, small and quiet, like it is asleep too. In the bathroom I take off my pyjamas and put them in the laundry basket. I wash my legs with a flannel and get dried.
Maman’s room is dark too. I leave the door open so I can see the floor. She is on top of her sheet and has forgotten to take off her knickers. She has her back to me and the fan is blowing air across her, making a few long hairs flutter about her head. The windows are wide open and she has the same sounds as I have in my room. I go closer. She is curled up like a cat in her basket. Under her tummy, she has rested the baby on a lot of pillows.
I climb ever so quietly on to the bed and cuddle up to her back. I am trying not to wake her up, but I do. She turns her head to look at me, and then she sits up, puffing a lot, and lies back down facing me. Her belly is big in between us, her face too far away. She puts the pillows back under her tummy, and pulls the sheet up over us both.
Pea, she whispers sleepily.
I love you, Maman, I say back.
Her hand takes mine and she holds it, a little bit too hard. She shakes as though she is laughing, and squeezes tighter.
I lie up against her belly pillows, my knees touching Maman’s, my face close to her breasts. When I was a baby I had milk from her breasts, but I can’t remember that. I smell the soap on Maman’s skin and try not to fall asleep, but I am so tired and she is warm and soft.
I am either asleep dreaming or awake or nearly awake but with my eyes closed when something thumps me hard in the chest. For a moment I am not sure where I am, but then I remember that I am curled up against Maman’s belly. I wonder if I dreamt it, but then it happens again and I jump. It is the baby kicking me. It wants me to leave it alone. I am not cuddled up to Maman’s belly after all, but to the bossy baby inside it. Not soft but hard, not friendly, not fun.
You are not polite, I whisper.
The baby doesn’t say anything.
It is not kind to kick people, I say.
The baby belly kicks me again.
I do not want to keep getting kicked, but Maman’s hand is resting on my shoulder and I will stay here being kicked all night if I have to. Once it was me that was inside her, curled up safe and warm against her skin, but on the inside. For a long time. Everywhere she went she took me with her. I think that I would have loved that, and even though I don’t really remember, I’m sure I didn’t kick Maman’s insides like this baby does.
It’s all your fault, I say. It’s all your fault.
I look up at the fan to try and feel nice but it is spinning too fast, blurry in the darkness. Maman fidgets and turns over again. She has to sit up to do it. She doesn’t say anything, just lets go of my shoulder, sits up, lies down. Her bottom nudges up against my knees. Then she groans and turns back again. The bed rocks and creaks. It seems like it is hard work, as though her belly is heavier than a bag of shopping.
Pea, says Maman, with her eyes open, you have to go back to bed now please. I can’t get comfortable with you here.