can move over to the other side of the bed, I suggest. Outside the window the last of the raindrops are dripping off the roof.
She shakes her head. Pea, I’m too hot, I can’t breathe; the baby won’t keep still, I’m tired. Please, go back to your room.
I breathe in her skin one last time and climb down slowly.
I leave my door open so there is a bit of light, and take my pillow from the wet end of my bed and put it at the other. If I don’t lie straight, but curl up like Maman, then I can make it so all of me is on a dry part.
It’s still too dark, though, in the room and inside me. Before I can stop myself I am fighting with my face. Pressing my hand against my mouth. Screwing my eyes tight and sniffing to stop tears coming out of my nose.
Hey, Pea, whispers Margot, what’s up?
Nothing, I say.
It can’t be nothing if you’re crying.
I’m just a bit fed up, I say.
Hmph, says Margot. This house has enough grumpy people in it without you starting.
I’m not grumpy, I say. I don’t like the dark. I sniff again, and the sniffing is annoying me, so I just let the tears roll out of my eyes. I still try not to cry with my mouth.
Dark? laughs Margot. Pea, it’s not dark at all. It’s a beautiful night.
What are you talking about? I say. Go back to sleep.
But she doesn’t. Margot sits up in bed, crossing her legs and putting her hands on her hips. My eyes are getting used to the dark and I can see her grinning like the Cheshire Cat in Alice.
I know something you don’t know, she says.
No you don’t, I say. That’s impossible.
Yes, I do. Look out of the window, Pea, she says. There’s a rainbow.
A rainbow? Margot, it’s night-time.
Yes, she says. Look outside, can’t you see the night rainbow?
I am not afraid of the floor any more. I tiptoe over to the open window and peer through the half-shut shutters. A full fat moon makes white rings in the after-storm air. The black sky is shiny-fresh as though it had been rinsed and the stars are scrubbed bright.
See, it’s so beautiful, says Margot, even better than a day rainbow. The colours are more sparkly at night.
And I stand and I look, and there it is. A night rainbow, curving up over the barn, seven colours glittering against the black sky.
Can I keep it? I say.
And Margot says, It’s yours.
Chapter 7
Today we are going to run everywhere, says Margot, standing by my side at the open window.
I was hoping the night rainbow was still there, but it has gone. Over the barn there is nothing but blue sky.
What do you expect? says Margot. It’s the daytime.
The air is fresher. It is still hot, but in a nice way, as though the storm put the sticky summer in a washing machine, sloshed it about and hung it out to dry. It does feel like a good day for running.
You should wear your green dress, I say, to match with me. My green dress is cheerful and has pockets on the front. There are yellow daisies sewn on to the dress as though they were growing up out of the pockets.
I have a good idea for breakfast, says Margot.
What is it?
Something green and sticky, she says, puffing out her cheeks and boggling her eyes at me.
Yuck! I say, although I know the answer really.
Don’t forget the mop! says Margot.
We gallop downstairs, out of the house and round the barn to the fruit trees. I stop at the chicken coop, because the chickens are walking slow circles in the shade, holding out their wings and clucking quietly. They look like they are dancing.
I grab a handful of sage stalks and stick them down the back of my knickers.
I’m a chicken! I say. Watch me!
Margot giggles as I stick out my elbows and do the chicken dance. She thinks it’s the best joke ever. She laughs and laughs. The more Margot laughs, the sillier I make my dance. I jiggle my bottom and my feathers shake.
Actually, says Margot, the chickens don’t look very happy.
It’s true, their dance is not a funny one like mine, it is a little bit sad.
Shall we go and see if there are any eggs? says Margot.
I think about it. We are not supposed to go in to the chickens without Maman, but maybe she has forgotten about