your fault. It’s just a sad question for me.
Is it because your leg still walks funny? I say.
No, that doesn’t make me sad, says Claude.
Is it because you have got the funny bald bit on your head? says Margot.
Is it because you can only hear us when we shout? I say.
Are you keeping a list of all my broken parts? says Claude with a twisty smile.
I shake my head. No, I say, I’m not very good at writing. The letters always come out inside out.
We stop walking, we have got to the clover patch, and we all sit down in the green.
I can’t hear very well at all, says Claude, that’s true, but Merlin does a lot of my listening for me.
Can he answer the telephone? says Margot.
My heart still hurts too, says Claude, to the grass.
How does Merlin pick up the telephone with his paws? I ask.
Claude frowns; he looks confused. We don’t talk to people on the telephone, he says.
Does Merlin speak French?
Well, he doesn’t speak, he just listens. Like when he hears you coming he barks so I know you’re there, or if we are crossing the road, or if there is a knock at my door – although usually there isn’t.
And now, when I’m talking? I ask.
I can hear you a little, but mostly I’m watching your mouth make the words.
Margot sticks her fingers in her ears and says, Go on then, say something! I put my hands over my ears too, and we watch Claude’s mouth, waiting to see what the words look like when you can’t hear.
His mouth moves but there are no letter shapes or word shapes just opens and closeds.
It doesn’t work, I say, disappointed.
You have to get used to it, says Claude.
I look at his ear, shiny and bent. Wouldn’t it be easier to just mend your ear? I say.
You can’t mend everything that gets broken, says Claude.
Like a broken heart, says Margot, who has been reading about Rapunzel, who lived in a tower but before that she was a baby and her maman gave her away to a wicked witch to pay for some lettuces, but it gave her a broken heart.
Is your heart broken? I ask.
It was, says Claude. Hospitals don’t have anything for that. But some things get better by themselves eventually.
Claude rummages in his bag and offers me a drink of water from his bottle. I drink in big gulps.
Margot? he asks.
Margot shakes her head.
Margot likes milk, not water, I say. And sometimes lemonade. But thank you.
Claude looks down into the clover then reaches and picks one stem with four perfect leaves. He hands it to me.
Here, he says, you can make a wish on this.
He reaches down again. I’ll get one for you too, Margot, he says.
I stare at the clover. I wish tha . . .
Shhh! says Claude. If you tell me it won’t come true.
Claude, I say, will my foot stay limpy like yours now, for ever, until I am old like you?
Definitely not. You’ll be all mended ready for school. Have you got any new school shoes yet?
I shake my head.
Probably after the baby is born, says Claude.
Margot is standing on one leg.
What are you doing? I say. There’s nothing wrong with your leg!
That’s right, says Margot. My legs are better than yours.
But what are you doing?
I’m a flamingo, she says. And I could stand like this for a hundred years.
Chapter 12
I wake up hungry, thirsty and already sweating. I can tell it is very early because the sky is just waking up but it’s already too hot to stay in bed. My bed sheet is on the floor where I kicked it off in the night, my pyjamas on top of it. I open the window to let a little bit of air in before the sun gets too high.
It’s still little dog, I say to Margot.
Hot dogs, she replies, and we laugh at her joke. I go on to my hands and knees and start panting and yapping, but then I remember Maman asleep in bed and get up again.
We should do some more cleaning today, I say.
OK, says Margot. Get dressed then.
But I hear Sylvie’s car outside and run straight downstairs to say hello and get the bread.
Good morning! I say.
Good morning, Pivoine, says Sylvie. Her mouth is pink with lipstick, which makes it look jagged at the edges like a monster because the lipstick has gone into all the wrinkles. She hands me the two baguettes and I bite