The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,45
the end off one.
Did you forget something? she says.
Thank you, I say.
Well yes, thank you, she says but also . . .
Do we have to pay you today? I ask. I wonder if there is some of the money from the peachman somewhere in the kitchen.
No, not today. But, Pivoine, where are your clothes?
Oh, I haven’t got dressed yet. I’ll do it after breakfast, I say.
I turn on the tap and crouch beside it, cupping my hands and drinking from the cold-water lake, already overflowing.
Pivoine, that’s not very well mannered, says Sylvie.
You’re a lady, I say. So it doesn’t matter if I haven’t got my clothes on.
I mean drinking from the tap. We drink from cups.
So do we, I say, but I can’t reach the kitchen tap.
Where’s your maman?
She’s in bed, I say. Why do people keep asking the same questions? I wonder. Maman is tired, I say, because the baby does exercises all night and . . .
Sylvie interrupts. What did you do to your foot? she says, squatting down next to my big red ankle.
A scorpion did it.
A scorpion?
It was my fault; I had it in a jar.
Your maman let you put a scorpion in a jar?
Maman didn’t know, she was in bed.
Does your maman ever get out of bed? Could you go and get her, please?
No, I can’t wake her up.
Sylvie looks surprised. You can’t wake her up? Did you try?
No. But she will wake up later. When the baby wakes up.
The baby?
I think Sylvie is a little bit stupid, whispers Margot.
Shhh! I say. And to Sylvie, The baby in her tummy.
Oh, says Sylvie.
The new one, I tell her, just in case she hasn’t understood. Not the dead one.
Sylvie’s lipstick mouth opens but no words come out for a long time. Eventually she says, Are you OK?
We’re fine, thank you, I say. How are you?
I mean just you? I’m sure your maman can take care of herself.
We’re fine.
Are you hungry?
I was, I say, but I have the bread now.
Maybe I should knock on the door, speak to your maman?
No! I shout it, and then am sorry. Sorry, I say. But please don’t. Maman doesn’t like being woken up.
Then can you take a message?
Sylvie puts down a third baguette.
It’s TOO MANY, says Margot.
In case you’re hungry later, says Sylvie. Now, why don’t you go and put on some clothes? And tell your maman . . . actually never mind.
OK, I say. Bye!
Good morning, Maman says, walking out barefoot into the courtyard.
I’m sorry, I say. Did we wake you up?
No, that’s OK. I think the baby liked the seaside. We didn’t have a lot of gymnastics last night.
Say something nice. Margot is right behind me, hissing into my ear.
I liked the seaside too, Maman, I say. Thank you for taking us.
You’re welcome, Pea. Now I have a job for you.
Really?
Yes, really. I am going to make a salad, so you have two jobs to do.
What are they?
The first job is to go and find me some mint, about two handfuls. You know what mint looks like, don’t you?
Yes, of course I do!
Good. Next, if you look in the pantry you will find the big bag of peas that we bought at the market. I need you to pop all the pods and put the peas into the colander. You can give the pod parts to the chickens. Can you do all that?
Yes I can, I say.
But first, she says, go and put some clothes on, and a hat.
Yes, Maman.
And, Pea?
Yes?
Don’t eat all the peas, Pea.
Maman is smiling as she goes back into the house to get her coffee.
The picked mint is on the table and the colander is half full of fresh, sweet little peas. We were just getting to the end of the paper bag of pea pods when Mami Lafont’s car came up the path.
Maman doesn’t speak the right language for here, at least not very much of it. Now she stands at the kitchen door, blocking it like a sentry and being cross in funny French. She is shouting at Mami Lafont. They both stand with their arms folded over their chests and I half expect them to run at each other any minute now and bump tummies. Mami Lafont’s doesn’t have a baby in it, but it is still quite fat. Margot and I have been sent inside, so we are sitting on the stairs, watching them argue.
You cannot just walk into my house! says Maman in her cross voice.