The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,58

bread, they get very confused; it’s funny to watch. Then we swap. We stay out as long as we can bear, until I think I really am going to toast just like the bread, and then I say, OK, it should be done now. But the tray has got too hot to hold. I run back indoors to get another bowl and pick the pieces off one by one. We spread them with butter and tapenade and toss them in with the rest of the salad. I pour on some olive oil and do the salt and pepper. The salad actually looks very beautiful. I feel quite proud of what we have made. I want to go and wake up Maman to show her, but we decide to wait.

While we wait we sit at the table and play pat-a-cake until we hear the bedroom door open then the taps running in the bathroom.

Quick, says Margot, lay the table.

I set our places and wait for Maman to come down. She is wearing her yellow dress again, floating down the stairs, her cheeks pink, her eyes red.

There is a salad for lunch, I say.

A salad, how lovely, she says, pouring herself a glass of water.

It has goodness and flavour in it, I say.

And colour and texture, says Margot.

And love, I say, although it makes me feel shy.

Maman looks into the bowl. The salad still looks beautiful, although not as beautiful as it did at first because it has been on the table in the hot kitchen for a while and the lettuce leaves look a bit floppy and heavy with oil.

I didn’t use the jam, I say. It didn’t rhyme.

It looks lovely, she says. I’m not actually very hungry, though. I might just have some fruit.

She takes a peach out of the bowl and rinses it under the tap. The water soaks the skin, making it darker.

Why do peaches have skin that lets the water in? I ask.

Not like apples, says Margot.

Not like us, I say.

I don’t know, says Maman. Skin is all different. You have my skin.

I know, I say. And Papa’s mouth.

What? Maman’s head snaps back to look at me.

Nothing, I say, and watch as she sinks her teeth into the yellow peach.

What are you up to this afternoon? she says.

Just playing in the meadow, I say. Don’t worry, I’ll watch out for the donkeys.

And wear your hat.

Yes, Maman. Unless you want me to do some cleaning?

Cleaning?

If you wanted?

Cleaning what?

I look at Margot. She mimes mopping.

The floors, maybe?

Peony, you’re five years old. Why would I want you to clean the floors?

Sorry, it was just an idea.

Go on, off you go. I’ve got things to do.

OK.

Margot and I pick the chicken out of the bowl quickly with our fingers and put the rest in the fridge for later.

The cooking didn’t work, I say as we walk down through the orchard.

Not salad, anyway.

But she said she didn’t want me to clean.

I don’t think that’s important, says Margot. Sometimes grownups don’t know what makes them happy either.

Claude is sitting on the grass in the shade of the mulberry tree as usual, smoking a cigarette and listening to the birds. He has one leg stuck out straight and the other bent. Merlin is lying nearby, panting hard. He is wet.

Is Merlin OK? I ask.

He’s just old, says Claude. And he’s like you; he runs and runs and doesn’t slow down much, even in this weather. But it’s not very good for him. We’d better be getting home soon.

But we just got here, I say.

I’m sorry, says Claude. Maybe you could play in the girl-nest. Merlin’s my friend too and he needs to go home for a rest.

Shall we put on a show for you? asks Margot.

We could do a spectacle, I say. Even better than before.

Maybe tomorrow, says Claude.

I sit down under the shade of the tree, far away from Claude and Merlin. I cross my arms and scowl.

Claude peers at me. I saw you here once last year, he says. You were underneath this tree.

I saw you too, I say.

We weren’t scared, says Margot.

We weren’t scared at all, I say.

I was, a little bit, says Claude. I thought you were going to pounce on me.

We would have pounced on you if you had come much closer, I say.

I’d better watch out!

Not now!

Why not now?

Because now we know who you are, I laugh.

Claude’s eyebrows go up and down, but he doesn’t say anything.

Margot makes her eyebrows go up and down too. I laugh some