the path back up to the house, I turn left at the crossroads, as if I were going to go up to the village. As I charge around the corner I run smack into a man and both of us cry out.
It is him. He is big like a bear, bigger than a normal grownup, with grey-black hair and hairy legs covered in scratches. He is wearing shoes, rubber ones like Wellington boots, only not boots. His shoes are wet. He has a big nose with hair coming out of it like spiders’ legs. His red dog is nowhere to be seen.
We stand and gape at each other, me looking up, him looking down. Then he takes the little grey cigarette from between his dry lips and squishes it under his foot. White smoke slithers like worms from the corner of his mouth.
You are Pivoine, he says slowly. I know your papa. He shakes his head as though he has sand in his hair. I knew him, he says. Sorry.
I am surprised that he knows any of my names but especially the one that belonged to Papa. Sometimes I am Peony to Maman, which is my real name in English. Papa said it in French, Pivoine, because he was born here. Both names mean the same thing, so I never minded, but it is funny to hear someone I don’t know call me that. I don’t know why I have the same name as a flower anyway, especially one that I have never seen. I am usually Pea. Pea is not a flower. It is a vegetable, actually.
My name is Pea, mostly, I say to the man. Who are you?
He has crouched down in front of me now and is staring right into my face as though he is about to scold me. My name is Claude, he says. Close up, the part of his head without hair is very ugly, and he smells of cigarette smoke, which makes me feel a bit sick.
Then my face is being licked.
Merlin! Stop! says Claude.
The dog has run over to say hello, but its face smells even worse than Claude’s.
Merlin is a funny name for a dog, I say. Is it really magic?
Yes, in a way he is, says Claude, giving Merlin a stroke.
What are you doing down here alone? he asks. He is still staring right at me, and my bone is getting itchy, but his voice seems friendly.
We’re playing hide and seek, I reply.
Are you hiding, or seeking?
I’m hiding.
Who’s seeking? he asks.
I wonder where Margot is, but then she comes running up through the tall grass and is right by my side. So I am found, and the game is over.
I’ve got a good idea, I say to her. Let’s put on a show!
Margot and I put on shows all the time and we are very good at it. Margot is best at dancing and I am best at singing.
Oh yes! Margot says. I will do some flamenco and you have to clap.
And I will sing a song about ladybirds, I tell Claude.
And you will watch us, we say to him.
Do you like our dresses? says Margot.
OK, he says, frowning a little and looking at me as though he expects me to start singing just like that.
Not here! I say. You have to go to the sitting place and we have to go on the stage. It’s over there, come on!
Claude is a strange kind of grownup: he does as he is told. Merlin walks by his feet all the way down to the cherry tree, and when Claude sits down obediently Merlin sits next to him and opens his mouth a little so it looks like he is smiling.
I announce the show and introduce Margot. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Margot, the amazing Spanish flamenco dancer!
She is not really Spanish, but we are pretending. I start to clap my hands like maracas and Claude watches.
Clap! I tell him. He tries, but to be honest he is not very good at it and he keeps looking around.
When Margot has finished she does a big bow and I clap and cheer. Claude claps too. Then Margot introduces me and I stand on the stage, feeling a bit nervous. The ladybird song is quite long and sometimes I get the words wrong so I have to do parts of it again. While I am still singing, Claude takes out a shiny green packet and starts to make a cigarette.
No