The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,64
papa, don’t you? says Claude.
I nod.
Claude leans over and gives me a hug, but it is a stiff one, as though he is folded flat like clothes in a drawer.
You’re getting too skinny! he says. We’ll need to fatten you up.
Like in Hansel and Gretel? So you can eat me?
If I ate you, who would I have to chat to down here? says Claude.
No one, so you can never eat me, and that’s that, I say.
Claude smiles and gives me another hug. A bit softer but not much.
When you are our papa, I say, you will have to practise hugging. That was quite good for the first time but you can get better.
Merlin is better than I am at all that, says Claude. Hey Merlin, come and give Pea and Margot a cuddle! Merlin gets up and comes over. He flops down beside me with a groan and puts his head in my lap. Margot and I ruffle his tummy and stroke the red fur on his floppy head and ears. His flappy tail whumps softly on the damp grass.
Do you like sausages? says Claude.
We love sausages! says Margot.
We love them! I say.
Well then, it’s a deal, says Claude. You come round later and help me eat some sausages, and I promise not to eat you up.
Merlin’s tail bangs on the floor.
Yes, OK, says Claude. There’ll be one for you too.
When we get home I leave my sandals outside in the sunshine and carry the flowers in for Maman. But the yellow petals are already hanging their heads sadly. I put them flat on the table and try to think how to make them look nice. The phone rings, but I am too tired to answer it. I think I know what Maman means by that now. It’s not that my hand is too tired to pick the phone up, it’s that my ears are too tired to listen. So the telephone rings and it rings. Eventually there is a bed-creak upstairs, and Maman’s door swings open, banging against the wall.
Why don’t you answer the telephone, she says, stomping down the stairs, instead of just letting it ring until it wakes me up? Is it because you think I’ve had enough sleep for today?
No, I say. I’m sorry, I say. I look at Margot, who is kicking her sandals on the kitchen floor, staring at her toes.
I thought it would just be Mami Lafont again, so we should just ignore it.
Maman looks at the unhappy flowers on the table.
Maybe if we put them in some water? I say.
They’re dead, she says. Put them in the dustbin.
Maybe I could plant them outside?
Peony, they’re dead. Just throw them away.
I grab the flowers from the table and go back outside, letting the door bang hard behind me. Maman does not follow.
Around the back of the barn we sit in the shade with our backs to the cool hard stones. I hold the flowers against my body but the yellow petals are already falling from the heads. I am crying even though there is nobody to see and ask me what is wrong.
What is wrong? asks Margot. She sits next to me, scooching up until our bottoms touch, her hand on my knee.
Maman wants me to throw them away because they’re dead.
They’re like poppies, says Margot. We shouldn’t pick those ones; they just go floppy and die.
I didn’t know, I say. I didn’t mean to kill them.
Shall we bury them? Margot says.
That is a good idea. Margot is only four but she really has some very good ideas. I nod.
Under the pomegranate tree, we press the flowers down so they fit into the hole that we scraped with our fingers. Then we sprinkle the soil back on top.
Ashes to dust, I say.
It’s such a tragedy, says Margot.
I’m sorry, I say. It was my fault. Then I cry some more, until the tears run out. Margot waits.
When I have finished my crying, Margot says, What about the sausages, then?
As we cross the peach orchard I can already taste the barbecue. Smoky wood smells are winding through the trees, pulling us towards Claude’s house. My belly bubbles and my mouth begins to water. I’m hungry. Really, really hungry. We start to run. Faster, faster through the trees. When we get to the canal we jump over and through the gap in the hedge. Claude is facing the hole and sees us straight away.
Just in time, he says, pinching the cigarette out from between his lips so