The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,66

grow up, says Margot.

Not a flamenco dancer?

Probably both, she says. What about you?

I put my arms up above my head and spin. My hat comes off but I keep turning until I feel dizzy and a bit sick. I don’t know, I say.

The laundry basket is too big for me to hold and too noisy to drag. Also I cannot reach the washing line, but it doesn’t matter. I have a good idea. I take the wet clothes a few at a time out into the courtyard and hang them over the chairs.

We should go and find Claude now, I say to Margot, and tell him about our successful morning.

Definitely, she says. We are the experts in washing.

And when we get back Maman will have liked it, I add.

She will, says Margot. Today you had good ideas.

Nothing in the low meadow is quite right today. The donkeys are down at the bottom of the field but they don’t come over when they see us climbing over the gate. They are more excited by the grass. The apricot spider is not even there and her web is broken. The crickets are still there, pip-popping around my sandal-toes, but only a few and none of them land on my skin.

I don’t really want to cross the stream on my own but since we were too busy to have some breakfast I want to go and see what Claude has left us. We hold hands and walk carefully and slowly across together. But the girl-nest is all wrong too. There are no bottles of water by the tree trunk, and up in the nest there are no raisins, no biscuits, nothing. It feels empty and bad and I don’t even want to get my tin out to like my treasure. We sit on the ground with our backs against the tree trunk and wait for the grass to move apart to show us Merlin and then Claude.

After a very long time waiting, when I am getting very thirsty and tired, I let the sadness win.

Claude hasn’t been yet, I say. And I don’t think he’s coming.

That is strange, it’s nearly lunchtime.

He can’t have forgotten. He must be cross with us.

He likes bringing us the treats, says Margot. There must be an explanation.

Maybe he didn’t like it that we said he should be our new papa?

He should be pleased, says Margot, then he would be a proper family.

Maybe he didn’t like it that I said his hug was rubbish?

It was rubbish, says Margot.

Maybe he didn’t like that we said it.

Maybe Claude was invisible today. Maybe he watched us play shops and was laughing at us, we just couldn’t see him.

Claude is not very magical but Merlin is, so maybe it is that. I think about it for a while. I look around for clues.

At the bottom of the tree the ground is scuffed up, as though something has been digging.

What made that? I say. That could have been Merlin?

Merlin isn’t a very diggy dog.

No. Margot is right. Perhaps it was just rabbits?

It could be rabbits?

Margot makes her eyes wide.

Big rabbits?

Or monsters, trying to climb our tree to get us?

No! I look at the scratching around the tree.

Could be.

The darkness is filling me up. I want to go to Windy Hill now, I say.

The grass is so long here and there are hundreds of flowers – clover and cow parsley and buttercups – pink and yellow and blue. As we walk back to the stream they cheer me up, so even though I am in a hurry because of monsters I pick a posy as I go. I don’t pick any of the evening primroses, though.

I have got a nice big bunch and am nearly finished collecting when the grass rustles behind me and I cry out. I spin round to see what it was but my rock-foot doesn’t work properly and I fall flat on my back.

Oh!

Sorry, says Margot. I didn’t mean to make you jump.

Margot! I say, looking up at her. But I am pleased she isn’t a monster. High above us, two buzzards are circling, their fingery wings stretched out, as though they want to hold my hand but can’t reach.

When I’m a bird, I will fly like that.

Me too, says Margot. Come on, get up.

Right by the stream, as we are about to cross back to the low meadow, I see a big patch of grey under a tree. I go to have a look and discover more feathers than I