smoking! shouts Margot, but he carries on anyway. So he doesn’t always do as he is told.
When we have finished we do curtsies and bows and Claude does applause. Then he stands up slowly and says, Come on then, your maman will be wondering where you’ve got to.
She won’t really, says Margot.
I can help you cross the road, he says.
We are very good at crossing the road, I tell him. I’m five and a half.
Well then, would you be so kind as to keep me company? Claude rubs the sweatiness off his head and wipes his hands on his trousers. Merlin licks his hand.
Of course, I say, because that is polite.
It is slow, walking with Claude. While he walks, Margot and I run up ahead, and back again. Sometimes we stop to look at beetles and flowers.
Have you got friends to play with, from the village? Claude asks when he catches us up. While he is waiting for the answer he is staring at me hard.
Margot is my friend, I say.
Yes, he says, but children from the village, from school?
I didn’t go to school very much since Papa died, I say.
Why not? Were you poorly?
No, I wasn’t poorly, I say. I was busy being friends with Maman.
Claude’s red skin makes wrinkles on his forehead like waves on the seashore. I don’t want to get into trouble. In September, I say, I am going to the big school and then I will go every day.
That’s good, says Claude. Then you will have lots of friends. A little girl like you should have lots of friends.
The air is starting to cool and there is thunder in our tummies as we run back into the house. I bang the door, too excited to remember that Maman was in a bad temper. The house smells of pastry, making my mouth water, and I spot a quiche sitting on the table under a fly screen. Somehow a fly has got underneath and is buzzing about angrily, trapped inside. I let it out and the salty-sweet smell comes too. My fingers go quickly to the crust and break off a piece before I can stop them.
Margot waggles her own finger at me. That fly has been treading poo on that pie, she says.
I can’t see any poo.
Margot raises her eyebrows. I can’t see it either, she says, but flies have got very small feet.
So it must be very small bits of poo.
Yes, but it is still poo. Maybe different kinds of poo. Dog poo and cow poo. On that pie. You shouldn’t eat it, Pea.
I stare at the crust in my fingers, golden and crumbly. I can’t see any poo. The fly tries to settle on my hand and my fingers quickly push the pastry into my mouth.
Margot watches. Well?
Yum, I say.
Not pooey?
Not at all.
Can I have some too, then?
I break a second piece of the crust off, so that we are even, and we lick our lips. Then we dash into the living room to find Maman.
Maman is sitting sideways at the bureau, surrounded by lots of paper and files. Her feet are up on a stool and her cheeks are pink.
Maman, I say, we have a new friend!
She looks up and her shoulders sigh. Her hair is tied back off her face with a green scarf and her face has small drops of sweat running down the sides. She smells of lemons.
Where have you been? she asks.
Down in the low meadow, I tell her. And there was a great big spider catching crickets, and the apples are nearly ready to eat, and we made a new friend.
That’s nice, Pea, she says, flipping through the pieces of paper on the desk. She sighs again and wipes her arm across her forehead. She starts to look hard at something up on one of the beams in the ceiling. It’s such a mess, she says quietly.
I look around the room. I have left out some toy animals and my card game on the floor.
I’m really sorry, Maman, I say. I’ll tidy them up right now.
Just for a moment her eyes begin to turn up in the corners and she starts to unfold her arms.
Have you eaten something? she says.
I think we are going to have a hug and I open out my arms, stepping closer. Bread, I say, and peaches. But just as I am close enough to touch her, her stomach jumps and she folds herself over it like pastry on a pie.
Chapter 3
The sun is