The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,9

falls, bouncing once on the wooden chair then smashing on the floor. When I look up, Margot is already standing by the door. She waves her fingers, telling me to come too.

Maman is trapped between the chair and the table, and around her feet bright splinters of glass are twinkling, waiting for her to walk so they can stick themselves into her skin.

I’ll get the dustpan and brush, I say. But Maman sits back down at the table and covers her face with her hands.

Pea, just go and play, she says. And mind the glass.

But I can . . .

Pea, she yells, just go!

We stand by the road, which is quite busy with cars, waiting for it to be safe to cross. Margot is counting the blue ones. There haven’t been any yet.

The breakfast was good, she says.

The glass was bad, I say.

Glass is too breaky, says Margot.

Big bellies full of babies are too clumsy, I say.

We will try again, says Margot.

Maybe we could get the baby to come out, so Maman’s belly isn’t so clumsy?

Or get a new papa to clean up the glass? says Margot.

Or maybe both?

Yes, both would be good, says Margot. We should think about a plan.

How do you get babies out . . . I start to say, but Margot interrupts.

Here’s one! she shouts.

Sylvie’s car is coming towards us with the indicator flashing. It is telling us that when she gets to the signpost for our house she is going to turn up the path. She is bringing our bread. Her car is round and blue like the sky, and the backseats are full of baguettes, crammed together in brown paper sacks. She takes the bread to people who live too far away from the baker’s. We wave, and she stops on the corner.

Hello! I say.

Hello. Are you OK? Sylvie’s mouth is pink like a pig.

Yes, fine thank you.

Where’s your maman?

In the kitchen, I say. She’s sweeping up the glass.

Sylvie nods. What are you doing down here?

We’re going to the low meadow, says Margot.

We are waiting to cross the road, I say.

Does your maman know? Sylvie is frowning as though we have done something wrong. Why do all the grownups ask us silly questions?

We look both ways and we listen and we never run, I say. Well, sometimes we run up to the road, and then we run after we have crossed the road, but not while we are crossing.

We do looking and listening, says Margot.

Right, says Sylvie, well, see you soon.

Yes, I say. Bye!

And Margot says, Sylvie, Papa is dead, so stop giving us so much bread.

Sylvie’s eyebrows are still frowning, but her pink mouth smiles and says, Bye!

Claude and Merlin are already down in the low meadow, as if they had been waiting for us. Claude is sitting with his back against a tree trunk, smoking a cigarette. Stinky. Merlin is lying by his side, having his belly rubbed, two wet legs up in the air. As we skip down the path, Merlin barks and tugs at Claude’s sleeve. I wave, and Merlin comes galloping over. Claude follows more clumsily behind and we meet halfway, in the middle of the apple orchard.

You shouldn’t smoke cigarettes, I tell him, looking at my feet. They make you die.

Hello, Pea, he says. Down here on your own? Want some company?

I remember what Papa said.

I’m not alone, I say, pointing up at Margot, who has climbed up into an apple tree.

Claude looks over and smiles. Oh, hello, Margot, he calls. Then he looks back at me. I used to like climbing trees when I was a boy, he says. Can you do it too?

I’m not very good at it, I say.

Would you like me to teach you?

I’m not sure I would, but at that moment Margot clambers down, jumping the last part and doing a big bow. Your turn! she says.

I get my foot up into the part where all the smaller trunks open out like a hand. I pull myself up, so I am standing in the middle of the tree.

That part’s easy, I say.

Good, says Claude. Now you have to choose a branch. So you need to think ahead. Which one looks the best – nice and strong, good footholds, somewhere to sit when you don’t want to climb any more?

I see what he means. Some of the branches look good, but then they split very quickly and become thin and leafy. I choose a big fat one, and start to scrabble about on it.