The Night Rainbow A Novel - By Claire King Page 0,91

with me, too, he says to Maman.

Well that’s quite far from a consolation, says Maman, her voice staying quiet but at the same time getting shouty.

I tried, says Claude. I knew how it might appear. I did try to speak to you. I thought maybe my keeping an eye on Peony would be the next best thing.

She’s a little girl, says Maman. It’s not normal!

Claude’s face is getting angry but his voice stays quiet too. Pablo is sleeping.

Your daughter has been running around in the meadow all summer, he says. She plays hide and seek with herself. I found her alone under a tree in the middle of a hailstorm. For God’s sake she even has to make up imaginary friends so she doesn’t get too lonely. I know that it’s not easy for you but Pivoine needs her mother.

What did you call her? Maman says, with glassy eyes.

I called her Pivoine.

Her name is Peony.

Actually, my name is Pea, I say.

I’m sorry, Pea, says Claude. Is Margot here?

No, I say. Margot is gone.

Maman has a white face and her kaleidoscope eyes are looking at me through tears.

I know I have done something very bad this time.

Claude looks at Maman, and looks at me. I hang my head and look at my shoes.

The baby that . . . you lost, he says finally.

I don’t think she was lost, I say, she was . . . but Claude is shaking his head at me. Maman is crying a flood of tears, her shoulders shaking, her face red and her nose running. Pablo is still fast asleep.

I go back over to the bed, slowly.

I’m sorry, Maman, I whisper.

Maman opens her arms. I charge at her, knocking her back against her pillows. She hugs me tight against her whole soft-bellied self.

No, she says, I’m sorry.

I climb back up and curl up on Maman’s lap as though I am a cat. Maman strokes my hair and my eyes fall closed. A cool breeze from the open window blows across my face. While I doze I can hear their whispered voices above me.

I’m a father.

I’m her mother.

I didn’t want to see you lose her.

Will you stop staring at me?

I’m reading your lips.

Oh.

I lost my hearing in the car crash.

Oh.

No one should lose a child. I should know.

You lost a child?

My whole family.

Oh. I’m sorry. Maman is quiet.

I know I’m no picture, but I mean well.

OK.

Look, we all know that Amaury’s mother wants the farm back. Even if many people think you’re a bit stuck-up, no one wants to see you kicked out. Amaury loved you. But you have to make some friends if you’re going to stay here.

Maman is quiet again. So quiet I can hear Claude breathing.

Maybe you could start with me? he says.

Maman has to stay in the hospital for a week. I am allowed to stay with her, in her room, because there is no one to look after me at home, although I think I would be OK. I have a bed in the corner and Pablo has his bassinette right next to me. Pablo sleeps quite a lot and when he does Maman sleeps quite a lot too and I watch her. She lies on her belly and she sighs small sighs. Her eyelids flicker.

Every day the doctors and nurses come in to look after Maman. They take her temperature with thermometers and her blood presser with a pumpy sleeve and stethoscopes and they give her medicine because she has some aches and pains. And they do other things too. Because of this I don’t have as many questions as I used to and I can tell you now that actually ladies do NOT have a door where the people go in and out. The truth is stranger than that.

Pablo was a success. He is all finished, except for his belly button and we are finishing that off together. Every day Maman cleans the place where his belly button is going to be and I pass her gauze to wrap around it. And we bathe Pablo in the big sink. We scoop water up on to his head, which is fuzzy like the skin on a peach. Maman says he looks like Papa, which is the silliest thing that she has ever said. Papa was tall and had a bristly chin and rode on tractors. Pablo is so tiny he has baths in the sink, he is a funny orange colour and his skin doesn’t fit yet. He really looks nothing