The Night Rainbow by Claire King

Author:Claire King [King, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romantic suspense, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
Published: 2013-04-02T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

It is barely light, but I was woken up by a commotion outside, and now there is a noise in the kitchen. I creep down in my pyjamas to see if the mouse is back. But it is not the mouse, it is Maman. Maman has killed one of the chickens. She is sitting at the kitchen table, her legs wide apart, her hands covered in blood. She leans forward over the wooden chopping block, cutting the chicken into the right shape with a big pair of black-handled scissors. The scissors tug through the skin and crunch through the bones. Crunch. Snap. And under her breath she is muttering something.

Don’t you tell me about how to raise my children, she says. Don’t you come here with nothing but threats and bad intentions. Just you wait and see.

Crunch. Snap.

Good morning, Maman, I whisper.

She looks up. Good morning, she says, and looks away again. Her apron has blood smears on it.

Margot and I sit ourselves silently at the table and pretend to make rockets out of toilet-paper tubes, but really we are watching what Maman is doing. Her bloody hands have small pieces of dead chicken on them and every now and then she pulls out a feather or two. The other feathers are already in the bin beside her. Chicken feathers are not very interesting really. This part, with the blood and the cutting, this is the bad part. But I know what comes next. Later Maman will roast this chicken for our lunch and that will be the good part. We will eat it with some tomatoes and bread and it will taste good. The bones will be boiled for soup or rice. Even in summer Maman makes soup, but usually it is with courgettes or tomatoes and we eat it cold out of the fridge with green onions chopped on to the top. I am pleased that the long sleep was good for Maman and that she is up early and going to cook us something delicious. But we cannot eat breakfast because the table is busy with feathers and chicken insides.

Maman, I say, is it OK if I go and have my shower until it’s time for breakfast?

Maman doesn’t turn. Yes, OK, she says. Just don’t make a mess.

Looking at her sitting at the kitchen table with all the red and the feathers, I wonder how much mess I could make with a shower and a bar of soap, but I don’t argue.

By the time I come back down to the kitchen, cooled by the water and smelling of fruit, the feathers and the feet and the face with the beak is all put away and the lying-down cooking chicken is covered with oil and salt and pepper, ready to roast. Maman is clean and is drinking coffee.

Maman?

Yes, Pea?

You really are very beautiful, I say.

Maman smiles. Thank you, she says.

Maman and I are waiting for the bread to arrive so we can have breakfast, says Margot. And as if she had heard her, Sylvie’s car crunches up to the house.

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