5
Friday, 14th December
TEN DAYS TO go before Christmas Eve. Ten days before the big bang, and what I thought would be simple enough is actually turning out to be kind of complicated.
First, there’s Thierry. Then there’s Roux.
Oh boy. What a mess.
Ever since Sunday’s talk with Zozie, I’ve been trying to think of the best thing to do. My first impulse was to go to Roux straight away and tell him everything, but Zozie says that would be a mistake.
In a story it would be easy enough. Tell Roux he’s a father, get rid of Thierry, then things can go back to the way they were and everyone can get together on Christmas Eve for a massive celebration. End of story. Piece of cake.
In real life, it’s not so simple. In real life, Zozie says, some men can’t cope with fatherhood. Especially with a child like Rosette – what if he just can’t handle that? What if he’s ashamed of her?
I hardly slept at all last night. Seeing Roux in the cemetery made me wonder if Zozie was right, and that he didn’t want to see us at all. But then, why keep working for Thierry? Does he know, or doesn’t he? I went over and over it and still it wouldn’t make sense to me. And so today I made up my mind and went to find him at Rue de la Croix.
I arrived at the house at about half past three, feeling all wound-up and shivery inside. I’d skipped the last lesson of school – it was a study period, and if anyone mentions it, I’ll just say I was in the library. Jean-Loup would have known if he’d been there, but Jean-Loup was ill again today, and with the sign of One Monkey drawn on my hand, I slipped away without anyone noticing.
I took the bus to Place de Clichy and walked from there to Rue de la Croix, a broad, quiet street overlooking the cemetery, with big old stucco houses like a row of wedding cakes all along one side, and a high brick wall on the other.
Thierry’s apartment is on the top floor. He actually owns the whole building: two whole floors and a basement flat. It’s the biggest apartment I’ve ever seen, though Thierry doesn’t think it’s big at all, and complains about the size of the rooms.
When I got there the place looked empty. There was scaffolding on one side of the building, and cellophane sheets over the doors. There was a man in a hard hat sitting outside, having a smoke, but I could tell it wasn’t Roux.
I went in. I took the stairs. From the first landing I could hear machine sounds and smell the sweet and somehow horsy scent of freshly cut wood. Now I could hear voices, too: well, one voice – Thierry’s voice – raised above the sound of work. I went up the last few stairs, snowy with sawdust and shavings of wood. The door was shielded in cellophane, and I parted it and looked inside.
Roux was wearing a filter-mask and using the machine to sand down the bare floorboards. The smell of raw wood was everywhere. Thierry was standing above him in a grey suit and a yellow hard hat, and that look he gets when Rosette won’t use a spoon, or spits out her food at table. As I watched, Roux turned off the machine and pulled down his mask. He looked tired and not too happy.
Thierry looked at the floorboards and said: ‘Vac up the dust and get the polisher. I want you to get at least one coat of varnish down before you leave.’
‘You must be joking. I’d be here till midnight.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Thierry. ‘I’m not going to waste another day. We need to be finished by Christmas Eve.’
And then he walked straight out and past me down the stairs to the first floor. I was standing behind the dust-sheet, and he didn’t see me as he went by; but I saw him quite close up, and there was a look on his face I didn’t like at all. It was a kind of smug look; not quite a smile, with too many teeth. As if Santa Claus, instead of giving out presents for all the kids, had decided to keep them all for himself this year. And just then I hated Thierry. Not just because he’d shouted at Roux, but because he thought he was better than Roux. You could see it in the way he looked at him; in the way he stood over him, like someone getting a shoeshine; and in his colours there was something more – something that might have been envy, or worse—
Roux was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the filter-mask around his neck and a bottle of water in his hand.
‘Anouk!’ He grinned. ‘Is Vianne here?’
I shook my head. His face fell.
‘Why didn’t you come? You said you would.’
‘I’ve been busy, that’s all.’ He jerked his chin up at the room, all gift-wrapped in builders’ cellophane. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Meh,’ I said.
‘No more moving. Room of your own. Near the school, and everything.’
Sometimes I wonder why adults make such a big deal out of education when it’s obvious that kids know far more about life than they do. Why do they make it so complicated? Why can’t they keep it simple, for once?
‘I heard what Thierry said to you. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. He thinks he’s so much better than you. Why don’t you tell him to get lost?’
Roux shrugged. ‘I’m getting paid. Besides—’ I saw the gleam in his eyes. ‘I may get my own back some time soon.’
I sat down next to him on the floor. He smelt of sweat and of the sawdust he’d been working in; his arms and hair were dusted with it. But something about him was different. I couldn’t quite figure it out. A kind of funny, bright, hopeful look that hadn’t been there at the chocolaterie.
‘So what can I do for you, Anouk?’
Tell Roux he’s a father. Yeah. Right. Like so many things, it sounds easy. But when it comes to the practical—
I wet the tip of my finger and drew the sign of Lady Moon Rabbit in the dust on the floor. That’s my sign, Zozie says. A circle with a rabbit inside. It’s supposed to look like the new moon, and it’s the sign of love and new beginnings, and I thought that since it’s my sign, then perhaps it would work better on Roux.
‘What’s wrong?’ He smiled. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
Perhaps it was that word, cat. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve never been much good at lying, especially not to the people I love. In any case, I blurted it out. The question that had been burning a hole in the roof of my mouth ever since my talk with Zozie—
‘Do you know you’re Rosette’s dad?’
He stared at me. ‘Say what?’ he said. There was no mistaking the shock in his eyes. So he hadn’t known; but from his face he wasn’t what you’d call pleased either.
I looked down at the sign of Lady Moon Rabbit and drew the broken cross of Red Monkey Tezcatlipoca next to it in the floury dust.
‘I know what you’re thinking. She’s kind of small for a four-year-old. She dribbles a bit. She wakes up at night. And she’s always been slow with some things, like learning to talk and using a spoon. But she’s really funny – and really sweet – and if you give her a chance—’
Now his face was the colour of the sawdust. He shook his head, like it was a bad dream or something that he could just shake away.
‘Four?’ he said.
‘It’s her birthday next week.’ I smiled at him. ‘I knew you didn’t know. I said, “Roux would never have left us like that. Not if he’d known about Rosette.”’ And I told him then about when she was born, and about the little crêperie in Les Laveuses, and how ill she had been at first, and how we’d fed her from an eye-dropper, and about our move to Paris, and everything that happened there . . .
‘Wait a minute,’ said Roux. ‘Does Vianne know you’re here? Does she know you’re telling me this?’
I shook my head. ‘No one knows.’
He thought about that one for a while, and slowly his colours went from quiet blues and greens to splashy reds and oranges, and his mouth turned down, hard, not like the Roux I know at all.
‘So – all this time she never said a thing? I had a daughter, and I never even knew?’ He always sounds more from the Midi when he’s angry, and right then his accent was so thick that it could have been a foreign language altogether.
‘Well, mayb
e she didn’t get the chance.’
He made an angry sound in his throat. ‘Maybe she thinks I’m not cut out to be a father.’
I wanted to hug him, to make him feel better, to tell him we loved him – all of us. But he was too crazy to listen just then – I could see that even without the Smoking Mirror – and all at once I thought that it might have been a mistake to tell him like that, that I should have listened to Zozie’s advice—
Then suddenly he stood up, as if he’d come to a decision, scuffing the sign of Red Monkey Tezcatlipoca in the dust at his feet.
‘Well, I hope you all enjoyed the joke. Pity you couldn’t have made it last a bit longer – at least until I’d finished the flat—’ He pulled the filter-mask from around his neck and threw it savagely at the wall. ‘You can tell your mother I’m through. She’s safe. She’s made her choice, she can stick with it. And while you’re at it, you can tell Le Tresset that he can do his own decorating from now on. I’m off.’
‘Where?’ I said.
‘Home,’ said Roux.
‘What, back to your boat?’
‘What boat?’ he said.
‘You said you had a boat,’ I reminded him.
‘Yeah, well.’ He looked at his hands.
‘You mean you don’t have a boat?’ I said.
‘Course I do. It’s a terrific boat.’ He was looking away, and his voice was flat. I made the Smoking Mirror with my fingers, and saw his colours, all mixed up in angry reds and cynical greens, and thought – Oh, please, Roux. Just this once.
‘Where is it?’ I said.
‘Port de l’Arsenal.’
‘How come you’re there?’
‘I was just passing through.’
Well, that was another lie, I thought. It takes a long time to bring a boat upriver from the Tannes. Months, even. And you don’t just pass through Paris, either. You have to book with the Port de Plaisance. You have to pay for a mooring. And that made me wonder, if Roux had a boat, why he’d be working here for Thierry.
But if he was going to lie, I thought, then how could I tell him anything? The whole of my plan (such as it was) had been kind of based on the assumption that Roux would be really pleased to see me, and that he’d say how much he’d missed me and Maman, and how hurt he’d been to find out she was marrying Thierry, and then I’d tell him about Rosette, and he’d understand then how he couldn’t leave, and he’d live with us in the chocolaterie, so that Maman wouldn’t have to marry Thierry, and we could be a family—
Come to think of it, it sounded kind of cheesy now.
‘But what about me and Rosette?’ I said. ‘We’re having a party on Christmas Eve.’ I took out his card from my schoolbag and held it out. ‘You’ve just got to be there,’ I told him desperately. ‘Look, you’ve got an invitation and everything.’
He gave a nasty laugh. ‘Who, me? You must be thinking of someone else’s father.’
Oh boy, I thought. What a mess this is. It seemed like the more I tried to talk to him, the angrier he seemed to get, and my new System, which has already worked changes for Nico and Mathilde and Madame Luzeron, doesn’t work on Roux at all.
If only I’d just finished his doll—
And then I had an inspiration.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘You’ve got dust in your hair.’ I reached up to brush it off.
‘Ouch!’ said Roux.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘Please can I see you tomorrow?’ I said. ‘Even if it’s only to say goodbye?’
He paused for such a long time that I was sure he was going to refuse.
Then he sighed. ‘I’ll meet you in the cemetery at three o’clock. By Dalida’s tomb.’
‘OK,’ I said, and smiled to myself.
Roux saw the smile. ‘I’m not staying,’ he said.
Well, that’s what you think, Roux, I thought.
And I opened my hand, where three red hairs had caught between my fingers.
Because this time, Roux, who pleases himself, is going to do what I want for a change. This time it’s my turn. I decide. He’ll be at our party on Christmas Eve, whatever it takes. Whatever it costs. He may not want to, I thought, but he’ll come – even if I have to call up the Hurakan to drag him here.
6
Friday, 14th December
INVOCATION TO THE wind.
First, light your candles. Red ones are good, for luck and stuff; though white ones are OK too, of course. But if you really want to do the thing properly, make them black candles, because black’s the colour of the year’s end, the slow dark time between Día de los Muertos and December full moon, when the dead year begins to turn again.
Now draw a yellow chalk circle on the floor. Move the bed and the blue rag rug so we can use the wooden floor. Put them back when it’s over, so Maman doesn’t see the marks we’ve left. Maman wouldn’t understand; but then . . .
Maman doesn’t need to know.
You’ll see I’m wearing my red shoes. I don’t know why – they feel lucky, somehow, like nothing bad could ever happen when I’m wearing them. And carry some coloured powder paint or sand (you’ll see I’m using sugar crystals) to mark the points around the circle. Black, north; white, south; yellow, east; red, west. Scatter the sand all around the circle to pacify the little wind gods.
Now for the sacrifice – frankincense and myrrh. That’s what the Magi brought, you know, for the Jesus-baby in his crib. I guess if it was good enough for the Jesus-baby, then it’s good enough for us. And gold – well, I’ve got some chocolate squares wrapped in gold paper, which ought to be OK, don’t you think? Zozie says the Aztecs always used to offer chocolate to the gods. And blood, of course – though I’m hoping they won’t want much of that. A pinprick – ouch – OK, that’s all – light the incense and we’re ready to go.
Now sit in the circle, legs crossed, and take your peg-dolls one in each hand. You’ll need a bag of red sugar crystals to scatter on the floor for drawing in.
First comes the sign of Lady Moon Rabbit. Pantoufle can keep that sign for me, here at the edge of the chalk circle. Then we draw Blue Hummingbird Tezcatlipoca, for the sky on my left side, and Red Monkey Tezcatlipoca, for the earth, on yours. Bam stands guard on that side, with the sign of One Monkey next to him.
There. That’s ready. Isn’t it fun? We did this once before, remember? But something went wrong. It won’t this time. This time we’re calling the right wind. Not the Hurakan, but the Changing Wind, because there’s something here we need to change.
OK? Now draw the spiral sign in the red sugar on the floor.
Now for the invocation. I know you don’t know the words, but you can join in the song all the same if you’d like. Sing—
V’là l’bon vent, v’là l’joli vent
That’s right. Softly, though.
Good. Now the peg-dolls. That one’s Roux. You don’t know Roux, but you will soon. And that’s Maman, see? Maman in her pretty red dress. Her real name is Vianne Rocher. That’s what I whispered in her ear. And who’s this, with the mango hair and the big green eyes? That’s you, Rosette. That’s you. And we’ll stand them all here in the circle together, with the candles burning and the sign of Ehecatl in the middle. Because they belong together, like the people in the Nativity house. And soon they’ll be together again, and we can be a family—
And this – who’s this outside the yellow circle? That’s Thierry, with his mobile phone. We don’t want the wind to hurt Thierry, but he can’t be here with us any more, because you can only have one father, Rosette, and he’s not the one. So he has to go. Sorry, Thierry.
Can you hear the wind outside? That’s the Wind of Change on its way. Zozie says you can ride the wind; that it’s like a wild horse that can be tamed and trained to do just what you want it to. You can be a kite, a bird; you can grant wishes; you can find your heart’s desire—
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
Come on, Rosette. Let’s ride.
7
S
aturday, 15th December
IT’S AMAZING, ISN’T it, how deceitful a child can be? Like a domestic cat, purring on the sofa by day, but by night, a strutting queen, a natural killer, disdainful of her other life.
Anouk is no killer – at least, not yet – but she does have that feral side to her. I’m delighted to know that, of course – I’m not in the market for a household pet – but I’ll need to keep a close eye on her, if she’s going to take action behind my back.
First, she invoked Ehecatl without me. I do not resent this at all – in fact I’m rather proud of her. She’s imaginative; ingenious; making up rituals where existing ones do not satisfy – a natural Chaoist, in short.
Secondly, however – and rather more importantly – she went to see Roux yesterday, in secret and against my advice. Fortunately she wrote it all down in her diary, which I monitor on a regular basis. It’s easy to do: like her mother, she keeps her secrets in a shoe-box at the back of her wardrobe – predictable, but convenient – and I’ve been checking both since I arrived.
And a good thing too, as it turns out. She’s meeting him today, she says, in the cemetery at three o’clock. In a way, it couldn’t be better; my plans for Vianne are nearing completion, and it’s nearly time for the next stage. But stealing a life is so much easier on paper than in the flesh – a few discarded household bills, a passport lifted from a handbag at the airport, even the name on a fresh gravestone and the job’s practically done for me. But this time I want more than a name, more than credit details, much more than money.
It’s a game of strategy, of course. Like so many games of strategy, it’s based on putting the pieces in place without letting the opponent suspect what’s happening, then deciding which pieces to sacrifice in order to emerge the winner. After that, it’s one-on-one – a battle of wills between Yanne and me – and I have to say I’m looking forward to it even more than I could have imagined. To face her at last in the final round, knowing what’s at stake for both of us—
The Lollipop Shoes Page 29
