Page 34 of The Strawberry Thief
‘Let me take Mimi,’ I said. ‘I swear she’ll be good. She listens to me.’
That was the wrong thing to say, of course. Tante Anna’s lips compressed into a thin little wire of disapproval. ‘Whether she listens toyou,Narcisse, is neither here nor there,’ she said. ‘Your father has indulged her far more than any child deserves. He makes himself ridiculous, doting on her the way he does. Well, this time, I’m in charge. And until Naomi learns to listen tome,that bedroom door stays locked.’
I wanted to ask – why that room? Why not the one we both shared? But I couldn’t find the words. I know it sounds like a childish excuse, but I was afraid to argue. My father’s room was forbidding. The bed, with its grey coverlet, pulled so taut that it looked like stone; the wardrobe, with its giant door and slightly distorting mirror. It had a smell, too – of floor polish mothballs and clothes that no-one ever wore. I always used to think that there were ghosts in my father’s bedroom. The ghost of my mother, in the studio portrait on his mantelpiece; in her clothes, still hanging there, mothballs in the pockets.
I’d started to read at the bookmark. That’s where Reynaud must have left off. I’d thought it might be legal stuff, instructions on what to do with the farm. I didn’t expect a story. But that’s what it was. And as soon as I got home, I’d gone to my bedroom, and opened the folder, and started to read.
Maman was worried because I was late. She asked me where I’d been, what was wrong, but I didn’t tell her anything. I wanted to know more about Narcisse, and the little girl, Mimi. She’s already my favourite character. I’ve been searching through the story for more information about her. I skip the bits about Reynaud. I know him already, and besides, he isn’t a part of this. This story belongs to Narcisse – and Mimi. I want to know what happens to her. And I alreadyhateTante Anna. She’s mean. I hope she dies at the end.
I fell asleep with the story open on my pillow, and when I woke up it was morning, and some of the pages were on the floor. I got up quickly and tidied them up, and hid the green folder under my bed. It will be safe there. No-one will see. Maman never looks under the bed.
‘Feeling better this morning?’ said Maman, when I came down for breakfast. She was trying to sound casual, but I know when she’s pretending. Her colours were all muddled and sad – the way they are when she misses Anouk. I didn’t want her to be sad, so I smiled and took twopains au chocolat.
‘You were home late last night,’ she said.
I was at Yannick’s,I said. And it’s true, Ididgo to Yannick’s house, even though he didn’t see me.
‘Did his mother say anything? About Narcisse, or the will, perhaps?’
I shook my head. She looked relieved.
‘Well, if she says anything, let me know.’
I nodded.Okay.I decided not to tell her what she’d said when I took the chocolates. Or about stealing Narcisse’s file. Somehow I thought that Maman wouldn’t want me to read Narcisse’s story. But I want to know what happens next. I want to know more about Mimi. And if there’s something in the file that I can use to make Roux stay, then surely stealing it wasn’t wrong. Not as wrong as calling the wind …
‘You know, you can invite Yannick here. He can try my chocolate cake.’
I thought about that for a moment. Yannick’s mother hates us. Then again, Yannick loves chocolate. It would be easy to get him to come. I hope Madame Montour doesn’t blame him for Narcisse’s file going missing. I’ll have to make it up to him if she does. In chocolate.
I smiled at Maman, and tried not to look as if I was hiding anything. Hiding isn’t the same as lying, but sometimes it can feel that way. Still, I think it’s best if I don’t say anything to her just yet. Not about Narcisse, or Roux, or using my shadow-voice that way. I’m old enough now to make my own plans, and Maman’s already anxious enough. Like Armande always used to say:
What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
