Page 82 of Vianne

Blindly, I pushed my way outside, where the sunlight was already fading.

A garland of lights around the Butte, a corresponding string of lights around the misty harbour.

I took a deep breath of the salty air, and almost ran into Khamaseen, who was waiting outside La Bonne Mère, her hair a candyfloss tangle beneath the hood of her winter cloak.

She said: ‘I tried to warn you, Vianne. Change is a door that swings both ways. There’s a price for what we do. For being who we are.’

I know. It’s what my mother believed. But I thought I could be different. I—

‘You thought you could escape who you are? You can, but there’s a choice to make.

The open sky or the warm hearth. The wind that rocks the cradle, or the four walls of domesticity.

’ She sighed. ‘It’s going to be hard for you, travelling with a baby.

Always living hand to mouth; always staying one step ahead.

Always castles in the sand instead of building a permanent home.

Handing out dreams to others without ever achieving one of your own.

Changing your name at every town; always, forever on the alert. Is that really what you want?’

‘ Why do I have to choose?’ I said. ‘Why can’t I have what other people have?’

‘Because you’re not other people. You can decide who you want to be. The question is, will you be Vianne, or will you be that other girl, the one who was taken in Paris?’

I took a deep breath of the winter air. It smelt of incense, and pine wood, and well-lit homes seen from the street, and Christmastime, warm blankets and the magic of an early snow. Small comforts. Little dreams . Are we not allowed these things?

‘Of course you are,’ said Khamaseen. ‘But there’s a balance. Upset it, and everything goes flying.’

‘What balance did my mother upset? Why did she have to pay a price?’

She smiled. ‘Because she wanted you. It’s the price every mother pays.’

I said: ‘My mother had demons. My childhood was infested with them. My child will be different. I will be different.’

She gave a sad little smile. ‘You want your child to be safe. That’s good. But there’s a restlessness in you, just like there was in your mother.’

‘You never knew my mother,’ I said.

‘Of course I knew her,’ said Khamaseen. ‘Just as I know you. Our kind always know one another, Vianne, even when we’re in disguise.’

‘ Our kind? What does that mean?’

That smile again. ‘You know what it means. We’ve always been here.

We’re everywhere. The outsiders. The ones that don’t fit.

The ones who see beyond the edges of the painting.

The ones who are different from the rest. Sometimes, that difference is visible.

Sometimes, it’s barely perceptible. But they feel it. The knowledge. The shine .’

‘I don’t have any knowledge,’ I said.

‘You see things in other people. And you hear the voice of the wind. The wind knows who you are, Vianne. She recognizes her children. She’s been calling you for months, asking you to make a choice.

Will you be Vianne, or that other girl? Will you claim your child as your own, or pay the price your mother could not? ’

A glimpse of something in the sky; two intersecting vapour trails, scratched against the faded blue.

It looks like a rune – Gebo, a gift – and it reminds me of Guy and Mahmed, and all the friends I have made here.

I can’t abandon them today. I have to finish what I began. I have to help them, one more time.

‘I’m doing this for my daughter,’ I said. ‘So that her life will be different.’

Once more, that gentle, troubling smile. ‘You named her, Vianne. You named yourself. In doing so, you made a choice. Power, and the way of the wind. It calls. You answered. It’s yours now. To refuse it is to deny yourself, and the person you chose to be.’

‘I don’t believe that’s true,’ I said.

‘The wind doesn’t care what you believe,’ she said. ‘She only does what she has to do.’