Freja knocked on Henri’s door early the next morning. Finnegan planted his front paws on the windowsill and licked the glass.
‘F-F-Freja!’ cried Henri as the door flew open. ‘W-w-w-what are you d-d-doing here?’
‘It’s Saturday,’ said Freja, ‘market day.’
Henri glanced at his clock on the wall. ‘But it is only eight o’c-c-c-clock and I don’t start work at the p-p-p-pâtisserie until nine o’c-c-c-clock.’
Freja offered Henri her brightest smile, teeth flashing, blue eyes sparkling. But she did not move.
Henri rubbed his forehead and leaned against the doorjamb. A smile crept across half of his face. ‘You look f-f-f-festive today,’ he said.
Freja was wearing a summer dress that Vivi had given her. It was bright yellow with large white polka dots and big pockets for carrying biscuits for dogs and nougat for donkeys. Freja’s hair was threaded with white, yellow-centred daisies to match her dress. She’d poked so many in between her tangled curls that there were more flowers than hair visible.
‘I dressed especially,’ said Freja.
‘Especially f-f-for what?’ asked Henri.
Without another word, Freja took the gentle giant by the hand. She led him down the street, around the corner and into the still-wakening village square. Finnegan, sensing something special afoot, frolicked and leapt about them.
Tobias, Vivi, Edith, Cosette and Madame and Monsieur Diderot were all waiting. Pippin ran forward and threw his chubby, little arms around the giant’s legs.
Henri stared at his merry-go-round, his good eye boggling, the side of his mouth twitching and wobbling.
‘Don’t cry, Henri!’ shouted Pippin. ‘It is supposed to fill your enormous heart with happiness.’
‘Oui!’ shouted Henri. ‘It has. M-m-my heart is b-b-bursting!’
Overnight, the merry-go-round had been transformed. A patchwork of walls now hung where the old canvas had once been — handmade quilts, Madame Delacroix’s pink chenille bedspread, a giant map of France from the school principal’s office, Vivi’s yellow-and-white chequered picnic blanket and a pair of purple velvet curtains from the Church of St Sylvestre.
Henri’s mouth turned up at one side and he began to shake.
‘He’s laughing!’ Madame Diderot cried with relief.
‘Come on, Henri!’ shouted Vivi. ‘People will be arriving for the market soon. It is time to get things moving!’
Together, they helped Henri roll up the strange new walls. The platform that had stood bare and forlorn for the last week was now filled with a cheerful mix of new rides — an old wicker chair with a bright yellow cushion, a red-and-white striped hammock, a sky-blue park bench, a dog basket with a half-chewed mattress, an exercise bike, a Louis XIV lounge covered in pink silk, a red tricycle, a school desk and chair, Tobias’ green motorcycle and sidecar and a real live donkey.
‘You might need to keep an eye on Nougat the donkey,’ said Freja. ‘Père Baudin says she kicks and bites when she’s in a bad mood . . . which is, unfortunately, most of the time. But she looks pretty and she is the closest thing to a horse we could find.’
‘We’ll look after her!’ cried Edith.
‘We’ll make sure she doesn’t bite anyone,’ said Cosette. ‘Except Christophe. She’s welcome to bite Christophe.’
‘And Gerard Lachance!’ shouted Edith. ‘She can bite him too!’
‘We have pockets full of marzipan apples to keep her happy.’ Cosette held one out on the palm of her hand.
Nougat leaned forward and snatched the treat between her rubbery lips. She chewed, swallowed, rolled her eyes in delight, then snuffled about for more. Edith and Cosette threw back their heads and snorted with laughter. Nougat threw back her head and brayed noisily, which set the twins snorting and guffawing all over again.
‘B-b-but I don’t understand,’ said Henri. ‘Who has d-d-done this k-k-kind and marvellous thing?’
‘Freja Peachtree!’ shouted Pippin, and he threw his arms around Freja’s waist.
Freja blushed. ‘Not just me,’ she whispered. ‘It was everyone, Henri. The whole village pitched in. Because they love you and could not bear to see you unhappy.’
‘But mostly Freja,’ said Tobias, his face glowing with pride. ‘My girl, Freja. It was Freja’s fabulous idea.’
The villagers had started to arrive for the market, and several now milled around, talking, laughing, even clapping, as they noticed familiar objects which they, or their neighbours, had donated. Monsieur Duval’s chandelier hung from the canvas ceiling, together with the fairy lights from Monsieur Salomon’s café. Madame Garnier pointed out her bathroom mirror and her desk lamp only to be upstaged by Madame Blanc drawing attention to her own three silver candelabra and pink Louis XIV lounge chair.
Monsieur Léonard chuckled at the blue bench that used to sit near the pétanque court.
‘But where will I sit to do my knitting?’ asked his wife, Madame Léonard. ‘Where will the other wives sit?’
Monsieur Léonard shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t care. As long as it is far, far away from our game of pétanque so I don’t have to listen to your nagging and gossiping!’
Madame Léonard hit her husband over the back of the head with her string bag, then stomped away to do her shopping. Monsieur Léonard grinned at Freja and gave her the thumbs-up.
Monsieur Patenaude, the lawyer, stepped forward and pressed a coin into Henri’s hand. ‘Bonjour, my good man. I would like to take a ride now, if I may.’
Henri nodded, stunned.
Monsieur Patenaude heaved himself up onto the platform and climbed onto Tobias’ motorcycle. He waved to Madame Delacroix as she walked by, and she handed a coin to Henri and climbed into the sidecar. Finnegan immediately jumped in and settled on her lap. He loved motorcycle outings and was quite happy to be accompanied by Madame Delacroix. He barked, licked his nose, then turned around and licked Madame’s nose. Twice.
‘Well, Carrousel Henri!’ roared Monsieur Patenaude, gripping the handlebars. ‘Are we going to travel or are we going to sit around like a bunch of broody old hens?’
Henri limped up onto the merry-go-round, beaming as he passed the polished pipe organ, and flicked the starter switch. The sweet, lilting notes of ‘Frère Jacques’ tumbled across the marketplace, sending forth colour and light and joy and hope, and the motorcycle glided forth.
Within minutes, a crowd had gathered around Henri, slapping his back, laughing, kissing his cheeks and pressing coins into his hand. Everyone, young and old, wanted to ride Claviers’ marvellous new merry-go-round. Three small children climbed into the hammock and swayed gently from side to side. Another pedalled around on the tricycle. Monsieur and Madame Diderot took a quick ride on the Louis XIV lounge chair before dashing back to the pâtisserie. And Madame Garnier sat in her own tattered wicker chair, a tray on her knee, stuffing figs with pistachio paste for her husband’s lunch.
Maude the poodle snuggled up in the dog basket and was soon joined by a three-legged mutt. Pippin climbed up onto the motorcycle behind Monsieur Patenaude and prattled on and on about ducks and apples until the old lawyer almost choked from laughing.
‘Freja P-P-Peachtree,’ said Henri. ‘Aren’t you g-g-g-going to ride t-t-too?’
‘Later,’ she whispered. ‘I want to watch first. I like to see the way people talk and laugh and fit together so easily.’
‘You f-f-fit here too,’ said Henri. ‘You b-b-belong.’
Freja shrugged. ‘But I’ve only been here three weeks.’
‘B-b-b-belonging is about love and j-j-joy, not time.’
Freja looked up into the sweet, crooked face.
‘You m-m-m-make my heart s-s-sing,’ said Henri. ‘T-t-today, you have m-m-made many hearts s-s-sing.’
Freja blushed. ‘It’s nothing,’ she whispered.
‘It is everything,’ said Henri.
Freja slipped her hand into his and, together, they leaned against the trunk of a plane tree and watched the merry-go-round, the heart and soul of Claviers, come back to life.
Three customers at the café felt like they were missing out and moved their table and chairs up onto the rotating platform. Monsieur Salomon, the owner, chased them around and around to the music, serving them coffee and little glasses of pastis. By eleven o’clock, seven more customers had dragged their tables and chairs up to join them. Poor Monsieur Salomon was exhausted but remained good humoured. And his customers insisted on paying double for his troubles. They paid Henri triple for their ride and declared it was the best merry-go-round ever . . . or was it the best café ever?
Tobias and Vivi ran back and forth from the pâtisserie with trays of freshly baked pastries for Henri’s customers. Christophe ran back and forth after them, eating and praising God for two miracles — the revived merry-go-round and the seemingly endless supply of chocolate croissants.
Even Gerard Lachance stopped to watch for a while. He stood beneath one of the plane trees, his thumbs tucked in his waistcoat pockets. He rocked back and forth on his toes as though dancing to the jolly tune of ‘Frère Jacques’. A breeze blew the long, greasy strands of hair from the top of his head so they dangled down to his shoulder and bared his bald spot. But Gerard was so absorbed in the merry-go-round that he didn’t seem to notice. He continued to rock and stare.
Freja stayed close to Henri, collecting coins and blushing as people congratulated her on a job well done. But she didn’t once feel the urge to hide. It was as though the magic of the merry-go-round was making everyone happy, everything perfect, this day.
Except for Mimosa Astérisque.
At half past eleven, the TV star stopped to stare.
‘Just look at this ridiculous display!’ she snapped. Her eyes grew wide and she shook her pretty head. ‘Aie aie aie! Is that a dog basket up there . . . with a three-legged dog in it?’ She turned to Henri. ‘If only you had let me have my photograph taken in the beautiful white swan . . .’
Henri’s face reddened.
Freja gasped. ‘What do you mean?’
Mimosa jumped, as though suddenly realising that she had spoken aloud. She straightened her skirt and lifted her chin. ‘I mean, if only Carrousel Henri had let me have my photograph taken in the white swan, his beautiful antique merry-go-round would at least be preserved in pictures, if not in real life.’
She popped on her sunglasses, flicked her long black hair over her shoulder and walked away.