Page 25 of The Little Provence Book Shop
But as she exited the shop into the sunshine, hoping not to run into Michel, it was hard not to wonder whether Monique really did have some sort of magic about her.
12
‘Are you OK, Mummy?’ Lili asked the following morning on the way to school.
Adeline looked down at her daughter’s face, tilted up towards her, brow furrowed with concern.
‘Yes, of course!’ she said brightly. ‘Why do you ask?’
Lili shrugged. ‘You aren’t talking.’
Adeline laughed. ‘You should be grateful for that!’ she joked. Then, ‘Sorry, I’m just thinking about a few things.’
‘Like the bookshop?’
‘Yes, like the bookshop.’ Or to be more precise, she thought, as she waved her little daughter off at the edge of the playground a few minutes later, the bookshop owner. She had been aching to ask Monique more about her past, ever since she’d spoken to Michel. What happened with her baby? Had she ever thought about tracing her? She longed to know what it was like for a mother in that situation – what it might be like forherbirth mother if she was still out there somewhere. Monique had clearly been forced into having her baby adopted – and although her story would have taken place some time beforeAdeline’s own birth, it would be interesting to know how it had unfolded. Just to imagine, for a moment, what things might have been like for her own mother.
But how could she? It had been Michel who’d told her about Monique’s past; she wasn’t even sure if she was meant to know. Still, she had watched Monique since – wondered about whether the thought of her baby ever crossed her mind, or whether she’d been able to truly move on.
The morning air was warm, with a breeze that felt fresh and cleansing, and she slipped off her cardigan to let the air play on her bare arms for a moment as she made her way to the shop. She’d decided to go in early – there was nothing much to do at home and she wanted to avoid the cafe just in case Michel was there – the last thing she wanted to do was bump into him after his thunderous outburst yesterday. Monique had been subdued afterwards and Adeline had become angry at his ability to simply upset her and walk off.
But today, in the shop, everything was light. Monique was standing on a small stool, cleaning the windows with a vinegar solution that made the air smell tangy and, teamed with the aroma of some of the older paperbacks, reminded Adeline a little of the newspaper-wrapped fish and chips of her childhood.
‘Bonjour,’ she said. ‘Ça va?’
‘Oui,’ Monique smiled down at her from her slightly taller position. ‘You are early.’ Her smile seemed wide and genuine, and she had her usual happy air. Hopefully she’d recovered from whatever had occurred the day before.
‘Yes,’ Adeline gave a shrug. ‘It was a lovely day and I just found myself walking here after dropping Lili at school.’
Monique stepped down from her stool, spray bottle in hand. ‘Well, thank you. And actually, it could be a favour for me.Would it be OK for you to mind the shop while I pop to thepharmacie?’
‘Of course!’ Adeline said. ‘I’ll keep the crowds at bay.’ She laughed, but Monique looked confused: ‘I think it will be quiet.’
‘Yes,’ Adeline acquiesced, embarrassed that her joke had fallen flat. After Monique tidied away the stool and exited into the street with a cheery wave, Adeline sat behind the counter, looking through the names on the paperbound books and the scribbled notes of orders on the notepad Monique kept for the purpose. It was hard to read Monique’s handwriting in some places and many of the titles she hadn’t heard of – she’d highlight any queries and wait until her boss came back before ordering something completely wrong.
She could make out the name Claude on one of the papers, and the thought of him made sadness well in her chest. He’d been in again yesterday, with his timid smile and anxious eyes. Monique had slipped him another book – a slim volume of poems – and he’d taken it gratefully. ‘We will find it, Claude,’ she’d said. ‘I promise.’
Adeline wondered what book Monique was going to try with him next. She liked the idea of bibliotherapy and – despite Monique’s allusions to magic and psychic insight – liked to think of what Monique did in this practical, ordinary way. But could it really be enough for Claude, who was clearly so steeped in grief he could barely move? Surely a trip to his doctor might do better for him? Perhaps she’d suggest it if he ever came in when Monique wasn’t around.
She did believe in the healing power of books, in the way that words could find places in the heart and soul that even medicine couldn’t always reach. But she was also practical – sometimes it took a little more science to get someone back on track.
When the bell jangled, she looked up to see a woman in jeans and a sweatshirt walking in, a large handbag over her shoulder and a shopping bag straining with vegetables in her hand. ‘Morning!’ the woman said in English.
Adeline had been speaking French with everyone but Lili for so long, the familiar greeting startled her a little. She replied, on autopilot, with a friendly ‘Bonjour.’
The woman coloured. ‘Oh,’ she said. Then peered at her a little, walking forward. ‘Desolée, j’ai pensé… j’ai pensé… I thought you were English,’ she finished, lapsing away from her attempt to speak French.
‘Oh, I am,’ Adeline replied. ‘Sorry. Force of habit.’
The woman grinned and stuck out a hand for a shake. Adeline’s hand met hers and she gave it a firm up and down. ‘Stacey.’ She wore her blonde hair tied in a scrappy ponytail, bits escaping to frame her face. Her complexion was red and rather blotchy, possibly from too much sun over the years, and she looked to be in her forties.
‘Adeline.’
Stacey nodded. ‘Pretty name.’
‘So do you live locally?’ Adeline asked.
‘Not far. In one of the hamlets. My youngest goes to thematernellehere, so I have a wander round sometimes after dropping her off.’ She held a bag of chocolate up. ‘Always get my fix of this stuff too from the patisserie. Have you tasted it yet?’
