Page 43 of The Little Provence Book Shop
She wondered, as she paid for three slices of chocolate fondant, as they made their way chattering along the street, as they unlocked the shop and stepped inside, how she might get Monique to open up again. It wasn’t fair to interrogate her about something so painful. But there were questions she absolutely had to know the answers to.
20
Saturday morning was a whirlwind of activity. With Easter approaching, and the weather warming up seemingly by the day, more and more traders were arriving: the four or five stalls that had lined the streets on market day had swelled in number to almost twenty. Some traders decked their stall with colourful awning, others simply had put-you-up tables. One or two local producers sold goods through the sliding door of a van, or from wooden boxes full of vegetables laid out on the street.
The atmosphere was infectiously joyous, and despite the fact she’d slept badly, Adeline found herself smiling herbonjours to those she passed, holding tightly onto Lili’s hand as her little girl walked quickly beside her.
She arrived on time and, once inside, propped the door open to let fresh air, sunshine and the hustle and bustle of outside seep into the empty shop; she noticed the bright light revealed streaks that Monique had missed in her window cleaning efforts, and that the tops of some of the shelves were dusty despite her own tour yesterday evening with Monique’s feather duster.
The minute a few customers came in to browse, her attention was taken up with slipping books into paper bags, making recommendations or tapping in orders on the computer. Monique walked around the shop, today in a blue dress belted tightly at the waist, the moonstone glowing at her neck, and made conversation with a few familiar faces.
A combination of the prospect of a holiday, the new stalls on the market, and the warm spring sun injected the air with a positive vibe, and almost everyone they saw was smiling or chatting happily as they made their purchases or indulged their desire for a browse of the bookshop shelves.
The moment he entered, it was as if something in the atmosphere shifted. Adeline had just served a young boy and his mother who’d spent ten minutes telling her about their plans for the boy’s Easter break, and had even invited Lili over to play later in the week – her first official invitation. When the bell rang again, she looked, smiling towards the door, and saw his stooped frame making its way to the counter.
‘Bonjour, Claude,’ she said, trying to keep her face in the same, upbeat position as it had been when serving the previous customer.
He smiled back, but with a combination of such kindness and sorrow it almost made her heart crack. Monique looked over and Adeline thought for a moment she’d come and take Claude under her wing as she usually did; often with the recommendation of a new book or short story, or at least some conversation that seemed to lift him a little. This time, though, Monique returned her attention to the little coloured jar she was arranging on a shelf, leaving Adeline at the helm.
Claude shuffled to the counter and stood for a moment in silence. ‘Have you any recommendation?’ he asked.
Adeline looked at Monique again, but her boss seemed to becompletely taken with the jar and a crystal she’d placed next to it, and seemed to be mouthing something to herself. Adeline smiled. ‘What did you think of the last one?’ she asked.
Claude nodded. ‘It was beautiful,’ he said sadly. ‘I read it in three days. And it reminded me of myself, years ago.’ He laughed softly. ‘So many years.’
Taking a more guarded look at Monique, who was still apparently transfixed, Adeline reached out a hand and touched Claude’s outstretched palm. Gently taking hold, she looked at his face, until his eyes moved from their fingers to meet hers. This was her moment. She wanted to tell him that he must see a doctor. Perhaps a counsellor. That reading couldn’t do what a professional could. She felt furtive, not knowing how Monique would view her action. But the desire to help Claude was so strong that she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Then, just as she opened her mouth, something happened.
When she looked back later, she found herself unable to explain exactly what came over her. But looking into Claude’s eyes and touching his hand, she suddenly saw a series of images flash past her eyes: a young boy running with a puppy; a boy at school, his head bent over his books. The same boy – a young man now – at work in a small office. Then again, this time walking with a beautiful girl. She saw a couple, arm in arm, on their wedding day. A man holding a baby, then the hand of a child. And a woman, her eyes beautiful, her face gaunt, propped on a bed, still smiling. Her hand reaching out.
And suddenly she knew what Claude needed. ‘Just a moment,’ she said, her voice slightly choked and not sounding like hers, and walking quickly to one of the shelves.
Her fingers felt stiff and clumsy as she ran her hands feverishly over the volumes, trying to hold on to the certainty she felt, keeping in mind the book she was looking for. And there! Shefound it. Vivre viteby Brigitte Giraud, a beautiful story of grief and strength. She handed it to him, and although later she felt almost embarrassed at how she’d felt, in that moment she was completely convinced that this was what Claude needed to read; needed to know. This was the book that would help him to live.
He took it from her, turning it over in his hands, a question in his eyes. But she nodded. ‘Try it,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ He slipped a shaking hand into his pocket, pulling out a tattered wallet, and she found she couldn’t bear it.
‘No. It’s a gift. From me.’ And she smiled again, nodding, encouraging him to accept. She reached out to touch his hand again and held his gaze for a moment. ‘You need to find joy, Claude, and I think this book might help. But I think maybe it would be good for you to go to the doctor. Just to talk? That might help you too.’
He nodded, just once, and she wasn’t sure whether he’d agreed or simply dismissed her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, holding up the book. ‘I will try.’
It wasn’t until he’d left the shop and they were alone again that Adeline looked over at Monique.
Her boss was standing, looking almost ethereal in a shaft of sunlight. Dust particles from the shelf she’d set the jar on danced in its glow; the light illuminated her face, but threw her body into darkness. Her eyes were watching Adeline as if she were seeing her for the first time.
‘Is everything OK?’ Adeline asked, wondering if she’d done something wrong.
Monique walked over to her, her gaze unwavering. ‘Oui,’ she said, in a voice that was quieter than usual. ‘It’s just, I was watching you with Claude.’
Whatever had come over Adeline when she’d served the elderly widower was already fading, and she found herselfflushing, embarrassed. ‘I hope that was OK? You seemed busy, so…’
‘Mais oui!’ Monique replied, her voice stronger now. ‘I am ashamed to say that I feel at a loss with Claude. I wondered… I didn’t come over as I thought you might talk to him. That it might help. And I had to finish what I was doing. Once I start, it’s important.’
‘Oh,’ Adeline said. ‘Well, I found him a book. Hopefully he’ll enjoy it.’
‘But you did something else. You read him, didn’t you?’
