Page 44 of The Little Provence Book Shop
‘Read him?’ Adeline tried to sound incredulous. She remembered the images, the tingle of something when their fingers had touched. But already the moment had passed; she felt foolish. ‘Oh, no. I just thought of a book he might like.’
The lie hung between them. Monique paid no attention to it. ‘Non, Adeline. You saw him. Into him. I watched you. And you gave himVivre vite.And I realised of course that this book would speak to him. Speak to his soul. And you knew, didn’t you? You felt it?’
Adeline didn’t like to think about what she’d felt. It was both embarrassing and a little terrifying. For the first time in a long while she thought of London, and that although it had been busy and she’d been lonely, at least everything had been familiar. Now, in this new place, stripped of all the sights, sounds, smells she’d known, she was suddenly exposed. ‘I just thought he’d like it,’ she repeated, her tone not sounding convincing even to her.
‘Do not be scared of it,’ Monique said. ‘It is a gift. It is a wonderful gift. Ah, you can call it bibliotherapy if you want. You can give it a name that you are comfortable with. But I like to think of it as being able to see people, properly: to read them.This desire to help others.’ She shrugged. ‘And perhaps we have to admit there is a little magic there too,’ she added.
Adeline looked down, still not willing to accept that what had happened was anything but a moment of inspiration. Monique walked forward and touched her hand lightly. ‘Whatever it is, it is not a bad thing. It is good,’ she said.
Adeline longed for a customer to come in and break the moment; longed for Lili to run down the stairs from the flat where she had gone to play and ask her something ordinary. It was uncomfortable, thinking of things that she couldn’t find a rational explanation for.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it has anything to do with magic. Not for me. Just… perhaps being empathetic.’ She turned away, getting her purse from her bag and slipping the payment for Claude’s book into the till, her ears burning.
Monique laughed, but kindly. ‘Oui, c’est vrai. We are empathetic booksellers.’ She grinned. ‘But for me, it was a wonderful moment. I have never met anyone before who can do this, who can see people the way I sometimes do.’
Adeline clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. All she needed to do was move past the moment. Then she could pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
‘“If I can ease one life the aching… I shall not live in vain”.’ Monique’s words sounded familiar.
‘I know those lines, don’t I?’
‘You do if you have been reading your poetry! But these lines, they say everything I believe in. If we can help, we should help. And who cares why or how.’ She grabbed Adeline’s hand. ‘You and me, we read with our hearts. And yes, sometimes we feel things we don’t understand. But it is a gift. It is good. We do not have to understand it. Just live it. Use it. Share it.’
Adeline found herself nodding.
And then to her relief she heard the stomping sound of her daughter on the wooden stairs, and Lili pounded down from the flat clutching a scribbled drawing in crayon. ‘Look,’ she said, holding it out. ‘It’s you, Mummy.’
On the paper was a scribbled drawing of a woman, holding a book, surrounded by stars.
21
She’d slept fitfully the night before, so of course Lili had chosen that day to wake up early and bounce on her bed from around 6a.m. Groaning, she turned over and pulled what she could of the duvet over her. ‘Lili, it’s early,’ she said. ‘Mummy needs a rest.’
But Mummy clearly wasn’t going to get a rest. Lili stopped bouncing, but wriggled and fidgeted so much, Adeline realised that there was no point at all trying to cling onto sleep. Instead, she shifted herself up so she was half sitting, and looked at her inquisitive daughter.
‘You’re awake!’ Lili said delightedly, as if she’d had absolutely no part in this.
‘Yes,’ Adeline replied, unable to stop herself smiling at the tousled, excited girl in front of her.
‘It’s the holidays!’
‘Yes, it is!’ Adeline said, trying to inject a similar excited tone into her own voice. She felt a little guilty, as Lili would be spending at least some of the holidays in the local playscheme, and some ‘helping’ her and Monique in the bookshop. Still, shesupposed it would be exciting for her – probably more exciting than spending every day at home with her mum.
Today, she’d planned to visit the swimming lake 15 kilometres from St Vianne. The weather was warm enough to spend a little time on the sandy beach she’d been told was there, and maybe if they were feeling particularly brave, they could dip their toes into the edges of the water and have a little paddle. The taxi would cost them forty euros each way and she’d baulked at the expense, but with the majority of Lili’s holiday being taken up following her mum to work, she’d decided to splash out.
If she stayed, if she decided to make St Vianne her home, then she’d have to invest in a car – something small, modest, in keeping with the little cars people seemed to drive around here. But right now, with so few journeys and so much uncertainty hanging over her, it made more sense to pay the one-off taxi fare.
Two hours later, they’d washed, packed – ambitiously, she’d added her and Lili’s swimming costumes, but doubted she’d be brave enough to actually go in – and they were standing outside waiting for the taxi. Sunday morning started slowly in St Vianne, but the warmth had driven walkers and their dogs out for a morning stroll. She nodded to familiar faces and exchanged a few pleasantries with one of the regular bookshop customers.
Then their taxi arrived – a slightly dented white vehicle with a yellow light on top. They slipped into the back and, as Lili chatted to the driver, Adeline looked out of the window and watched the final houses of St Vianne slip past her and the countryside begin to take over. Views stretched over lower ground on either side, and a slight mist hung over the river that snaked forwards out of sight. The sky was a brilliant blue and the sunlight bright; although theair was still on the cool side, the forecast had promised highs in the low 20s – practically summer in Adeline’s book.
Her eyes glazed as she took in the view, and then she was back in the shop, handing that book to Claude, feeling again that sense of purpose – an urgent need to pair him with the book she felt could heal him. A few bumps in the road startled her out of the daydream, and she realised they’d turned down a small track; probably the route to the lake. They passed a closed restaurant and bar, a couple of holiday chalets with darkened windows, a children’s playpark that had Lili pressing her face against the glass to see a slightly wonky see-saw and swing set. And finally, the road opened out into a car park.
It was half past ten, and Adeline was surprised to see the car park almost empty, other than two camper-vans and a motorbike leaning casually on its stand. She’d thought the beach would be busy today – the hottest of the year so far, and a Sunday to boot.
She paid the driver, thanked him, and asked him to pick them up at four in the afternoon. Then she and Lili exited into air that whilst still on the cool side, held the promise of later warmth every time the sun’s rays exited from behind the cluster of white clouds that had formed en route.
‘Come on!’ she said to Lili with enthusiasm she didn’t yet feel. ‘Let’s find somewhere great to set up.’ The little girl raced ahead, infected by Adeline’s apparent excitement, and she felt a pang of guilt that she wasn’t as into the idea as she’d pretended to be. Her mind was cast back to a beachside holiday in Cornwall, splashing in the shallows with Mum, eating fresh crab sandwiches and ready-salted crisps, drinking hot tea from a flask after a soaking by the sea. Her mother’s laughing face, delighted at everything Adeline had done.
