Page 82 of The Little Provence Book Shop
Once she’d removed the books, she flat-packed the box andwent to put it in the cupboard, ready to be taken to the recycling.
Only she almost didn’t make it. Her foot came into contact with something hard, thin, which skidded on the wooden floor. She found herself sliding then falling hard onto her bottom.
‘Ow!’ Feeling under her leg she realised that the object she’d stumbled over had been a book. It was open on a page, but even without closing it she recognised its size, its shape, even the slight discolouration of the pages. Only she’d left the book at home, surely, on the table?
She looked at the open page:
To wait an Hour—is long
To wait an Hour—is long?—
If Love be just beyond?—
To wait Eternity—is short?—
If Love reward the end?—
—EMILY DICKINSON
‘For God’s sake, Emily,’ she said, feeling her fear give way to frustration. ‘Do you have to be right about everything?’
How ever had the book got there? Perhaps it had got caught on her bag and tumbled to the floor once she entered the shop? Maybe this was a copy left out by Monique and not her edition at all? But there was no misreading the message in the pages. That she shouldn’t wait for love; that she shouldn’t let the time stretch between her and potential happiness.
A rational person wouldn’t read anything into the poem she’d stumbled over. A rational person would shake their head and file the book back on the shelf. A rational person wouldknow that there was no way a poet from the nineteenth century could be giving her relationship advice here in the 2020s.
Perhaps someone who was more interested in magic, more likely to give implausible, far-fetched explanations for things might say that the book had come to her, on Monique’s or even Emily’s orders. To give her a message.
Well, she didn’t believe that either.
What she did believe in was herself. Her feelings. And her sudden realisation that she was once again getting things wrong. She didn’t need to know everything to find herself in order to move forward. Life would move forward anyway, and opportunities and changes didn’t always wait.
‘Monique – I’m just popping out for a moment!’ she called out, then she ran into the street, suddenly knowing exactly where she was meant to be.
40
It took her a while to find him. He wasn’t in the patisserie or the cafe. In the end, she tracked him down to the park – close to the bench where she’d sat to watch Lili play a few weeks ago – what seemed a lifetime ago now. He was sitting with his back to her, reading a volume she recognised as coming from the shop. Monique must have sold it to him. Something about the curve of his neck, the way he seemed totally absorbed in his thoughts made her heart swell. She crossed the grass, feeling more nervous now, and quietly slipped next to him on the wooden slats.
He looked up. ‘Adeline?’
‘Yep,’ she said, grinning.
‘You are on lunch break?’
She shook her head. ‘Actually—’ she said, wondering how, as a lover of words, she often found that they failed her in moments like this. ‘Actually, I came to see you.’
He turned his book over so the splayed pages rested on his upper legs and gave her his full attention. ‘’You did?’ He looked at her, his eyes full of something she couldn’t define.
‘Yes,’ she said, decisively. ‘Yes. I wanted to say that I was wrong. I’m not going to be ready in a few months.’
The smile vanished. ‘Oh.’
‘No! No,’ she said, shuffling closer, taking his hand. ‘Because I’ve realised I’ve been stupid. What was I waiting for? The stars to align? Everything to be figured out? Because that will never happen.’
He nodded.
She took a deep breath. ‘Look, André. I’ll be honest with you. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of letting someone in. Of… well, getting hurt. Let down.’
‘But I would never…’
