Page 10 of The Little Provence Book Shop

‘Yes. Yes of course.’ Adeline paused, trying to organise her words. ‘And what about me?’ she said.

‘You?’

‘Yes. What book would you recommend for me?’

‘Ah, perhaps it will come to me soon.’

‘But not yet?’

Monique shook her head. ‘Not yet.’

‘And will you be able to train me, do you think?’

‘With the books?’

‘Yes.’

Monique shrugged again. ‘I can help you to find that part of yourself if it is there. If you know how to feel the books as well as read them, and to read people as well as feel them, then perhaps.’

A shout outside stole their attention for a moment; a boy chasing a cat across the cobbles. They locked eyes and smiled.

‘Thank you, though,’ Adeline said.

‘For the meal? It is nothing.’

‘Yes, for the meal. But also for giving me this chance.’

6

Dear Addy,

I’m not sure whether you’re receiving these emails. Please could you at least confirm that you’re OK?

I didn’t mean to be harsh with you when I last wrote, but I am so worried about you! And I know this isn’t what Mum would have wanted. She’d have hated things to come out this way – and for you to just disappear the way you have. You know that, really.

None of us wanted to hurt you – if anything, the opposite! I understand that you feel we kept something important from you, but maybe look at it a different way. We were protecting you. Or at least we thought we were.

Please reply. And please consider coming back. We’ve got a lot to talk about! And it’s better in person.

Kev x

Adeline clicked the tiny cross in the corner of the screen and the email disappeared, replaced with an online order form. Breathing deeply, she stood up, smoothed down the front of hertrousers and picked up a pile of books. It was mid-morning, mid-week – her second in St Vianne – and until a moment ago she’d been thinking just how settled and at home she already felt. The staff in the patisserie now smiled and asked how her job was going when she went to buy croissants – something that Lili was now developing a taste for; she’d begun to rearrange the furniture in their tiny house, and had found a set of voiles in a cupboard to hang at her bedroom window. Lili seemed utterly beguiled by her teacher and prattled on about her non-stop.

Things still felt new; she was daunted at times, still found that not all the customers were happy to see her when Monique stepped out and she manned the shop alone. But each day she felt the momentum of settling into place and that she was making progress.

Kevin’s email had been sent a few days ago – but she only had Internet access in the shop and hadn’t felt inclined to check until now: something that would have felt impossible back home. She resolved to travel to Avignon to sort out a new mobile phone soon. But there was no great hurry.

It had been curiosity that had led her to check – and perhaps a little flicker of homesickness, or guilt or whatever it was that fluttered in her chest from time to time. Once she’d seen that he’d written again, she’d been unable to stop herself clicking and reading.

Scanning the stands of books, searching for the H, she shelved a small volume of poems, then moved to the table to arrange the rest of the new stock. Keeping herself distracted, moving, was the solution.

It was quiet in the shop this morning, typically. A light drizzle saturated the stone walkway outside, runnels of moisture ran down the outside awning and dripped onto the window. She could see the grey world outside in a kind ofshimmering semi-focus, her vision impaired by water collected on the glass and tumbling from the expressionless sky. One or two locals had braved it to the patisserie, umbrellas held aloft, hoods pulled up; but it seemed nobody was in the mood for buying books this morning.

Most days, the shop had a steady stream of people coming through its door, whether to chat with Monique, to browse the shelves, to pass the remaining ten minutes before the cafe opened, or to seek advice on literature. Adeline’s French was already close to fluent, but she had enjoyed challenging herself with new topics, finding the words coming more easily every day.

Yet today of course, when she needed a distraction, the shop was silent. Outside was silent. Her work was nearly done and there were no diversions. Kevin was there, in her inbox, refusing to be ignored just as he had been when they were growing up.

Her fingers itched to reply to him. To tell him that he had no idea what he was talking about. How could he? He’d been in on it from the start. And if she hadn’t discovered it for herself, would they ever have told her?

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