Page 53 of The Little Provence Book Shop

Two hours later, walking a chattering daughter to her playscheme, she made the right faces and noises to demonstrate enthusiasm to Lili and hide the turmoil inside. She’d decided to wait until she was at work, on the PC there, and look at the picture properly. Decide whether to write a note to her mother. Her mother!

She arrived at work early; Monique had just opened theshop which was empty of customers. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ her boss offered, and she gladly accepted. With Monique upstairs in the flat, this really was her chance.

She typed in the complicated link from her email and brought it up again. A picture of the woman – bigger now – the familiarity even more striking. Sitting for a moment, studying it, and feeling a rush of unfamiliar feelings – love? Fear? Shock? – she didn’t hear Monique’s feet on the stairs behind her.

So it was even more of a shock when she heard the coffee cups clatter on the wood behind her, spilling their content onto the shop floor, one breaking, the other rolling across the room and settling under a shelf.

Letting out a little cry, she turned to see Monique on the bottom stair, both hands over her mouth, her face pale and her eyes staring.

‘Why do you have that?’ Monique asked, her voice full of an emotion it was impossible to place.

‘What?’

‘Mon Dieu, you have a picture of my sister!’ Monique rushed to the screen, touching the face that was displayed there.

‘Your sister?’

‘Oui,’ she leant forward. ‘I have not seen her for years, but I would know her face anywhere. Where did you get this?’ she demanded. Then there was a moment of silence. Her fingers traced the outline of the woman’s face. Then her shoulders slumped. ‘Non, it is not her,’ she said. ‘But it looked like… I was so sure…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Adeline said. ‘I shouldn’t have been looking at this at work. But Lili…’ she trailed off. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘But who is this, this woman?’ Monique asked. ‘Where does this picture come from?’

Adeline looked at Monique’s face – still pale from the upset.She could still smell the coffee, its strong scent mixed with the smell of damp wood as it seeped into the floorboards. She felt a well of sympathy for this woman, whose own baby had been lost not once, but twice; whose questions would never be answered as Adeline’s might.

‘Well, I think…’ she said, ‘in fact, Iknow– she’s my mother.’

25

They worked quietly in the afternoon; fulfilling their usual roles, talking to customers, organising the shelves, reading the latest books to arrive in store. Monique spent more time in the apartment than usual, and found a few reasons to exit the shop entirely. It was clear that something was bothering her. Adeline suspected it was Monique’s own feelings about the baby she’d lost, brought to the fore by the fact that Adeline had found her mother.

During a quiet period, she took a break and, settling down with a cup of coffee, she finally wrote a reply to Kevin.

Dear Kevin,

Thanks for your email. Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply (useless as ever!).

It was great to see you too. And please do book more tickets – you are welcome anytime.

Glad to see you’re getting out there on the dating scene too.

I have some rather big news myself. You were right aboutthe DNA test. I’ve got my results back and have been matched with a woman. Well, not a woman. My birth mother.

I can literally contact her by clicking a link and writing a message. But what do I say? And what will she say in return? I’m terrified.

You definitely think Mum wouldn’t have minded? And you don’t, do you? You know if Mum were still here, I’d be doing this anyway. This woman, whoever she turns out to be, whatever she’s like, she’ll never be the mum who brought me up. Just someone new – a new bit of information I guess. Something to piece together my puzzle.

Anyway, there you have it.

Thanks for getting me to do the DNA test.

Love you lots, bro

Addy xx

Adeline was just pressing ‘Send’ when the door opened and an older man walked in, smartly dressed in chinos and a corduroy jacket. He’d pushed the door quite forcefully and the bell jangled more loudly than usual, making her start and sit up straight.

At first, she didn’t recognise him – his hair was brushed and gelled and he was clean-shaven. But as he walked towards the counter, his body language uncharacteristically open, she realised he wasn’t a stranger at all.

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