Page 55 of The Little Provence Book Shop

‘Pah!’ Monique said, flapping her hand and looking much more like herself. ‘But your good fortune is not my bad fortune,n’est-ce pas? We have similar stories, but they are not the same story. And what is good for you does not change my situation. I am truly, truly thrilled for you,’ she said, her eyes shining with emotion.

‘Thank you. That means a lot. Really.’

‘And have you written to your mother?’ she asked.

Adeline shook her head. ‘Not yet.’

Monique nodded. ‘But you will?’

‘I’m just afraid.’

‘Of course.’

Adeline felt the words suddenly pour out of her: ‘What if she doesn’t want me to get in touch? I know the fact that she’s on the site in the first place – well, it must mean something, mustn’t it? But what if she hasn’t even thought about it? What if I’m a bolt out of the blue; someone she’d left firmly in her past? What if?—?’

She was stilled by a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Monique’s steady, intelligent eyes.

‘“Mama never forgets her birds.” Your mother will want to hear from you. I know it.’

‘You feel it?’ A month or two ago, Adeline would have scoffed at the idea someone might sense something, might have an instinct about something without evidential proof. But now, her need for reassurance overwhelmed her scepticism. And perhaps it was more than that, she thought. Perhaps she was starting to believe a little in Monique’s ability.

‘Oui. I do not know her, of course. But I feel it as a mother. In my heart. She will want to hear from you, I promise.’

They smiled at each other for a moment and Adeline was struck with the thought that, in some ways, Monique had become a little like a mother to her. Nobody would ever fill the void left by her adoptive mum, but she’d become a confidante, a trusted friend – one that Adeline had needed more than she’d realised.

‘Was that Dickinson? The line you quoted about a Mama and her birds?’ Adeline asked, recognising the words but unable to reach them.

‘Oui, it is a beautiful poem. A mother is always a mother. Whether she is here or elsewhere, or even in heaven. She watches. She loves.’

She looks down just as often

And just as tenderly

As when her little mortal nest

With cunning care she wove

Adeline felt the shudder of grief move through her body like ripples from the impact of a stone splitting the surface of thewater. Memories hit her in waves: her mother’s hand, pale and thin, squeezing hers for the last time. Her mother, fit and well, laughing at the table. The same mother, her hand younger and plumper, holding Adeline’s on the way to school, or walking in town, or through a busy market. At that age, she’d had a feeling of being safely cocooned in her mother’s love and when Mum had been there, she’d feared nothing.

As she’d grown, she’d learned that even mums have limitations, but that sense of security, the sense of steadiness her mum had imparted from the start had given her a platform of ease on which to build. When Mum had gone, she’d felt untethered, but the words Monique had spoken resonated. She hoped beyond anything that there was a place in which her mother could look down on her, still be there in a sense in her life. Adeline had never believed in God, had never believed in spirits or ghosts – she’d had no need to; everyone she had ever loved had still been at her side. And it was probably a mixture of wishful thinking and sadness that made her find truth in these words now. But the idea gave her comfort anyway.

‘I hope so,’ was all she could manage to say. Then, ‘And what about you? I heard Claude ask what you would advise someone in your position. Are you OK?’

Monique lifted a shoulder briefly. ‘Oui. I suppose you finding your mother, it has made me think of mine. And to think perhaps if you forgive your mother, I should think about mine too. Because maybe she did what she did because she truly thought it best. I should at least listen, I think. It was not her fault my baby died; she wanted us both to live, and thought this was the best way.’

Adeline nodded. ‘That’s very brave of you.’

Monique laughed properly then. ‘After several decades, Ifinally have the courage to confront her! Perhaps that is not so brave.’

It was Adeline’s turn to shrug. ‘Well, I think it is,’ she said with a small smile. ‘And I really hope you can find some answers; something to help you.’

A customer entered – a small woman Adeline hadn’t seen before – and the moment was broken. But she worked the rest of the afternoon in a dreamlike state – knowing that while nothing had changed in her life yet, perhaps everything was just about to.

26

There was a limited number of times you could refresh an email page without driving yourself mad, she’d realised over the evening, night and morning that followed her tentative message to the woman who’d given birth to her.

She kept running the words she’d written in her head – she’d kept them brief, not knowing how the woman might respond. Her profile details said that she’d been on the site for four years, so this really would be a bolt out of the blue.

---