Page 81 of The Little Provence Book Shop

His features clouded a little. ‘But…’

‘Perhaps in a few months. If you still want to.’

He nodded, not saying anything.

‘Sometimes you just have to stand still a little. So much has happened.’

‘I understand. A little. I think,’ he said with a sigh.

A few minutes later, they walked quietly to the shop and shesaid goodbye, taking her familiar position behind the counter and trying not to watch his expression as he walked away.

It was hard to settle back into work after seeing him, but eventually the rhythms of her day returned and she lost herself in the process of getting orders in, sorting stock and dealing with a steady stream of customers.

Claude made an appearance, looking smart, and asked if they had any books on gardening. Another woman was looking for English reading books for her young child.

At around ten o’clock, the door opened and a small woman came in. She looked to be about thirty years old, with short brown hair and large green eyes. Despite the fact that she was wearing a bright red coat, what struck Adeline most about her was the worry etched across her face.

She came timidly up to the counter and looked at Adeline. ‘Are you Monique?’ she asked.

‘No. I’m Adeline. Can I help you?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I’m just… I suppose I wanted to ask if you can recommend a book. Something that might… well, help me.’

Adeline was about to turn and call Monique; to tell the woman to wait. But something began to stir within her. ‘I um… perhaps,’ she said, studying the woman’s face. Their eyes locked and perhaps she was imagining it, but a title swam into her mind. ‘Just a second.’

She pulled the book off the shelf. It had only come in a couple of weeks ago and she’d read it curiously. Perhaps she was wrong, but it seemed as if the woman might at least connect with it.

She passed it to her. The woman studied the title, read the back and nodded. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it.’

‘And you know,’ Adeline said, starting to doubt herself as sherang up the total, ‘if it doesn’t work… you can come back. I’ll find something else.’

The woman nodded. ‘That’s kind, thank you.’

Once the door had closed, she thought again of what had happened. Was it instinct? Magic? Was she deluded and imagining things? It was impossible to tell. But perhaps it was better not to question it. Perhaps this too fell into the unknown place between magic and science where so many things stirred that defied explanation.

At lunch, she excused herself and decided to pop home for a sandwich. Ordinarily she’d taken to eating with Monique or going to the cafe, but today she felt exhausted and wanted to take a moment to sit and not have to talk to anyone at all.

She was in the armchair, cup of tea in hand after eating, when she decided to reach for her Dickinson book. She’d read a little, then make her way back to work along the sunlit road, she decided.

Turning the page, she read the words:

If your Nerve, deny you?—

Go above your Nerve.

And smiled at the wisdom in the tiny verse.

Some people would probably think she was brave, moving to France to a place where she knew nobody. But it hadn’t been bravery, really. If anything, it had been fear that had driven her. Fear and shock and grief that had propelled her to this place where she’d thought she might hide from the world and work out what to do next. Instead, her journey had opened up her life.

Shehadbeen brave though, she realised. It had taken bravery to contact her mother, to take the trip to Toulouse.She’d had to ‘go above her nerve’ just to get on the train and face such an enormous challenge.

Sometimes reading was a distraction for her, but sometimes it made her focus on herself anew. To see new things in her actions. She wondered whether she’d have got on with Emily Dickinson in real life, with her sharp observations and whip-smart humour. She liked the way that the woman she’d been lived on through her words, that she – Adeline – could bring Emily back to life at any moment. It was bizarre, and she’d never say it out loud, but in some ways this poet had become a friend to her, ever since Monique had thrust the book into her hands.

Slipping it back onto the small table, she straightened up and took her cup to the kitchen. Once it was washed, she set it on the counter, grabbed her bag and began the walk back to work. She thought about André again as she walked. She hadn’t been very brave when it came to him, hadn’t gone ‘above her nerve’. But it was OK. He was giving her space and time, and that was what she needed.

She smiled at a few people, exchangedbonjours en route. The faces were becoming more familiar now – she knew a few names from the shop, and recognised so many others she’d seen around St Vianne. There was a sense of community and belonging that had been absent in London and right now, that was what she needed. Maybe, one day, she’d start yearning for the pace, the excitement, the purpose of a bigger city. But for now, she was where she needed to be.

Unlocking the door, she changed the sign in the shop window to ‘Open’ and after stowing her bag behind the counter, began slicing the tape on a box of books they’d had delivered this morning. She was going to create a display in the window – the colourful, contemporary covers would really draw people in.

---