Chapter 5
5
‘Thank you for this,’ Adeline said, sitting back in her chair and sighing.
‘It’s nothing.’ Monique turned from the fridge with three glasses of cinnamon-topped chocolate mousse on a tray. They both looked at the little nest Lili had made on the armchair in the corner, her tucked-in legs and arms, her tousled hair, her closed eyes.
‘Perhaps we will save hers for tomorrow,’ Monique said.
‘Yes, I think so!’ Adeline replied, draining the last drops of her red wine. It was a heavy blend, rather bitter, but had gone well with Monique’s mushroom quiche and green vegetables.
The meal had been Monique’s idea – a way to mark the end of Adeline’s first week at La Petite Librairie. ‘We can go to the cafe, or perhaps to my place?’ she’d suggested.
They’d opted for Monique’s flat above the shop in the end; Adeline had felt it would be easier with Lili – her little girl seemed exhausted by her first week of schooling. Not weighed down as much as spent – she’d run and coloured and sung and created to her heart’s content, and bedtime stories at their little house had turned into relayed events from each of their days. After nibbling the crust of her quiche, she’d quietly gone to the armchair and curled up and they hadn’t had the heart to admonish her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Adeline had said, looking at the wasted food.
‘No, it is fine. She needs to sleep; it’s important.’
It was half past eight and the April sun had just begun to set, spilling orange rays across the roofs in the square, dusting the buildings with a warm, fading light. The courtyard was dark, the fountain silent, the patisserie closed. Downstairs, the books were neatly arranged on shelves, new releases filed, packages wrapped for the Saturday morning, but for now everything was silent there too.
Monique placed the cold mousse in front of Adeline and sat in the chair opposite. They both dipped their spoons in and, almost as if it had been synchronised, closed their eyes as the rich chocolate flavour flooded their mouths. ‘This is delicious!’ Adeline said.
‘ Merci ; it was my mother’s recipe.’ A shadow of sadness flitted across Monique’s face – the kind that, if you weren’t familiar with her habitual expressions, you might not notice at all. Adeline wondered, not for the first time, how old Monique might be. Sometimes she estimated her at fifty, other times closer to sixty. Was it rude to ask someone’s age in France? Possibly. ‘I added the cinnamon for protection and good fortune.’
‘And flavour?’ Adeline joked, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
‘Perhaps its scent,’ Monique said thoughtfully. She looked at Adeline. ‘You are uncomfortable. But people have used cinnamon for centuries for warding off bad luck, encouraging good luck and healing. I have cinnamon sticks close to the door.’
‘And do they work? ’
Monique shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But what I do know is, they cannot harm me.’
Adeline nodded; it was a good point. She wasn’t sure about some of Monique’s ideas, but they were harmless if nothing else. ‘Plus, handy to have plenty to sprinkle on mousse!’ she joked, taking another spoonful of the delicious dessert. ‘How long have you lived in St Vianne?’ she asked.
‘Oh, many, many years,’ Monique said, flicking her hand dismissively as if the effort of counting would be far too much. ‘I was quite young when I arrived, and I had been travelling. I had no thoughts to stay. Yet here I am.’ She laughed. ‘Sometimes life makes the decisions for us.’ She touched the stone around her neck.
‘So you’d been travelling?’
Monique shrugged. ‘Yes, perhaps you could call it this. But I was not one of those children who go on to a gap year, a break in studies. It was not pleasant like that. I was running away, trying to find somewhere to make a new start. I stayed in some places where I felt lost or afraid. Then I came to St Vianne and in time I was made to feel welcome – at least most of the time.’
‘So you stayed.’
‘So I stayed.’ Monique looked at Adeline, her pupils rapidly moving as if she were studying her face closely. Adeline felt herself get red.
‘You said most of the time?’ Adeline prompted.
Monique laughed. ‘Ah yes. Well, there were moments. And who can say whether it was my fault. I was impetuous then, hot-headed. I wanted to do things my own way. And not everyone liked this. Some of the people were suspicious of me, a stranger from Paris. People say Paris is the capital of France, but in reality, from here, it feels like another country.’
Adeline nodded. ‘I can imagine. ’
‘Some people – perhaps some of the older people in particular – did not warm to me at first. And when I opened my shop and began to sell books in my own way, not everyone liked this either. But I told myself that this was OK. As long as I was being true to myself and I wasn’t hurting anyone, it didn’t matter if they liked me.’
‘That’s amazing; I wish I could feel like that,’ Adeline began.
‘ Mais attends !’ Monique said. ‘This is what I told myself. But I did not always feel that way. In reality, it took a few years for me to feel that this was my home. And to realise that even though people resist change sometimes, it doesn’t mean they won’t accept it after a little more time. People don’t like to be shaken up; they want the world to stay small, predictable. But what we want and what we need, they are not always the same.’
Adeline grinned. ‘Yes. I see that.’
One or two of the customers had been a little perturbed by her presence in the shop this week. Some walked past her as if she were invisible, going straight to Monique. Others had eyed her suspiciously. One or two had opened the door but changed their minds. But most of the people had been friendly, interested. Perhaps, like Monique, in time, she would begin to feel less on edge, more capable.
‘What were you running from?’ she added.
‘What?’
‘You said you were running away. What from?’ The question felt a little stark, a little rude, spoken aloud like this, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. Monique seemed so self-assured, it was hard to imagine the younger version of her being afraid of anything.
To her relief, Monique laughed. ‘What does every young girl run from? Her mother, of course.’ She shook her head, her smile fading slightly. ‘ Non , that is not it. I was running from being a child, being told what to do. My mother, she… well, perhaps I will tell you one day what she did to me; now is not the time. The point is she took my decisions away from me; she treated me like a child when I needed to be treated like an adult. And I realised: while I am under her roof, I will never be free. I will always be her daughter, her extension. Not my own person at all.’
Adeline nodded. ‘That makes sense.’ She remembered her own teenage years – that struggle to throw off the shackles of childhood, the restrictions; yet still retain the safety net that childhood afforded. How she and her mother had argued – she felt awful about that now. But things had looked different to her then, her mother constantly pecking away at her, telling her what to do, what she was doing wrong, giving her unsolicited advice about boyfriends and schoolwork and friendships and hemlines. She wondered if Monique missed her mother as much as she missed her own now? Presumably the woman was dead, given Monique’s age. She decided not to ask.
‘Not looking forward to the teenage years with this one,’ she said instead, nodding towards Lili’s prone form.
Monique followed her gaze. ‘It will be fine.’ She finished her mousse and pushed her chair from the table. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
Monique disappeared from the room, leaving Adeline alone; the sound of Lili’s deep breathing audible now their conversation had petered out. Adeline got up and took off her black woollen cardigan, then draped it over Lili’s tiny form. Her child snuggled into it gratefully but didn’t wake.
She went over to the shelf with the tiny jars, their colourful interiors bright against the mahogany shelf. Each bore a tiny label, ‘love’, ‘prosperity’, ‘happiness’. She reached and touched one of them gently .
‘And you?’ Monique asked as she entered the room with a tray, as if there hadn’t been a break in conversation. Adeline jumped back. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was just…’
Monique followed her eye. ‘It is OK. You can look, if you want. It is good to be curious.’
‘Thank you.’ She racked her brain to try to remember what they’d been talking about. Mothers. Running away.
‘Me?’ she said, finally answering Monique’s question.
‘Yes. What do you think drew you here? I know you want to improve your French, but I sense there is more?’
Adeline looked at the little cup of black, glistening liquid in front of her. She dropped a sugar lump in it and it broke the surface briefly, and sent a few bubbles in its wake. She stirred carefully.
‘Well, perhaps it’s also a way of… I don’t know. Finding myself? There’s French blood in my family – my mother’s side; I only found out recently. Hence my name, Adeline. My mother’s choice. I wasn’t very happy one way or another in London and knew I wanted to do something different. My mother died recently,’ she added, as if by way of explanation. ‘And there’s some inheritance. Not a lot, but enough to take a few risks. I left my teaching job and needed something new. And I have Lili, but nobody else in my life, not really. No husband, no partner. So I thought if not now, when? And then I saw your advert.’
Monique was nodding. ‘And do you feel that you have made a good choice?’
‘Yes, yes I think so.’
Monique smiled, sipped her coffee, looked out over the quiet square outside the window.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Adeline said.
‘ Oui , of course.’
‘I’ve watched you recommend books a bit this week. But I’m not quite sure what you go on. You seem to know what some of the customers want – but I haven’t seen anyone talk to you about plot or genre… Is it just that you’ve been here so long, you know what they might like or…?’
Monique smiled. ‘Well, perhaps it is that, a little. But that is only part of it.’
‘OK?’
‘In truth I am a doctor. I find the cure for people. Ah, not in their bodies, they must go to the medical doctor for that. But I can cure their hearts. Or perhaps not me, perhaps the writers from today or long ago can do this for them.’
‘Cure their hearts?’
Monique arched an eyebrow. ‘ Mais oui , don’t you believe this is possible?’
Adeline thought about the times she’d revisited a book, read a poem that had moved her. The times when the lyrics of a song seemed to speak to her, or when she’d felt affinity with a character in a book. How affirming it had been, how restorative. ‘I think it could be,’ she said. ‘And I’ve heard of book prescriptions. I think. Bibliotherapists dispensing books for therapy.’
Monique was nodding. ‘ Oui, oui, it is like this,’ she said. ‘Only perhaps I am not talking so much to people but feeling them, their hearts, their needs. I have always been able to do this. Not for everyone. But for most. I can find a connection and it helps me,’ she shrugged. ‘Probably I sound a little mad,’ she admitted. She didn’t seem too despondent about the idea.
Adeline smiled. ‘Not mad. Interesting.’
‘And this is good?’
‘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.’